Just One Taste (2 page)

W
ill put
his truck in reverse. At least he’d be able to see if his crew was still doing what they were supposed to be doing. When the cat’s away…He probably should have sent someone else on the coffee and doughnuts run anyhow.

Alex Elliot Whoevershewas better not screw this job up for him. Quite frankly, Will was a little afraid of Tonya Lassiter. She was a tall African-American woman whose arms rivaled Michelle Obama’s, and she hadn’t reached the pinnacle of success in her little media empire by being self-effacing. She knew what she wanted and was not shy about saying so and getting it done yesterday.

She kind of reminded him of the no-nonsense teachers he’d had at his parochial elementary school, only the woman was way better dressed. The nuns had never worn five-inch alligator heels.

Will knew she’d interviewed every builder in New London Country and for some reason she’d taken a shine to him, even though his portfolio was mighty skimpy the past couple of years. A lot of guys he knew had bailed out of building. Will had kept busy by adding porches and doing modest remodeling jobs—hell, he’d even built a fancy dog house once. No job was too small or silly. He was lucky he had no family to support and his mother still expected him for dinner Sunday night. At least he was guaranteed one good meal a week.

This addition for Ms. Lassiter would go a long way to getting him back in the game. A recommendation from her would have some cachet.

Cachet
. Jeez, he felt like he was back in English class at the Norwich Free Academy. Good old NFA. Will didn’t think much about high school and didn’t believe they were his glory days. Just because he’d been big and beefy for his age, he’d wound up doing okay in football and captained the team, but it was not as though he was ever going to wind up in the NFL. There was no football team at Three Rivers Community College, where he’d gotten his certificate in construction management.

Hid dad had been only too happy to turn the business over to him when Will was twenty-five, right in the midst of what the politicians called the greatest recession since the Great Depression. Thanks very much, Dad. For the past five years Garrity Construction had been on life support, but things were about to change. The economy was picking up, and Will had taken the leap and bought a vacant lot on Scotland Road. He was going to build a spec house or die trying.

A house like Princess Alexandra would love, with her pearls and expensive fuck-me shoes. As he recalled, she’d grown up in this part of town. He wondered where she lived now.

Her car was limping along the lane. Too bad about the bumper. But if his insurance rates rose because of this, he’d be pissed.

She hadn’t changed much. Still looked like she could do a cartwheel and some splits, even if she’d had a kid. She hadn’t let herself go, not that he was one of those body-shaming guys. He liked women in all shapes and sizes, just not lately. Dating was expensive financially. Relationships cost way more than he was willing to pay emotionally.

Will backed into the brick lined courtyard. Framing was going up even faster than usual—Ms. Lassiter had promised a bonus if he could get the addition built ahead of schedule and his guys was so happy to get a paycheck every Friday they were unusually gung-ho. But he noted the hammering slowed when the princess parked next to a holly hedge. He couldn’t help but watch as one heel hit the bricks, followed by the rest of her in one fluid move. Will wondered how her short skirt could behave itself so nicely. Two-sided tape? Sheer will?

She gave him a vague little wave and walked up the front path, ponytail swinging, as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

Of course she didn’t. She was Alexandra Elliot Whoevershewas, Norwichtown princess. Her mother ran the hospital auxiliary board, her father was a doctor, and they lived in an authentic eighteenth century mansion that had been restored to within an inch of its life. Will wasn’t much for old houses—he was too tall for the doorframes—but he’d seen pictures in the paper when the place had been opened up to the public for a hospital fundraiser some years back. Gleaming copper pots, massive fireplaces, tester beds, and paneling that screamed real Colonial craftsmen. He wouldn’t mind checking out the woodwork. Might learn something.

Not that he’d ever be invited over for tea.

One of his idiots wolf-whistled. Alex’s heel caught on a brick and she wobbled, then righted herself, nose firmly in the air.

“Brady! Shut it.”

Jimmy Brady grinned down from his ladder. “Sorry, boss. Sorry, miss.” Alex didn’t acknowledge his apology but headed straight for the front door.

