Not Quite Mine (Not Quite series) Page 7

  “But you were.”

  She shook her head. “No…please. We had a fling. That’s it.”

  Monica was sipping her second glass of wine. “A fling? You sleep with your teenage crush and you think it’s a fling?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Hmm. Do the two of you ever talk about your affair?”

  “No.” Not out loud anyway.

  “Is it awkward? Working with him?”

  “As much as can be expected. I’m sure it would have been worse had we told the world about us.”

  Monica moved off the couch quietly and placed her wine glass in the sink. “I’m sure you think what you had is over, but Dean watches you whenever you’re in the room. I noticed it at the wedding. He obviously still cares.”

  “He nearly married another woman. If he felt anything for me, it was lust and that’s it.”

  “Time will work that out.”

  “Time will work what out?”

  “Whether he only wants you for the crazy-hot sex or something more.”

  “I didn’t say it was crazy-hot.”

  Monica rolled her eyes. “You didn’t have to. The temperature in the room rose five degrees while you talked about it. Listen, all I’m saying is this. If you’re going to be working beside him for the next few months, and he still has a thing for you, you’re going to find out about it. My gut says he does.”

  Katie started to shake her head.

  “And…my gut is also saying you have a thing for him.”

  “Had a thing.”

  Monica waved her hand in the air, dismissing everything Katie was saying. “Whatever! De’Nial is a river in Egypt yet you’ve parked your brain right next to it. Deny you care about him all you want. But when he starts sniffing around asking where you’re spending your time, you’ll know without a doubt that he’s thinking about you.”

  Monica slipped past her and started down the hall. “I’m taking a shower and going to bed.”

  “G’night, Monica.”

  Left alone with her thoughts, Katie wondered if it was possible that Dean thought about her at all. She’d severed their relationship with a hacking knife instead of a quick clean blade.

  Two weeks after the miscarriage and all the follow-up tests her doctor put her through determined that she would never carry a child, Katie found Dean in her suite looking at pictures on his cell phone. They were pictures of his nephew and Dean’s large family visiting the baby in the maternity wing at the hospital.

  For the first time in weeks, Katie had felt like getting dressed and joining the world. She’d surprised Dean by coming up behind him.

  He snapped his phone away, but Katie had already seen the pictures.

  “Hey,” he said, pecking a kiss on her cheek. “You’re dressed.”

  He’d been strong, a shoulder to cry on…a friend. “I’m feeling better,” she said. “What were you looking at?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Really? Nothing?”

  Dean tucked his phone into his jeans as he stood. He placated her with a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Just pictures. So, what do you have planned today?” His changing of the subject wasn’t unnoticed.

  “How old is your nephew now?”

  Dean shuffled his feet. “A year and a half.”

  “You still keep a baby picture of him on your phone?” The hurt of losing their child hung just above the surface of her skin, it burned.

  “He’s a cute kid.” There was more to his walk down memory lane than glancing at a picture of his nephew. Dean was thinking about the magnitude of Katie’s problem. At least that’s what she thought. If she asked him, he’d probably tell her she was wrong. But she knew he wanted to be a dad. He’d been right there with her from the beginning of the pregnancy and never once said he wasn’t ready. Quite the opposite.

  They’d never kept secrets from each other and the moment Katie suspected she was pregnant, she told Dean. They drove together to a drugstore far outside of town, hoping like hell that there weren’t any cameras pointing her way. They’d been together when the double lines on the stick told her that her period wasn’t late, it simply wasn’t coming. Instead of staring at the stick and cursing it, Dean gathered her in his arms and kissed the living daylights out of her. “Yeah, we didn’t plan it,” he’d said. “But I was born to be a dad and you’re going to be the best mom.” He’d made love to her that night and the next morning she woke up to a plush teddy bear on the pillow next to her.

  Within a week, she’d miscarried.

  All the joy, all the excitement, left Dean’s eyes. Until she’d seen him staring at the picture of his nephew.

  Her inability to have kids was her problem.

  It wasn’t too late for Dean.

  For the next few days, Katie cloaked her emotions with her debutant persona, slid into her tight skirts, and avoided Dean. No one knew about them. No one knew about the miscarriage. Katie knew she had to cut her ties and the only way she’d be able to do that was with bloodshed.

  The nightclub was packed the night Dean found her. She’d had a couple of drinks, but was far from drunk. She was contemplating leaving when she spotted him looking for her. She ran her hand up the arm of a man who’d been trying to get her attention all night and asked him to dance.

  The weight of Dean’s stare followed her, watched her, as she wiggled her hips, and didn’t brush away the stranger’s hand when he spread his palm on her ass.

