Page 11 of Big Dog (Lonesome Garage #2)

Chapter Eleven

T oday is the day I get to go hog-wild with the painter’s tape, blocking out chairs and areas on the plywood subfloor for the layout of the salon.

I have four rolls of green tape and four of blue, a tape measure, and a calculator.

The Sunny-Lu Salon and Spa is going to be a tropical relaxation destination with hints of industrial decor by the time I’m done.

It’s going to take me a while though; I’m fucking exhausted.

I know it’s been a while since I was getting laid on the regular, but Bishop is wearing me out more than I expected. I could use a nap in my car.

I’d get to have one if real estate people got the fucking message.

I recognize the BMW pulling up in front of the building.

I can handle this prick, but I don’t want anyone else to be blindsided by his arrival.

I half expect Bishop to stop by sometime today even though we’ve already made plans for later.

He will be even more unhappy than I am to see Curtis Cort again, so I text him a heads-up.

I ignore him for as long as I can as I finish my current set of measurements. When I can’t wait any longer, I head over to send him on his way for two reasons: one, I’m not selling, and two, the window guy is coming to replace the glass sometime today and Curtis parked his BMW in the way.

“Was there something new I can help you with?” I ask Curtis as soon as he gets out of the car.

“I’m pleased to say that my clients have upped their offer to ten thousand more than their original offer, to compensate you for having to find a new property.”

God, he just didn’t get it. “I’m not interested, Curtis. I’m not going to be interested even if you come back with six figures.”

“This property isn’t even worth the ten,” Curtis says. “My clients are being incredibly generous, Rosemary. You’re new to Lonesome. You don’t get how this works. They are politely trying to ease you out of town to some place you’ll fit in better. Soon they’ll stop being polite.”

“Now they think they can run me out of town?” I repeat. “My sister is here. My niece is here. My—” I pause. Yes, it’s the right word. “—boyfriend is here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Look at this place. Busted windows, buildings that need more work than their worth. Graffiti all over the exteriors.”

I freeze. “How could you possibly know about the graffiti on the back of this building when you just pulled up to the front?”

“You stupid bitch.” He grunts and lunges at me.

It’s the last thing he does. I grab his extended arm and yank it across his body, pulling him off balance. I’m not in heels today. Curtis learns that fact when my steel-toed boots make impact.

He’s sitting on his ass in the dirt, wheezing after all the breath has been knocked out of his lungs.

I’m breathing hard too, but I’m upright and ready for a second round.

I lose sight of Curtis for a minute when Bishop’s truck roars up the dirt road and slides to a stop on the gravel parking pad.

A cloud of dust wafts over me. I take a step back to give myself extra time and distance to whatever may come out of the fog.

When it clears, I see Bishop holding Curtis upright by his tie and front of his shirt.

What a nice guy, Bishop, helping Curtis up like that , I practice in my head in case I need to give testimony.

I’m glad he’s here. I’m confident that I could take Curtis if I had to, but I wouldn’t have come out of it unscathed.

If Bishop wants to handle it for me this time, I’m happy to step aside.

“Romy?” Bishop asks. There are a host of questions in that one word.

I answer them all. “I’m okay. I expressed clearly to Mr. Cort again that I am not and will not be interested in selling my property to his clients.

He reacted violently. I am ordering him off the property now.

Mr. Cort, go away. Don’t come back again or I will charge you with trespassing.

Also, you aren’t welcome in any of my businesses either.

Bishop, if you could ensure Mr. Cort finds his way back to the highway, I’d appreciate it.

I have to discuss some measurements with the framers.

” I don’t shout. I don’t rant. Nobody will be able to accuse me of being hysterical, or even emotional.

“Bye, Cort. Can you see yourself out, or do I need to help you?” Bishop asks.

My chill and Bishop’s flat tone seem to trigger something in Curtis. He doesn’t say a word when he climbs back into his BMW and races away. I don’t relax until his wheels hit the highway. “What the fuck?” I ask, mostly to myself.

Bishop looks like he wants to hug me, but he’s hesitant with the contractors peering through the busted window. I have no qualms. I step closer until I can lean against his chest. “Hold me,” I order.

His arms are heaven. “What am I going to do with you, Romy Turner? You’re a trouble magnet.”

“Does that mean you and your protective streak are attracted to me?” I counter.

“Me and my protective streak are fucking in love with you and your trouble magnet.” Bishop’s words are blunt and loud and everything I want to hear.

He squeezes me tighter. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you called me when Cort showed up.

I saw that you had it handled but you still called me. We are the perfect team.”

I tilt my face to answer, but he captures my lips in a kiss that sets me tingling all over. “I’d tell you that I’m not one to say “I told you so” but I’m totally telling you so. For the record, me and my trouble magnet are in love with you and your protective streak, Bishop Dobermann.”

“Where does that leave us?” he asks after kissing me stupid again.

“In a state of confusion about why Cort won’t let this property go. In a state of soon-to-be sexual bliss about us being on the same page. And in a state of frustration about not being able to do anything about either right now because we both have jobs we need to be working.”

“I do have to get back to the garage.”

“My framer is tapping his watch telling me that he needs me,” I admit. But the framer is grinning. I think he enjoyed the show, so he won’t be too mad.

“Supper, and tonight on call. Then Saturday?” Bishop asks.

“All weekend, maybe. If you don’t think you’ll get bored with me.”

“Not a chance. You’re going to keep me busy beyond one weekend, aren’t you?”

“Maybe. A young, strapping man like yourself should be able to keep up, don’t you think?”

“Bring it, Turner. Let’s see what you’ve got.”