The Right Words
Authors: Lane Hayes
Readers love the Better Than
series by
L
ANE
H
AYES
Better Than Good
“Sigh… I loved this book! I didn’t put it down once I picked it up.”
—
Live Your Life, Buy the Book
“A very enjoyable book… I will definitely read more by this author.”
—
On Top Down Under Reviews
“
Better Than Good
is a solid book… It takes the very real message that everyone arrives at their sexuality in different ways, and writes it in a way that’s very easy to understand.”
—
Reviews by Jessewave
Better Than Chance
“This was a really good, light, entertaining contemporary romance. I would love to read more of this ‘series’.”
—
Boys in Our Books
“I am glad I read this because the plotting and characterization is especially strong, and I think most readers will enjoy it.”
—
Hearts on Fire
Better Than Friends
“Lane Hayes has developed a storyline with incredible dialogue, funny and smart characters, and a prose that will hold your attention from start to finish.”
—
MM Good Book Reviews
“I enjoyed this third installment in the series… it’s a very sweet romance with a little extra angst from Curt and a whole lot of hotness from Jack.”
—
Rainbow Book Reviews
By
L
ANE
H
AYES
The Right Words
B
ETTER
T
HAN
Better Than Good
Better Than Chance
Better Than Friends
Published by
D
REAMSPINNER
P
RESS
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Published by
D
REAMSPINNER
P
RESS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Right Words
© 2014 Lane Hayes.
Cover Art
© 2014 Aaron Anderson.
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/.
ISBN: 978-1-63216-428-5
Digital ISBN: 978-1-63216-429-2
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014948690
First Edition December 2014
Printed in the United States of America
This paper meets the requirements of
ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (Permanence of Paper).
As always, for Bob, who understands my love of words.
Consejos vendo y para mí no tengo.
Advice I sell and for myself have none.
– Spanish proverb
T
HERE
WAS
nothing quite as thrilling as the beginning of a new project. Transforming a sad, tired, old home into something fabulous and beyond anyone’s expectations was its own kind of magic. No matter what some might say, interior designers were visionaries. Anyone could slap on a fresh coat of paint in the color du jour and call it a day. But the true “interior artist,” as I liked to refer to myself, was a genius of perception, proportion, and harmony. Unfortunately, my flair for color and spatial equilibrium didn’t translate to my personal life.
I was a fucking mess.
I sat for a moment in the car I’d borrowed from my best friend Brandon and took a deep breath, hoping to steady my shaky nerves. I glanced up the steep driveway leading to my metaphorical restart. The house was barely visible through the veritable forest of gigantic eucalyptus trees, but I’d done my research and had a fairly good idea about the scope of work involved. The project was a 1950s rambling ranch-style home located on a high bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. According to my e-mail correspondence with my new client, Jamie Wilson, my job was to bring the house into the current century before she and her professional soccer player boyfriend became officially engaged. It sounded simple enough, but I wouldn’t know until I saw for myself.
I was excited to meet Jamie after weeks of conducting business online. It was a little strange we’d never spoken on the phone, but Brandon assured me she did all her business with him online as well. He owned a fabulous home-accessory boutique in West Hollywood, and apparently Ms. Wilson had a thing for throw pillows. He shipped new ones on a regular basis to her home in Orange County, and he’d always been paid as agreed and on time. Which was good news because I was running short on cash.
I checked my watch and quickly grabbed the portfolio I’d compiled for the remodel before opening the car door and stepping into the brilliant September afternoon. The view at the end of the cul-de-sac was
breathtaking. A vacant lot across from the property and the higher
elevation allowed an unimpeded sweeping panorama of the Pacific Ocean. The view from inside was sure to be killer too. I adjusted my classic Ray-Ban sunglasses as I turned toward the row of imposing eucalyptus trees at the top of the incline and the old wooden structure they closely guarded. I ignored the slight tremble in my hand as I hefted my bag over my shoulder. I wanted to chalk it up to first-meeting jitters, but I knew it was more than a client interview that had me on edge. However, I wasn’t going to let anxiety win. Not this time.
The closer I got to the front entry, the more concerned I became that anyone lived in the house. It had an almost derelict appearance with peeling, faded yellow paint on the siding and eaves. The majestic fragrant trees added a certain rustic beach charm; however, they were in need of serious pruning. In fact, all of the foliage was a little overgrown. It didn’t appear Jamie and her man had hired a gardener yet. Or that the previous owner had done any landscaping in years. Dead branches from the tall eucalyptuses had fallen onto the old shingle roof, and the gutters were visibly flooded with leaves. I knew I was in an affluent neighborhood and probably not in harm’s way, but the house had a spooky feel that had me looking over my shoulder and checking the signal on my cell phone. I took another deep breath and knocked on the weathered front door.
No answer.
I rang the doorbell, thinking perhaps Jamie couldn’t hear my knock. It didn’t appear to be in working order. No buzz, no ring. No sound whatsoever besides the gentle California breeze through the towering trees and the waves breaking on the nearby shore. I stared at the ugly red door, wondering first of all, who would ever think to paint their door that particular shade of red when their house was an equally horrid yellow? And second, where the fuck was Jamie? I was on time. In fact, I was maybe three minutes early, which was amazing when I considered the traffic I sat in to get here. I felt a familiar wave of panic bubble inside me as the silence stretched. Was this all a joke? Was there no soccer player with a big bank account and a spendthrift girlfriend? My breath caught when my panic reached a new level. Was Neil behind this?
No. Stop. Brandon, who I trusted with my life, referred this client to me. He wanted me to get out on my own, away from my controlling, borderline-crazy ex. He wanted me to have the new start I craved. He would never have suggested I take on this project if he suspected foul play.
I knocked on the door with renewed force, hoping Jamie answered before I worked myself into a full-blown panic attack.