  Dean cut in, damn near taking the other man’s arm off at his shoulder. Katie stormed away and Dean followed.

  Outside the club, Dean lit into her. “What the fuck, Katie?”

  “What’s the problem, Dean?”

  His face was red with fury, his fists clutched at his side. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m dancing, what does it look like?” She trembled, hating the look on his face.

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “And where should I be? Home? Alone?”

  “No, you should be with me.”

  “Why? I’m not pregnant. You’re off the hook.”

  “Our baby was never a hook!” he yelled.

  “Maybe not to you.”

  His eyes turned to steel. She couldn’t have shocked him more with a slap across the face. “When are you going to grow up?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  “Whenever I damn well please.”

  Dean swore under his breath, turned, and walked out of her life.

  Now, a year and a half later…he was strolling back in.

  Chapter Seven

  The hard hat Dean had been reduced to wearing now sported a bright pink stripe over the brim. A prank from his men. The day before he’d found a pair of high heeled women’s shoes on his desk with small metal plates covering the toes. Someone had taken some time to construct those.

  Every day it was something new and Katie hadn’t shown her face on the site since that first day.

  He dangled the hard hat off his finger and walked to the door of his office. Jo was busy typing something into the computer and barely acknowledged him. “I need another hat,” he told her.

  A hint of a smile lifted the side of Jo’s lips. Her eyes never left the monitor. “You’ll have to find one out there. The spares are all being used.”

  Well, damn, wasn’t that convenient. “Of course they are.”

  Jo chuckled as he ducked back into his office.

  He made a couple of phone calls and reviewed the latest purchase order on the roofing supplies. The clock on the wall told him it was ten and still there wasn’t any sign of Katie. Maybe she’d changed her mind about the job.

  He tapped his fingers along the side of the pink striped hat and gave in. He dialed the hotel and asked for Katie’s suite. He told himself he was checking up on her. As Jack had asked him to.

  Just a friend.

  “I need the family suite,” Dean said the moment the receptionist picked up the call. The staff knew when someone ca
lled asking about “the family suite” that the caller was a friend.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but Miss Morrison isn’t in. Can I take a message for her?”

  Not in? It was ten in the morning and she wasn’t at work. “When do you expect her?”

  “I couldn’t be sure, sir.”

  Something in the pit of his stomach soured.

  “Sir?”

  “I’ll call her cell phone.” He wouldn’t, but leaving a message wasn’t an option.

  “Very good, sir. And thank you for calling The Morrison.”

  He disconnected the call and started to dial Monica’s number. His finger hesitated over the seventh number and he hung up. Women had a way of talking, and it appeared to him that Monica and Katie had sparked a friendship. If he called Monica asking about Katie, and if Katie was keeping company with a man…

  Dean squeezed his eyes shut and ignored the familiar burn in his stomach. The burn that fired up every damn time he’d seen Katie on the cover of a tabloid. There was always some muscled and tanned pretty boy on her arm and rumors about Katie’s love life.

  She was a bee that wasn’t ready to make a hive and nest yet.

  It shouldn’t bother him that she was probably out doing the same thing she always did, but he’d hoped that maybe she’d grown up a little. Taking the job with Jack felt like a step in that direction for Dean.

  Perhaps he was wrong.

  He pushed away from his desk, and the urge to call around town checking up on Katie, and left his office.

  He passed groups of workers and suffered their snickers and remarks about his hat before he found his plumbing foreman. “Hey, Steve.”

  Steve Bowman wore a blue-collared shirt with Bowman Plumbing written on the left breast pocket. The two of them had worked on several projects over the past couple of years and took the time to ride dirt bikes in the desert on occasion to blow off steam.

  Steve stuck his hand out to shake Dean’s and glanced at his hat. “Nice hat, princess.”

  “Zip it.”

  “And give up the chance of razzing you? Not a chance. Looks like the boys have a sense of humor. Why the pink?”

  Dean could mark Steve off as the pink painting culprit. Steve crossed his arms over his chest and chuckled.

  “Someone’s idea of a joke.”

  “It’s funny.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Maybe not from where you’re standing, but where I’m standing, it’s this side of hilarious. Pink brings out your eyes, cowboy.”

  “Do I pay you to deliver shit, or get rid of it?”

  Steve pounded him on the back with a good-natured swat and the two of them walked into what would be the main kitchen on the ground floor. “I consulted with the chef over at The Morrison like you suggested and he agreed we should have a second dishwashing station on the opposite end of the kitchens.”

