she walked into the family room and put both the plate and pop on the table before sinking down into the couch.
Just after she’d taken the first bite of her cheese and basil pizza, the phone rang, and Ashley groaned while leaning over to retrieve it from the coffee table.
“Hello?”
“May I speak with Ashley Callahan?” A deep, grating male voice crackled through her phone, scraping and jagged, like a knife sliding across concrete.
An unexpected chill ran down her spine. “Who is this?”
“Mark Ames. I’m calling about the tiles coming off the ceiling. A Zach Clerke left me a message telling me to call this number.”
Her shoulders slumped as relief slowly spread through her limbs. “I’m Ashley. Zach didn’t tell me he’d called someone.”
There was no response—only silence, and Ashley thought that maybe they’d been disconnected, but then she heard him breathing hard. Another chill slithered down her back.
She cleared her throat. “Have you worked on the house before?”
“No.”
Questions swirled around in her brain, but apprehension kept her mute.
After what seemed like an eternity, he asked, “Did all the tiles come down or just above the shower stall?”
“Just the shower,” she answered.
“I was told you got other problems.”
“The garage door won’t open.”
“That’s not good in this snowstorm.” A small laugh filtered through the phone.
Ashley exhaled then reached over and took a sip of Coke. “There are a few windows in here that need to be sealed or something. I can feel the wind blowing through them.”
“Mr. Clerke told me to give him a price on whatever needs doing, so there may be some more stuff you haven’t found yet.”
“When would you like to come over to check things out so you can give Zach the bid?”
“Is tonight okay?”
“Tonight?” she asked.
“That’s what I said.”
Why the hell does he want to come over here in a raging snowstorm at eight o’clock at night? My radar’s going off like crazy. “That won’t work. What about tomorrow around noon?” I can slip away during lunchtime.
“Okay.”
“That’s good. I’ll see you tomorrow then. If you can’t make it or are running behind, can you please give me a courtesy call?”
“I’ll make it, and I never run behind. Goodnight.”
Before she could respond, the handyman had hung up. She immediately tapped in Zach’s phone number, but instead of answering, she got his voicemail.
“This is Ashley. This handyman you contacted—Mark Ames—called, and I just wanted to ask you a few questions before I meet up with him tomorrow. He’s coming around noon, so either call me tonight or in the morning. Thanks.”
Ashley put the phone down on the cushion, then leaned over and picked up the slice of pizza she’d started to eat before Mark Ames called. It was ice cold. “Dammit,” she grumbled as she shuffled back to the kitchen and zapped the pie in the microwave. “That guy was weird as hell. I bet he’s super inexpensive. God, Zach can be such a cheapskate sometimes.” She went back to the couch, switched on the television, and ate her dinner.
After cleaning up, Ashley made her way to the master bedroom and opened the door to the walk-in closet. She pulled out a short brown leather skirt and eyed it carefully, but hung it back on the closet rod, deciding it might be too sexy for a business meeting.
“And that’s what tomorrow night is—business,” she muttered.
She sifted through her clothes, irritated that she was putting too much effort into deciding what to wear for their dinner. A simple plain dress is fine. There’s no need to dress up, especially not for him. Still, Ashley shoved another outfit back on the rack and continued to search for the perfect one, like tomorrow night was some date. Totally ridiculous.
The next hanger held a black dress with a pretty black polka dot lace overlay. With elbow-length sleeves, a cinched waist, and a flared circle skirt that hit an inch or so above the knee, it was feminine but not overtly sexy; paired with a dark rust blazer, the outfit would scream professional. Ashley pulled out both and hung them on the closet door.
“You are a smart, level-headed businesswoman. A hot boss with gorgeous eyes and a drool-worthy build means nothing. You’re on track to be partner—no man is worth blowing that for you,” she said to her reflection in the mirror hanging on the back of the door. You can do this. Remember where you came from. Remember Dad—the philanderer of the century. She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. I’m