Page 4 of Falling for Mr. Wrong (The Rules We Break #2)
Chapter Four
Damien
T he miter saw whines down, the last cut of the night done. I set the piece of wood aside and flex my fingers, the muscles in my forearm twitching from hours of holding steady for precision cutting.
From the kitchen comes the rustle of paper containers and the metallic scrape of a fork. Ronnie’s halfway through the leftover lo mein we picked up after leaving the hardware store earlier. He eats like a man who thinks food’s going to vanish if he looks away.
“You got any more of those spring rolls?” he calls.
“No,” I say, eyeing my cuts for any imperfections.
He makes a disappointed noise, slurping noodles. “Man, we’ve been busting ass in here all day. You could at least stock the fridge with beer and snacks.”
“I did. I even got it running just for you. But you’ve been eating all the snacks,” I remind him.
Before he can fire back, a set of headlights sweeps across the front room, throwing long shadows over the bare walls. Tires crunch hard over gravel, and I glance toward the window out of habit.
Ronnie leans back in his chair, peering through the doorway. “That your secret admirer pulling in?”
“You know that’s the furthest thing from the truth,” I say, reaching for the sander.
The headlights cut out, leaving only the glow of the porch bulb. A sharp, quick knock follows. Three hard raps, no pause.
Ronnie grins. “Oh, that’s someone who means business.”
I set the sander down, wiping my hands on a rag. Whoever it is, they’re not coming at this hour for a neighborly hello. The house is still cold enough that my breath ghosts in the air as I cross the foyer.
When I open the door, the wind cuts in… and so does Lyla Hart.
She’s flushed from the cold, her dark hair mussed by it, hazel eyes bright in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature. She doesn’t wait for an invitation, just pushes past me into the foyer, arms folded tight.
Behind me, Ronnie calls, “Evening, neighbor,” around a mouthful of noodles.
Her gaze flicks toward him before snapping back to me. “Um… we need to talk. Now.”
The door swings shut behind her with a solid thud. She keeps her coat on, pacing two steps into the foyer before stopping like she’s not sure if she wants to be here at all.
“You always knock like you’re trying to break in?” I ask, hanging the rag on my tool belt.
“This isn’t a social call,” she shoots back. Her voice is tight, controlled in that way people sound when they’re barely hanging onto it.
From the kitchen, Ronnie swivels in his chair to get a better look. “What’d he do?”
“Nothing,” she says quickly, even though her eyes stay locked on mine.
Ronnie grins like he’s not buying it. “Looks like something.”
I give him a look over her shoulder that means shut it , but he just goes back to his lo mein, humming.
I glance back at her. “What’s wrong?”
Her hands look like they’re balled up inside her coat pockets. She shifts her weight, the rubber soles of her boots squeaking against the wood. “I need to tell you something before you hear it from anyone else.”
That gets my attention. “Should I sit down for this?”
Her mouth flattens. “Maybe.”
The cold air she dragged in is still clinging to her. I can feel it in the space between us, sharp and bracing. She takes a breath like she’s about to dive underwater.
“I told a local blogger we were dating,” she says in one rush, the words hitting like a nail gun going off in a quiet room.
I blink once. “You… what?”
Her chin tips up, defensive. “It wasn’t planned. She cornered me, shoved a phone in my face, and started asking about my love life. Colton was right there with his freakin perfect fiancée, and—” She stops, shakes her head. “I just said it.”
“ Said it ?”
“That we’re together,” she clarifies, like I’m the one who’s lost it.
From the kitchen comes a sharp choking sound, followed by Ronnie’s laugh. “Knew there was a story there.”
“Stay out of this,” I snap over my shoulder.
Ronnie ignores me. “Is this some kind of April fool’s joke?”
Lyla’s jaw tightens. “It’s October. And no, it was just… I don’t know. The heat of the moment kind of thing. And now it’s going to be everywhere.”
I drag a hand down my face. “Well, that’s fucking great.”
She levels me a look like I exasperate her as much as she does me. But then takes a step closer, urgency rolling off her. “Look, I came over because I didn’t want you blindsided. It’s probably already online. It was recorded.”
Ronnie gives a low whistle. “Oh yeah, that’s making the rounds before I even get to dessert.”
Ronnie pushes his chair back and strolls into the foyer, still holding the carton of lo mein like it’s a prop in whatever comedy he thinks we’re in.
“So let me get this straight,” he says, pointing his fork between us. “You told the whole town you’re dating him ?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Lyla mutters.
“And you thought that was the best option available?” His grin widens. “Guess you could’ve done worse.”
Damien glares at him. “You’re not helping.”
Ronnie shrugs and leans against the wall. “I don’t know, man. Kinda think you should roll with it.”
Lyla’s eyes flick to him, cautious. “Why?”
He taps the fork against his carton. “Because he’s got a ton of work left in here, and I’m only around for, what, two more days? After that, he’s on his own. And you…” He looks her up and down, not in a sleazy way, just appraising. “…look like you could hold a paintbrush at the very least.”
Her eyebrows lift. “I can do a lot more than hold a paintbrush.”
I cut in, my voice flat. “She’s not working here.”
Ronnie grins like he knows he’s winning. “Why not? You help him with the house, and he plays along with your little public romance. Everybody gets something out of it.”
Lyla’s already turning the idea over, and I can see it in her face before she even opens her mouth.
Her eyes lock on mine, and I can practically see the gears turning. “He’s right. You need help, and I need this to look real. It’s perfect.”
“It’s insane,” I counter.
She steps closer, voice quickening. “No, listen. This isn’t just about me saving face, okay.
There’s this sponsorship deal that could cover my mom’s care for years.
If I don’t land it, I’m screwed. All we have to do is pretend we’re together in public, and I’ll work here every day until the renovations are done. ”
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 wanted her on 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.