It was just part of the deal, nothing more than that.
“What are you going to do if this isn’t salvageable?” Tristan asked as Quinn used the crowbar to expose the beams.
“Burn it to the ground and find her another house to play with,” Quinn said, grabbing hold of the edge of thick plaster and pulled until it broke off, giving him a better view of the wood beams.
“The moment of truth,” Tristan said, pulling out his flashlight and aimed it into the hole as Quinn ran his fingertips over the wood beam, feeling for moisture as he looked for rot, termite damage, mold, and anything else that would indicate that it wasn’t salvageable.
“I’ll be damned,” Tristan murmured, reaching past him to run his fingertips along the beam as a small chime had Quinn dropping his hand away so that he could grab his phone and-
“Oh, fuck….”
-felt his stomach drop when he read the words that let him know that his worst fears had finally come true.
CHAPTER 9
“Don’t even think about it,” came the harsh whisper in her ear that had her hand going still inches from the nail gun that was going to make her life easier.
Dylan opened her mouth as she glanced over her shoulder only to close it, wince when the sunlight hit the scar above Quinn’s eyebrow just right, and murmured, “Fair enough,” at the reminder of what happened the last time she got her hands on a nail gun.
“What are you doing here?” Quinn asked as he picked up the nail gun and placed it on a higher shelf, ensuring that it was out of her reach, which again, considering what happened the last time that she got her hands on a nail gun, was understandable.
“I’m nobody’s bitch. Unless I’m in prison. Then, I’m Big Bertha’s bitch as long as she treats me right,” Dylan said with a firm nod that had Quinn rubbing his hands roughly down his face as he muttered, “Jesus Christ.”
“Exactly,” she said, nodding solemnly.
“That doesn’t explain why you’re here or why my men sent me texts threatening to quit when they saw you reaching for a tool belt,” Quinn drawled as he looked pointedly at the tool beltthat she’d helped herself to that was currently hanging off her hips.
“Because they’re easily intimidated,” Dylan said with a sniffle and a firm nod as she reached down and grabbed hold of the aforementioned tool belt when it started to slide down her hips and yanked it back up.
“Or,” Quinn said, reaching for the buckle that was supposed to secure the tool belt to her hips and released it, “they’ve heard the horror stories passed down over the years about the summer that you destroyed everyone’s will to live.”
“First off,” Dylan said with a heartfelt sigh, “I was an invaluable asset that summer.”
“You made five grown men cry,” Quinn drawled as he pulled the tool belt loose and placed it on a shelf above her head.
“It was six, but that’s neither here nor there,” Dylan said, waving it off as they made their way out of the tool shed.
“Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here,” Quinn said as he closed the doors behind them.
“Did I not just mention that I’m nobody’s bitch?” Dylan asked, blinking up at him.
“I believe there was something mentioned about that,” Quinn drawled as he moved to head towards his office only to sigh when Dylan sent a wistful look at the food truck. “You really are a pain in my ass.”
“A pain in the ass that needs a job,” Dylan pointed out as they made their way to the food truck so that she could take in the lovely selection of snacks, sandwiches, and other tasty treats that were going to go a long way to make this day better.
“You have a job,” Quinn pointed out as she focused her attention on the assortment of baked goods on display.
“Not anymore,” Dylan said as she debated between a double chocolate donut and a jelly donut.
“She can’t fire you,” Quinn said, grabbing a pair of tongs and-
Sighed when she cleared her throat and looked pointedly at the double chocolate donut. With a muttered, “Pain in my ass,” he placed the donut in the bag and-
Sighed again when she cleared her throat with a pointed look at the jelly donut.
Once he placed the jelly donut in the bag, Quinn moved to place the tongs down only to narrow his eyes on her, mutter something unintelligible to himself, and grabbed another jelly donut. Pleased by this, Dylan helped herself to a lemon danish, an egg sandwich with bacon, another danish, and, because she was feeling a bit peckish today, a meatball sub.
“She didn’t technically fire me,” Dylan said as they made their way to the cashier.