Jimmy hopped down to the brick pavers. “That was quick. Where’s my jelly doughnut?”

Will tossed him the keys to his truck. “You go. Money’s in the glove compartment.”

Jimmy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Something wrong?”

“MYOB. Get going, or Klaus will get a caffeine headache. You know what he’s like.”

“Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”

Keeping his ragtag crew happy wasn’t too difficult in this economy. Some daily Dunkin Donuts coffee and Subway sandwiches usually did the trick, especially if Will was buying.

He went in the open side door into the kitchen, feeling as if he needed sunglasses against all the stainless steel and shiny white marble. A stack of red Solo cups stood next to the sink, the only significant color in the room. Unlike a lot of jobs they worked, Ms. Lassiter had given permission for his men to help themselves to water and use the powder room off the kitchen, even though he’d brought in a Porta-Potty tucked into the trees. Will had lectured them to make sure they wiped the rim and put the seat down after they used the toilet in the tiny silver-papered bathroom, which was way too chic and cramped for his crew.

Men, as his mother often said, were blind pigs.

Will grabbed one of the cups and filled it with cold water. His throat tickled from the drifting sawdust, an occupational hazard.

Before he had much of a chance to finish his drink, the ominous tapping of high heels on white tile alerted him to the presence of incoming women.

Fuck
.

“Good morning again, Mr. Garrity.” Tonya Lassiter gave him a million-watt smile.

“Ma’am.”

Alex was right behind her, giving him the stink-eye.

“Do you know Ms. Russell? I believe you must have gone to school together, if I read her CV right.”

The princess was here for a job interview? Fuck again. “Yes, ma’am. That was a long time ago.”

Ms. Lassiter laughed. “Yes, you’re both so ancient. Well, you know what they say, life is like high school. We never really grow up.”

“Jeez, I hope not,” Will said. He was focused on the future, not the past. He’d done some dumb things back then, one of which was to needle this bristly little blonde every chance he’d gotten. He’d been a jerk, but it had been too tempting and so easy to send Alex Elliot sideways.

Ms. Lassiter’s cell phone began to buzz, and she took a quick look at it. “Sorry, Alexandra, I have to take this. You know how to operate a Keurig, I trust. Hi, Kate, what’s up?”

Ms. Lassiter left them alone in the kitchen, tottering off to her temporary office in a corner of the dining room. Will knew she couldn’t wait until Garrity Construction had finished and she could throw a decent dinner party again.

“How’s it going so far?” Will asked, just to be polite.

“I have no idea. She’s been on the phone ever since I got here.” Some of the Princess’s starch had leached out of her spine, and she seemed a little uncertain. Will almost felt sorry for her.

“She’s a powerhouse. But good to work for, if you work hard.”

“I’m perfectly willing to work hard! I’m not some
princess
. I have bills and a daughter to support, you know.”

“Stars, they’re just like us,” Will murmured. “Well, good luck. What is she looking to hire you for? She sure knows how to dress already.” Will’s house probably cost less than what Tonya Lassiter spent on clothes every year.

“Her on-air personalities need a makeover. I’d be responsible for their wardrobes. Styling. TV is so competitive—you may think looks are superficial, but people want to watch good-looking women and smart-looking but neat men. There have been studies.”

“I’ll bet. All those blond bimbos with the short skirts on cable.” Will realized at once he’d overstepped—she probably thought he was talking about
her
.

She blinked her very brown eyes just once. Snapped them, more like. “Precisely.”

“Look, I didn’t mean you. We’re getting off on the wrong foot here, aren’t we?”

“I want nothing to do with either your right or wrong foot, Mr. Garrity. Not the left one either. I’m here for an interview. Don’t you have a work crew to supervise?”

Will tossed the cup in the trash under the sink. “I do indeed, Ms. Russell. See you around.”

“Not if I see you first,” she said sweetly.

“Well, we all know you have vision problems.” Will couldn’t help himself—he stuck his tongue out at her.

