“It’s going to take months, years. And I’m sure by then he’ll realize I’m not his type.”
“How are you not his type?”
Grace took a few minutes to look up Mr. Locke on her phone to learn a bit more about the man. “He’s society-page rich, and I live in a condo down the street. Different worlds.”
“Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?”
Grace caught her breath. “That doesn’t count.”
Erin pointed to her chest. “I’m society-page rich, as you put it, and I love your brother and wouldn’t trade him in for anything.” Erin and her sister had come into half the controlling stock of a company that was worth billions. Their share had made them incredibly wealthy over the past few months. “Money doesn’t have to be a factor.”
“True. But to be fair, you and Matt got together when you both thought you were scraping along like the rest of us. Guys like Dameon Locke can snag any arm candy they want. Even if she only wants his money. When men like him play in my field, it’s to prove they can.”
“I really want to tell you you’re wrong,” Erin said.
“But you know I’m right. When you were married to the rich prick, you knew the game.” Erin had been born with money and walked away from all of it to escape her ex. Technically, she was a widow, but she didn’t like the title, so everyone referred to the man as her ex. Calling herself a widow was met with sympathy from outsiders. No one was sorry the man was dead.
“There are nice guys out there with money.”
Grace lifted her hand and signaled the waiter. “While you’re writing a list of their names, I’ll be looking for Dameon’s faults. I’m always looking at the good and miss the red flags, even with them waving in front of my face.”
Erin grimaced. “Dameon is a name I think of when I watch scary movies with vampires or the devil.”
“See!” Grace pointed at her. “Fault. I thought the same thing.”
“On the other hand . . . Dameon and Grace has a fabulous sound to it.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“You work too much.”
Dameon looked up at the underside of his mother’s kitchen sink with a wrench in one hand and a towel in the other. “You mean like I’m doing right now to replace this crappy faucet? I should have gone with my instincts and hired a plumber.”
“Your father always did the repairs around here and you promised to do it when he left us. So don’t go pawning off your chores on someone else.”
The faucet was older than him and just as stubborn as his mother. “I’m under here, aren’t I?”
“I’m not talking about minor house repairs. I’m talking about that fancy office job that’s killing you.”
“Who says I’m dying?” Damn bolt was rusted and wouldn’t budge. He’d been at it for thirty minutes and only managed to twist the thing in four complete rotations. And from the threads on it, he was going to be at it until morning.
“When was the last time you went to a doctor?”
“I’m not sick.”
“How do you know if you don’t go to the doctor? Every time I see Dr. Menifee he gives me another pill.”
He switched to a locking wrench and braced his foot on the opposite counter for leverage. Dameon didn’t know what hurt more, his arms from keeping them elevated above his head, or his back that rested on the straight edge of the sink cabinet.
“Oh, yeah . . . what did the good doctor prescribe this time?” He counted to three in his head and gave the wrench all he had.
“C ohhh enzyme something or other,” his mom said.
Her words didn’t register, and the bolt moved.
“Yes!” He positioned the wrench again, and this time the bolt gave way. As it did, bits of rust fell into his face. He closed his eyes and kept his lips sealed as he worked the rest of the bolt free.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“No, Mom . . . I’m having a party under here.”
His mom’s face popped into his field of view. “Oh, did you get it?”
“Yes, I did.” And without so much as one f-bomb escaping his mouth. That had to be a first.
“I’ll put the chicken in the oven, then. And by the time it’s all done, I’ll be able to do the dishes.”
He wanted to argue, say he couldn’t stay for dinner, but knew it would be