Her Dirty Builders (Men at Work #10) - Mika Lane Page 0,10

all—since Rosie’s mother had taken off, but I wasn’t sure how I was going to resist this woman.

And a quick glance at Case suggested he might be thinking the same. His gaze was glued to her ass as we followed her to the kitchen for coffee.

She directed us to the table, which was reached by stepping over a missing floorboard.

“Case tells me you work for City Scene, Esme. What an awesome paper,” I said.

She turned around, her face covered in surprise. “You read it? I’m always surprised when someone says they actually read it.”

She was modest. Cool.

“You shouldn’t say that, Esme. It’s a great resource for what’s going on around town. I always find cool things to do with my baby.”

She whipped around from making the coffee. “You have a baby?”

Case rolled his eyes. He knew there was no stopping me.

“Yup. Ten months old. Red hair like mine.”

I was beaming. Tough shit if anyone thought it was cheesy.

Case grunted. “Luckily, she’s not ugly like you are.”

Esme laughed.

“Wow. Does your wife have red hair too?”

Okay. This was the part of the conversation I didn’t like.

“There… is no wife in the picture. She… took off. I’m a single dad.”

Esme’s eyes widened with the same expression every woman wore when they learned this about me. Why was it that people think a dude can’t take care of a baby?

“Wow. That’s so cool, you have a little girl. My dad raised me, too, without a mom. And look how I turned out.” She rolled her eyes and laughed.

Case set down his coffee cup. I knew he wanted to get to work. “We’re going to have a better idea of what needs to be done after we really dig in today. So we’ll have some info for you, probably when you get home from work.”

“I hope it’s not too much bad news.” She looked at the hole in the floor and slowly shook her head. “I mean, I’m not expecting good news, exactly. I just hope I can get a few things done and then sell the house.”

She looked at us hopefully.

“Don’t worry, Esme. We’ll do our best to take care of you.”

“I’m so… grateful,” she said, hesitating.

Yeah, I’d be suspicious too.

When you looked like her, guys were always offering to do you ‘favors.’

She stood, grabbing her bag off the kitchen counter. “Well. Gotta hit the road. You have my number if you need anything.”

She shook both our hands and took off.

When I was sure she was gone, I looked at Case. “Dude, you can’t put lipstick on a pig. What the hell do you think we can do with this place?”

He looked around the kitchen skeptically. I was happy to see he hadn’t completely lost his mind.

Although he might be thinking with his little head.

“Not sure yet. But I want to get behind the water damage on that wall in the living room.”

“Right. Mind if I have a look around? I want to see what we’re up against,” I said.

He waved his hand. “It’s all yours, buddy.”

I walked up the worn wooden staircase, listening for creaks to assess how solid the flooring was, when I found what must be Esme’s bedroom.

It was the only upstairs room with any furniture.

And as I walked into it, something crunched under my work boot.

It was glass. Broken glass.

I looked around for its source and found what looked like a broken picture frame on the top of a stuffed garbage bag.

Lying on top was a picture of Esme with some guy. It had been yanked out of the frame, and there was heavy black scribbling over his face.

I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. I knew how much it hurt to be left and that sometimes the silliest things helped you feel better.

I’d forced myself to keep all the photos I had of Rosie’s mother, not because I wanted them under my roof but because my little girl would want them some day.

There was no crossing out faces for me. But I was glad Esme was kick-ass enough to do it.

I was going to be in trouble with this girl.

8

ESME

“What?”

I glanced over the cubicle wall at Matt as I reluctantly answered my cell. He gave me a thumbs down when I mouthed it was my ex-fiancé.

Eddie.

Who I’d successfully avoided until now.

“It’s about time you answered my call Esme,” he huffed.

To think I almost married this creep.

I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Why do you keep calling me? We have nothing to talk about,” I hissed.

He sighed the