I cross my arms. “This isn’t a charity project.”
“I’m not asking for charity.” Her gaze sharpens. “I’ll sand floors, strip wallpaper, haul lumber… whatever you need. You get free labor, I get my fake boyfriend. Win-win. Your friend’s right.”
“Friend is a bit of a stretch at the moment,” I mutter.
Ronnie takes a bite of lo mein, chewing slowly like he’s savoring the tension. “She’s got a point, man. You said yourself, this place is a beast to finish on time.”
“I didn’t say I wantedheron the crew.”
“Why not?” Ronnie grins. “You’ve already got her name tied to yours. Might as well get something useful out of it.”
Lyla doesn’t break eye contact. “You’re not going to find anyone else willing to help you for free. And you need help.”
The worst part? She’s right.
I hold her stare longer than I should, searching for the catch. She doesn’t look away. Her cheeks are still flushed from the cold, eyes bright with that stubborn light that’s always been trouble.
“This ends the second you get your deal,” I say finally. “No dragging it out. No making it bigger than it has to be.”
She nods. “Fine.”
“And there are rules.”
Ronnie groans. “Really, rules?”
I shoot him a look. “This isn’t about you.” Then I turn back to Lyla. “Public only. No touching unless there’s an audience. No talking about me on your show. This is temporary.”
Her lips curve like she’s biting back a comment. “Got it.”
I step back, giving her space toward the door. “We’ll start tomorrow. 7am. First thing in the morning. Wear clothes that could get ruined.”
Her mouth twitches. “Guess I’ll have to find some.”
Ronnie slips out an, “Oh, something’s getting ruined. That’s for sure,” but I ignore him.
She turns and walks out, the cold rushing in with her before the door shuts. I stand there a second longer, staring at the empty spot where she’d been, feeling that same itch under my skin I’ve been trying to ignore since I saw her step off her porch.
Ronnie scrapes the last of his noodles from the carton. “You know this is gonna be better than a pay-per-view fight, right?”
I grab my rag and head back to work. “Shut up and finish your food so we can finish this up.”
But even as I pick up where I left off, I know I’m already in deeper than I want to admit.
Chapter Five
Lyla
Ispend the morning trying to find things to do, but the minutes crawl. Every time I glance at the clock, it’s still nowhere near the hour Damien told me to come over.
It’s not like I’m nervous. I’ve just never done manual labor under the watchful eye of a man who already thinks I’m a pain in the ass.
And maybe I’m taking longer than necessary to find “clothes I can ruin” because half my wardrobe is oversized sweaters and leggings that cost more than I care to admit. Eventually I settle on an old pair of black joggers, a faded band tee, and a hoodie with a bleach stain on the cuff.
Before I leave, I check on Mom. She’s in her recliner, blanket pulled up to her chin, the muted TV playing one of those daytime talk shows she can’t quite follow anymore.
“I’m going across the street,” I tell her, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
She blinks up at me, then smiles faintly. “You’ll be late for school.”
