She blew out a breath. “Dameon.” His voice gave him away.
“You don’t sound good.”
“Well, thank you, Captain Obvious.” For whatever reason she had no issue putting Dameon in his place. “Hold on.”
She clicked back to her brother. “Sorry . . . I need you to stop by the mobile home park on Sierra Highway. The one that flooded out last year . . .”
“Is there a problem?” Colin asked.
“You have no idea—” Her phone buzzed, reminding her she had Dameon on hold. “Damn it. Wait.”
She clicked over. “Can I call you back?”
“Is that your way of asking me for my phone number?” Dameon asked.
Grace hated the fact that she smiled. Hated it so much that she put Dameon on hold and went back to her brother.
“The guy was a complete douche. Stared at my chest and called me little lady. I need some backup on this one.”
“What the hell?” Dameon’s voice filled the line.
Grace pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. “Shit, shit, shit . . .” She switched the call again, put it to her ear. “Dameon?”
Her brother answered. “Who’s Dameon?”
She was going to lose it any second. “No one. Uhm . . . let me call you back.”
She dramatically pressed end to the call with her brother and put the phone back to her ear. “Forget I said that. It wasn’t meant for you.”
“Who were you calling for backup?”
Grace found herself answering on autopilot. “My brother.” She closed her eyes and shook the fog from her head.
“Okay . . . good.”
After blowing out a deep breath, Grace pulled in her emotions. “What can I do for you, Dameon?”
“You can start by telling me who was disrespecting you.”
“What are you going to do? Go beat him up?”
“Maybe.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and pounded her steering wheel with her free hand. “I’ll leave that to my brothers. But thank you.”
“Your brothers would do that for you?”
“Lots of cement boots in the bottom of the ocean,” she said, joking.
Dameon laughed. “All right, then. That makes me feel better.”
“You really don’t have any right to feel anything on the subject.” And she had no right to have butterflies tickling her stomach with the conversation.
“Yeah, well . . . I do.”
What did she do with that?
Ignore it.
“What can I do for you, Dameon?”
“I wanted to set up a site meeting to go over a few things before the holidays suck away all of your time.”
His request wasn’t out of line, even if his flirting was.
“When were you thinking?”
“Friday.”
“This Friday?”
“Unless you were free on Saturday. Then maybe we could have dinner and discuss the project.”
Grace was vaguely aware of the traffic whizzing by her car as she idled on the side of the road.
“I believe I have Friday afternoon free. I’ll have to confirm when I’m back in the office.”
Dameon sighed over the line. “Great. Have your people call my people and set it up.”
She laughed. “I work for the city, Dameon. I don’t have people.”
“Even better. You can call me back directly. Do you have a pen?”
“Why?”
“For my phone number.”
“I have your office number,” she told him.
“I’m leaving the office. I’ll give you my cell.”
She grabbed a pen and flipped open the notepad that sat in the passenger seat. “Fine.”
He rattled off his number.
“I’ll get back to you.”
There was a pause in the conversation. “Try and have a better day,” he said.
“I will.” She hung up and dropped her phone in her purse.
This day needed to turn around . . . fast.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was potluck at the honeymooners’ house.
Grace walked in the door with a bottle of red wine and a grocery bag full of everything needed to make a walnut-cranberry salad.
She didn’t bother knocking since her parents’ car was parked in the driveway.
“Ho, ho, ho,” she greeted anyone within earshot.
She saw her brother first.
Colin kissed her cheek and took the bag from her hand. “You look better than you sounded earlier.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get me started.”
They walked around the corner to the great room that held a kitchen, a dining room, and a den. Her mom stood beside the sink cutting vegetables, and her dad was playing tug-of-war with Parker’s dog, Scout. “Hey, Dad,” Grace called out.
“Hold on,” he said. “I almost got him.”
From the determination on the dog’s face, her dad wasn’t getting anything. “Good luck.”
Her mom smiled and kept chopping. “Hi, sweetheart.”