“Ms. Lassiter was right. Some of us never grow up.” She poked a pink-nailed finger into his denim shirt.

Will had nothing to say to that at all. She was so damn close, and she’d touched him.

So he touched her back.

T
his couldn’t be happening
. Will Garrity’s big rough thumb was on her mouth.

“You talk too much, Princess.”

She couldn’t speak at all. Should she bite him?

He smelled of Irish Spring and wood shavings, and he hadn’t run a razor over his face this morning. His beard was coming in red, she noted, which was odd for someone with such dark hair—it was almost black.

His eyes? Well, let’s just say he gave Paul Newman some competition in the blue department. Alexandra was an aficionado of old movies, and she never had been able to decide between Newman and Steve McQueen as her favorite dead heartthrob.

Will Garrity was no classic movie star, however, and he was very much alive, annoyingly so. She stepped back, bumping against the marble countertop, having a feeling she’d never get her cup of coffee.

She glared at him, and he only chuckled. “Relax. I’m only teasing.”

“Well, don’t. I’m nervous enough already.”

“Sorry about that. You’ll be fine. Tell you what. I’ll buy you a drink tonight to celebrate your new job.”

As if.

“I’m working tonight.” In the job she was desperate to ditch.

“I’ll meet you after.”

Alexandra opened her mouth to say no. But something else entirely popped out. “Okay.”

“Great. When shall I meet you?”

“I get out around ten fifteen.”

His eyebrow rose. Alexandra wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a real person raise his eyebrow besides the Rock. They did it all the time in historical romance novels, though, her secret addiction.

Like real life was romantic at all. Judging by Rick, books were way better.

“Past
my
bedtime. Where the hell do you work?”

“Chico’s. At Mohegan Sun. We stay open late—till midnight on the weekends.” Alexandra hated the night shifts. It meant her mother put Emma to bed, or more accurately, her mother’s housekeeper Bridget usually did. “I wouldn’t want to keep you up.”

“Nah, it’s good. How long can one drink take? I’ll meet you at the casino and save you a seat at, um, Bar Americain.”

Fancy. She’d chug it and they could both go home. Alexandra imagined Will Garrity was at work before the sun was up. And anyway, the restaurant’s bar closed at eleven, so she’d be safe from making a fool of herself.

Not that she drank much. She couldn’t afford to. And the thrill of Rick ordering Dom Perignon at every opportunity was long past, especially since she was still paying for the bottles she’d drunk three years ago.

“What if I don’t get the job?”

“I have a good feeling. But if you don’t, all the more reason to drown your sorrows.”

“
One
drink,” Alexandra reminded him.

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave her a finger salute and went back outside.

The vast room was definitely emptier without him. Alexandra fiddled with the Keurig machine and searched for a mug. The selection of K-cups in the wicker basket was impressive, and on impulse, Alexandra put in a Kahlua-flavored one.

The scent was delicious, the flavor better. Alexandra stared out the window at the hive of activity. Will’s workers were really banging and slamming away, yet they looked pretty happy. She watched their lips moved as they kidded around with each other. She couldn’t quite hear the laughter, but was warmed by it anyway.

“Like what you see?”

Ms. Lassiter had crept up behind her. Alexandra looked down to see that she had taken off her Jimmy Choos.

“Uh,” Alexandra began.

“Don’t be ashamed. There are some fine young men outside. It’s not hot out yet, but just wait until this afternoon when they decide to take off their shirts.”

Alexandra had no wish to see any sweaty naked male torsos. They’d probably have tattoos, too.

“Come on. Let’s go into the dining room so we can’t be tempted. Tell me a little about yourself, Alexandra. The stuff that’s not on your resume.”

Alexandra followed the woman to an elegant dining room that was marred by a card table in the corner covered with post-it notes, files and two laptops. A third sat open on the glass dining table, showing the logo of one of Ms. Lassiter’s television stations.

