tight jeans she was wearing. She probably had a dozen Stairmasters in her closet like those other blonde Hollywood types. He hoped she’d brought at least one along, because it was going to be a long, hard winter.
Kristen was seething. Her ambush had started out all right, and she’d felt like they were making headway. Then he had to go and annoy her and she had to blow up at him. Impossible. As soon as she got approval on the new drawings, she was going to hire someone else to do the job. It just wasn’t possible that Ford Hamm was the only contractor on option.
“Ford Hamm. That’s the contractor I hired and the one you’re going to work with,” Quinlan Bankhead said over the video conference connection. “Now, if you want to consult with other contractors, you can do that out of your own pocket, but Hamm stays. That is final.”
“But Mr. Bankhead…” Kristen started, no longer below pleading her case.
“Do I have to call your father and tell him his recommendation was in vain?”
That cut off any further protests. “I’ll make it work, Mr. Bankhead.”
“See that you do. I want weekly updates on your progress, with pictures. Anything deviating from the plans you sent over must be discussed in detail. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Bankhead.”
“Good. I have another conference call lined up. Enjoy your fall, Miss Barnes.”
Kristen wondered if he was referring to the season or her imminent demise. She chose to believe it was the former.
Two weeks in Greenport and she was already bored stiff. She’d avoided the Sea Shack since her failed attempt at coercing Ford Hamm into working with her, and she’d only been down to the waterfront once or twice altogether.
She was in serious need of a spa day, and a touch-up on her hair dye. She’d gone a bit darker just before heading to the East Coast, thinking it might make people take her more seriously. Fat lot of good that had done. Now, with the sun beating down – surprisingly hot on this side of the country – it had bleached so she was almost at her natural shade of blonde. And now she had no choice but to approach the surly contractor again.
Ford slammed the door to his truck shut and strode into the house, slamming that door as well. Anyone who knew him would say he was in a worse mood than ever, and they’d also know why. Annabelle was gone. Now he was back to working his ass off every day to pay child support to a kid he wouldn’t get to see again until the holidays came around.
Suzy had let him in on her plan to jet off for a ‘second honeymoon’ in the Bahamas over Christmas and suggested Annabelle come and stay with him and ‘experience some winter wonders’. Yeah, right. His ex-wife just didn’t want her teenage daughter around while she was boinking the replacement guy.
He was happy to have Annabelle back in a few months’ time, but given her reaction to the news, it was going to be a struggle.
Speaking of a struggle… Ass-Hat Bankhead had called him just as he was dropping off Annabelle at the airport, demanding he get to work immediately. When Ford politely raised the question of him running his own show, Bankhead had started spouting lawyers’ names and threatening lawsuits.
Ford would have told him to go ahead and sue – what with his measly income and all – but any type of legal trouble would look bad on his record and if Suzy started working against him over Annabelle, the courts would have a field day. So he’d bitten back the sour torrent threatening to burst from his lips and said ‘yes, sir’ like a good little puppet. Maybe he and Kristen Barnes weren’t that different, after all.
Kristen Barnes. He hadn’t seen her around since she stormed out of the Sea Shack. He’d been pleased at first, then indifferent, and now he was wondering what was going on. Was she holding off until she could come at him, full guns blazing? Was she plotting something big, something evil?
A knock on the door
Kristen was seething. Her ambush had started out all right, and she’d felt like they were making headway. Then he had to go and annoy her and she had to blow up at him. Impossible. As soon as she got approval on the new drawings, she was going to hire someone else to do the job. It just wasn’t possible that Ford Hamm was the only contractor on option.
“Ford Hamm. That’s the contractor I hired and the one you’re going to work with,” Quinlan Bankhead said over the video conference connection. “Now, if you want to consult with other contractors, you can do that out of your own pocket, but Hamm stays. That is final.”
“But Mr. Bankhead…” Kristen started, no longer below pleading her case.
“Do I have to call your father and tell him his recommendation was in vain?”
That cut off any further protests. “I’ll make it work, Mr. Bankhead.”
“See that you do. I want weekly updates on your progress, with pictures. Anything deviating from the plans you sent over must be discussed in detail. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Bankhead.”
“Good. I have another conference call lined up. Enjoy your fall, Miss Barnes.”
Kristen wondered if he was referring to the season or her imminent demise. She chose to believe it was the former.
Two weeks in Greenport and she was already bored stiff. She’d avoided the Sea Shack since her failed attempt at coercing Ford Hamm into working with her, and she’d only been down to the waterfront once or twice altogether.
She was in serious need of a spa day, and a touch-up on her hair dye. She’d gone a bit darker just before heading to the East Coast, thinking it might make people take her more seriously. Fat lot of good that had done. Now, with the sun beating down – surprisingly hot on this side of the country – it had bleached so she was almost at her natural shade of blonde. And now she had no choice but to approach the surly contractor again.
Ford slammed the door to his truck shut and strode into the house, slamming that door as well. Anyone who knew him would say he was in a worse mood than ever, and they’d also know why. Annabelle was gone. Now he was back to working his ass off every day to pay child support to a kid he wouldn’t get to see again until the holidays came around.
Suzy had let him in on her plan to jet off for a ‘second honeymoon’ in the Bahamas over Christmas and suggested Annabelle come and stay with him and ‘experience some winter wonders’. Yeah, right. His ex-wife just didn’t want her teenage daughter around while she was boinking the replacement guy.
He was happy to have Annabelle back in a few months’ time, but given her reaction to the news, it was going to be a struggle.
Speaking of a struggle… Ass-Hat Bankhead had called him just as he was dropping off Annabelle at the airport, demanding he get to work immediately. When Ford politely raised the question of him running his own show, Bankhead had started spouting lawyers’ names and threatening lawsuits.
Ford would have told him to go ahead and sue – what with his measly income and all – but any type of legal trouble would look bad on his record and if Suzy started working against him over Annabelle, the courts would have a field day. So he’d bitten back the sour torrent threatening to burst from his lips and said ‘yes, sir’ like a good little puppet. Maybe he and Kristen Barnes weren’t that different, after all.
Kristen Barnes. He hadn’t seen her around since she stormed out of the Sea Shack. He’d been pleased at first, then indifferent, and now he was wondering what was going on. Was she holding off until she could come at him, full guns blazing? Was she plotting something big, something evil?
A knock on the door
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