But I wasn't worried. Even though I'd offered to trade places, we both knew that Chase wouldn't consider trading any more than I would. He was juggling projects of his own, along with enough crazy chicks to fill an asylum.
With a laugh, he said, "You think I won't."
I made a show of eyeing his hands.No callouses. No scars. No raw knuckles from the occasional mishap. Still, I had to admit, the guy could swing a hammer with the best of them.
When I made no reply, he said, "Eh, forget it. I'm too pretty for construction."
Pretty?It's not how I would've put it. Like myself, the guy was six-foot two and packed with muscle. But I knew what he meant. If he ever decided to give up on the business, he could make a decent fortune modeling underwear.
I wasn't kidding.He'd been offered such a gig already. Then again, I had, too. Weallhad, even Mason, who had all the charm of a hitman heading to the gallows.
And speaking of gallows, I recalled my murderous new roommate. "Get this," I said. "Arden warned me that if I tossed her off the roof, the show would suffer." I made a scoffing sound. "Like I'd try to kill her."
Of everything she'd said,thiswas the thing that had set me off.I didn’t like her.But she wasn't worth killing. And more to the point, I took my responsibilities seriously.
The film crew, the carpenters, the plumbers – everyone under me was as safe as I could make them. And whether I liked it or not, this now included Arden Weathers.
She wouldn't be getting hurt.Not if I could help it.
Chase said, "It might not betoobad."
I wasn't following. "What?"
"The roof thing." His tone grew speculative. "Let's say she 'fell off', but landed in a dumpster filled with insulation. The audience – man, they'd eat that shit up." He gave a half-shrug. "Assuming she survived."
From the look on his face, he wasn't kidding.
It was a good reminder that his easy persona was skin deep at best. I replied, "Well, thereisthat."
He reached up to stroke his chin. "And think of the cliffhanger," he continued. "She goes over, and we're like, 'Tune in next week to see if she makes it.'"
And here I thought I was cold.
I crossed my arms and waited for him to finish.
At something in my expression, he said, "Hey, don't give me that look. If I were Mason, I'd just toss her off and be done with it."
He wasn't joking.
And when I nodded in agreement, neither was I.
There was only one person who hated Arden Weathers more than I did, and that person was my oldest brother, who'd taken a strong personal interest in the torching of my truck.
I told Chase, "Forget it. She's not getting anywhere near the roof."
And if I played my cards right, she wouldn't be getting anywhere near the actual work either.
After last season's fiasco with that dumb-ass interior designer – "Miss LaRue" or whatever she wanted to be called – I'd had more than enough crap from people who didn't know what they were doing.
Chase said, "Don't look so glum. There's still time to back out."
"Of what?"
"The living situation," he said. "Tell Arden you were kidding or that you changed your mind. Or hell, don't tell her anything. Just stay the fuck away. She'll figure it out."
"And let Arden off the hook?" I said. "Forget it."
Maybe a smarter guy would've taken Chase's advice. But I wasn't feeling smart. And backing out now would be all too easy.
