TAKE TWO_ Who says you can't ma - Heather M. Orgeron Page 0,7
paint and brushes, along with a drape for the floor.
“Oh, no.” I grab up the materials and shove them right back into the closet. “That’s a six-thousand-dollar desk. We are not—”
“Look, Daddy, do you want to win her back or not? Because if you go around messing up her ambiance…” She trails off leveling me with a grave look.
After mulling her words over for a few minutes and weighing my limited options, I decide to trust my daughter. After all, I haven’t lived with Nya in ten years. Who would know better than Ellie how to keep that fiery Latina on an even keel?
With a slight nod of my head, my daughter springs into action, retrieving her materials and laying the drape over the carpet. Then she grips one end of the huge executive desk. “Grab your side, Daddy. Let’s get busy.”
So, I do what any desperate man with little to no options would: I follow the advice of a child, because she’s obviously smarter than me. “Shouldn’t we sand it before painting?”
Said child looks at me like I’m dumber than a pile of bricks. “It’s chalk paint,” she says simply. Like that means a damn thing to me. When I widen my eyes, she rolls hers and explains further. “It’s only the best thing to happen to furniture restoration since like ever. You can paint over anything.”
That doesn’t sound right. “Maybe we should wait for Mom and see what she thinks?”
A memory of countless hours spent stripping and staining cabinets with my father and younger brother as a teen comes to mind. What she’s suggesting sounds far too easy. Cliff and I damn near killed each other before all was said and done.
“Don’t you trust me?” she asks pushing her lip out in a mock pout.
“No.” I snatch the brush from her hand just before she touches it to the desktop.
“I helped Mom with hers. I’ve helped her with lots of projects for clients. I swear I know what I’m doing.”
“Fine,” I concede, “but if you ruin this desk, it becomes your Christmas present.”
“Grab a brush.”
“Helloooo, anybody ho—oh my God. What are you two doing?”
At the sound of her anxious voice, I glance up from behind the desk and greet her with a smile. “What’s it look like?”
Ellie pokes her little head out from where she’s painting underneath. “Daddy didn’t want to mess up your Zen… Trust me, you would have hated it. Mahogany… so drab.”
“Is that so?” Nya steps into the room to examine our project, which I must say is turning out quite nicely. My daughter is a genius—she could certainly teach her grandfather a thing or two.
The stunned brunette clears her throat. It’s hard to determine whether she wants to laugh or cry. “This is my office, Liam.”
“Our,” I correct. “There’s really no other room in the house to set up my desk. I’m not trying to invade your space”—I am totally trying to invade her space, her heart, her bed—“but I have to work too.”
“That’s an expensive piece of furniture.” She circles our work area, running a finger along the unpainted edge. “I can’t believe you trusted a child to paint it… No offense, Ellie.”
“Desperate times.” Our daughter shrugs, biting back a smile.
She nods then turns to leave. “Mija, take a little break and come see all the new clothes I picked out for you today. Auntie Hannah and I shopped til we dropped.”
“Did you get anything for me?” I jest.
“Hmm, no. Did you need something?” Her demeanor is too prim. Too composed. I’m not sure what she’s hiding, but the fact that she’s not ripping me a new asshole for invading her office and is speaking so civilly on the first day of our new living arrangement has me all sorts of suspicious. I haven’t even had the chance to start wearing her down yet.
“No, but I love surprises.”
She nods, reaching into her purse and digging around as she walks through the doorway. I’m staring at her ass when she flicks her wrist and something hard hits me right between the eyes. “Surprise!”
On the floor in front of me is my Visa card. “You didn’t?” I ask, completely dumbfound. “You stole my credit card?”
“Stole?” Innocently she brings a hand to her chest. “I borrowed it, hubby. What’s yours is mine; isn’t that what you said just this morning?”
I can’t help but be impressed by this woman, and also a little sick to my stomach. “How much did you spend?”