“Sit and spill.” Ms. Lassiter indicated a Chippendale-inspired chair. Or maybe it was even the real thing.

“There’s really not much to say. I grew up here and went to the Rhode Island School of Design.”

“I read that, hon. But there’s no employment history until two years ago. What were you doing? Backpacking through Europe?”

Alexandra felt herself blush. “I wish. I got married right out of college, and it didn’t work out. I have a little girl—but you don’t have to worry,” she said quickly. “I have excellent daycare for her, and she’ll start kindergarten full-time next year.”

The excellent daycare depended on staying at her mother’s, which was something Alexandra really, really wanted to stop doing some day. She saw herself in a charming little Cape Cod with a fenced yard for Emma and the dog her daughter prayed for every night before she went to bed.

But that meant a mortgage, and with her bad credit, becoming a homeowner again was very unlikely.

Ms. Lassiter’s lips pursed. “You’d have to travel some if you get the job.”

“I know! I look forward to it. I’m very familiar with your market area—as I said, I’m a local girl. I grew up watching your stations.”

Oh, God. Had she just called Tonya Lassiter old? Way to go, Alexandra.

“In your opinion, who’s in most need of your services?”

“Phil Andriotti in Providence,” Alexandra said promptly.

“Good luck with him. The man is a dinosaur, very stuck in his ways. He thinks he’s the reincarnation of Edward R. Murrow.”

“Murrow dressed beautifully.” Alexandra had done her homework.

“Yes. I don’t recall any parrot ties on him, not that I’m old enough to have seen him live.”

Ouch.

“The money you’d have to make changes is not much,” Ms. Lassiter continued. “And by not much, I mean practically nothing. We’ve had to retrench some. The Internet is killing off traditional news media. Advertising revenue is down.”

“You’d want to invest in your talent and research staff; I totally understand. I’m pretty good working with a shoestring budget—I’ve been doing it myself since my marriage ended. I even sew.”

Ms. Lassiter raised her eyebrow. What was happening here with all this eyebrow raising? Alexandra would have to practice in front of a mirror when she got home to see if she could do it too.

“I thought you were Dr. Elliot’s daughter.”

“I—I am. But I’ve tried to be independent. We do live with my parents, that’s true, but I’ve been entirely self-supporting.” Even when her mother tried to bribe and tempt her, she’d been resolute. Alexandra bought her own groceries. Her shampoo and toothpaste and chewable vitamins. But she hadn’t been able to stop the indulgent spoiling of Emma, and that bothered her.

“He’s a good man, your dad. I’ve served on some charity committees with him over the years.”

“He has Alzheimer’s,” Alexandra blurted.

She hadn’t meant to say it. Didn’t want the sympathetic look in Ms. Lassiter’s warm brown eyes. They were all managing much better than most families in such circumstances, thanks to her family’s money. Her father had a team of caregivers, and her mother had Bridget to help keep the household organized. But it was expensive, and the money wouldn’t last forever. It was imperative Alexandra earn her own way and contributed something to the household.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I had wondered why he retired so young.”

Her dad had known something was wrong before anyone did, and sold his practice before he did harm to his patients. At first, Alexandra had thought he was nuts to want to stay home with her mother all day, but then she realized he wasn’t playing golf for a reason.

“We’re taking good care of him. I’m sure he’d appreciate your concern.” If he remembered Ms. Lassiter at all. His moments of lucidity were becoming further apart, which was depressing.

“It seems like you have a lot going on.”

Crap. Did the woman think she couldn’t handle the job? Alexandra should have kept her mouth shut.

You talk too much, Princess
.

Alexandra straightened her shoulders. “If you hire me, I won’t disappoint you, Ms. Lassiter.”

The woman nodded. “And if you do, you’re out. All right, I’ll give you a try. Shall we say six months? We’ll revisit the terms of your contract after the fall ratings period.” She extended a hand.

Alexandra’s own hand shook a little as she grasped it. “Thank you.”

“You may change your mind once you’ve tried to deal with Phil.”