Charlie Huxley
What the hell was wrong with this man? I lived in his backyard. Why was he sending me a formal email?
My fingers fluttered above the keyboard as I thought over my response.
Mr. Huxley,
Thank you for the oddly formal email, especially seeing as we live on the same property, and you have my phone number as you texted me to tell me I parked in the wrong spot on the driveway just a few days ago.
As a contractor, I would assume that you want your clients to be happy. I found a fabulous vintage light fixture at the antique store downtown. So there is no hold up to the timeline, and I’m not asking you to return the other light. I was thinking of having the original light hung in the guest bath instead. Will thought it was a fabulous idea when I ran it by him.
Please be aware that I will continue to change my mind if I see fit, as I want my house to be perfect.
Ms. Beaumont
I hit send, then gathered my things to head to my meeting. I was slipping my coat on just as my laptop dinged with an incoming message.
Ms. Beaumont,
Chasing perfection isn’t realistic. And for the record, Will isn’t running this company, I am.
Mr. Huxley
P.S. If you got the text about the driveway, why did you park there again yesterday?
I chuckled. There was something about getting under his skin that I enjoyed.
Mr. Huxley,
I parked there because it’s a big driveway, it’s closest to the guesthouse, and I’m convinced that you’re just being a dick for the sake of being a dick. And it’s the perfect spot for my car, so I guess I was just chasing that unrealistic perfection.
Ms. Beaumont
I waited for a minute or three ... But he didn’t respond. I’d probably pissed him off. It wasn’t my first time calling him a dick, nor would it be my last.
I walked out and said goodbye to Montana and Blakely as I walked the short distance to the party rental shop a few blocks away.
My phone dinged just as I arrived, and I glanced down at the email from Charlie.
Ms. Beaumont,
Once again, your obsession with my dick is alarming. No. More. Changes.
Mr. Huxley
P.S. If you need to use the oven again, we’ll be home by 5:30.
I tucked the phone back in my purse, and I couldn’t hide the ridiculous smile from my face.
Chapter Four
Charlie
“You okay, Harps? Dinner’s ready.” I sat on the edge of my daughter’s bed, where she’d gone as soon as we’d arrived home after I’d picked her up from aftercare at school. She had her back to me, and her brown wavy hair pooled on the mattress.
I felt like shit that she was one of the last kids to be picked up.
But I was buried at work, and she usually liked staying after school so she could play with her friends.
