Page 71 of The Holiday Clause

and Checks”

Greyson steppedout of the shower, water still beading on his shoulders, and froze. Someone hammered on his front door with enough force to rattle the windows. He quickly wrapped a towel around his hips and dashed out of the bathroom, frowning when the knob jiggled.

He flung open the door, ready to rip someone’s head off, then stilled, mouth open and confused. “Wren?”

“Why haven’t you been depositing your checks?” She stormed into the house without invitation, bringing a gust of winter air and righteous fury.

“Huh?”

“Years of checks, Greyson! You’ve never cashed a single one! What the hell?”

“I...” This wasn’t on his bingo card for today.

“If you do jobs for me, then I get to pay you. That’s how it works!”

Did she have to be so sexy when she yelled at him? Her cheeks flushed that perfect pink that made his pulse hammer against his throat.

Get your head out of the gutter, Hawthorne!

He scowled. “Why are you yelling at me?”

“Why aren’t you cashing your paychecks?”

He shrugged, blurting out the first lame excuse that came to mind. “The bank’s on the other side of town.”

“Don’t give me that crap!” She flung her hair out of her face, cheeks tinged with the same pink that colored her nipples whenever she got heated. “I reviewed all my bank statements. You’ve been doing this for years.Years, Greyson!”

He wondered how she managed to run a business if she missed such an enormous clerical error. “You should keep a better eye on your books?—”

“That’s not the point!”

“What do you want me to say, Wren?”

“I want you to fix it.”

He gave her a stern look that said that wouldn’t happen. If she didn’t realize he wasn’t cashing his checks, she likely spent the money elsewhere. The sum of money he’d let slide over the years would add up to a fortune by now. He couldn’t bury her in that sort of debt.

“I always tell you I don’t want your money.”

“If you don’t let me pay you, Greyson, I’m going to start hiring someone else.”

His jaw locked, muscles tensing with territorial fury. Like he’d let someone else do the jobs he did for her. She’d get ripped off left and right, not because she wasn’t sharp, but because most contractors overpriced their work and took advantage of anyone with limited options. It was extortion. His prices were reasonable and fair, even if he didn’t take the money.

Done with this argument, he walked away from her. “That’s not happening.”

“Where are you going?” She followed him into his bedroom, her footsteps quick and determined. “You don’t get to decide what does and doesn’t happen in my business, Grey. This is my company, and I choose how it’s run.”

He yanked open a drawer and pulled out a pair of jeans, the denim rough against his damp hands. “And I’m running my business. I choose how I charge. Same difference.” He stepped into the jeans, pulling them up as he yanked off his towel.

“Oh!”She covered her eyes and spun around. He hoped she got an eyeful.

“This argument is over, Wren. I worked all day, and I just ordered dinner. I’m hungry?—“

“No, this discussion is just getting started. It ends when we reach a compromise.”

He yanked up his zipper and closed the distance between them in two strides, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin. “The compromise will be you choose what to pay me, and I choose what to do with my money.” His voice dropped to dangerous quiet. “The. End.”

Her shoulders shook with frustration. “Are you dressed yet?”