  The station was the size of a small house. Dean couldn’t imagine why they’d need two. “There’s already going to be two industrial washers in here. Why the overkill?”

  “When one of the washers needs repair, the backup is there, but the repairman get in the way of the work. Makes mealtime impossible.”

  Dean hadn’t thought of that. “Why not shrink the size of this station and add a twin to the other side?”

  Steve shrugged. “We could. But with round-the-clock room service, you might reconsider that suggestion.”

  Dean rubbed his chin. “Do we need to pull another permit?”

  The two of them leaned over the blueprints and discussed the physical changes that would have to take place in the space to make the additional washers work.

  The noise of the job site hummed all around them. Hammers slammed against wood, table saws buzzed with activity, and at least one radio blared music from a local rock station.

  One by one, those background noises faded until Dean heard the click of something delicate, and persistent, approaching from behind him. He glanced over to see Steve smiling over his shoulder.

  “Now that’s something you don’t see here every day.”

  Dean swiveled to find Katie, high heeled and short skirted, striding their way.

  His hard hat sat on her head and covered her hair. Her makeup was a little heavy and attempted to cover dark circles under her eyes. Dean saw through it, but chances were no one else would. He remembered once, after a particularly active night in her bed, Katie talked about how makeup was God’s gift to women so they could hide their sins. Seeing her painted up reminded him of his phone call to the hotel earlier. Where had she been and whom had she been with?

  And why did he care?

  “Why is there Sheetrock going up in the halls?” Not a hello, not a How ya doing. Just a strange question spilling from Katelyn’s pouty lips.

  “Excuse me?”

  Her shoe caught on something and she needed to tug her foot to set it free. She kept talking as if they were the only two in the room, oblivious to the stares of all the men surrounding them.

  “The Sheetrock? That is what they call it, right?”

  “Drywall, Sheetrock, same thing.”

  She came to a stop in front of him and glanced over to Steve. “Hi,” she managed to say before swinging her gaze at Dean.

  “So why is it going up? I thought we were weeks away from that.”

  “Things move fast, Katelyn.”

  “But I thought—”

  “Wrong. You thought wrong. Steven Bowman, this is Katelyn Morrison. Jack’s sister and misguided interior designer for the hotel.”

  “A pleasure,” she said with a nod.

  “The pleasure is mine.” Steve lifted his hat with one finger and let it fall back on his head. His eyes soaked her in like a starving man.

  Dean had to squelch the desire to shield Katelyn from Steve’s gaze.

  “I thought Jo said you were weeks away from sheet-wall, or whatever you call it.”

  “For the complete job, yes, but not in that part of the hotel. Why are you so worked up?”

  She waved papers in her hands and rambled. “Niches. I want niches along the main hall and in the main lobby. Those need to be framed into the structure.”

  Which was true, but the plans didn’t call for them.

  “Steve, will you please excuse us for a minute. I need to…”

  “Go.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bowman. Nice meeting you.”

  Dean stepped around the table he’d been standing in front of and led Katelyn out of the room.

  “Back to work,” he told his men who had all stopped to witness Katie’s appearance and subsequent tirade.

  Katelyn forced air into her lungs at a slower rate. She knew she was worked up about the niches…or lack thereof, but she’d had a bitch of a night. Her plan for a night of sleep or better yet, for Savannah’s night of sleep, was a bust. The crying began at ten, then again at twelve…somewhere around two a.m., Savannah thought it would be fun to stay awake and try to smile. Which if Katelyn had had half an eye open, she would have probably enjoyed, but she ended up dozing off while Savannah played next to her on the bed and then woke to a nice little puddle from a leaky diaper. How so much came out of such a sweet little thing, Katie would never know.

  Savannah finally managed to get back to sleep after four a.m.. Katie overslept and jumped out of bed when Monica lightly knocked on the door after eight and told her she was late.

  A trip to the hotel for a refresher was out of the question. Considering the amount of drywall that would have to come down, it was a good thing she didn’t delay her arrival.

  “See,” she said pointing out the drywall that already covered the walls of the main hall. “This is what I’m talking about. I need niches large enough to hold art with spotlighting above each one.”

  “This isn’t your father’s hotel. Art isn’t something budget-minded patrons are looking for.”

  “That’s crap. While I agree that those staying at The Morrison will stop to reflect on some of the art there, w
hile here, they’ll simply enjoy it as they pass by. The niches will preserve the art from being touched as people walk by.”

  Dean grunted and stared down the long hallway. “You couldn’t have told me this earlier this week?”

  “I’ve only been here that long.”

  “Right. And you couldn’t be bothered to dent your social life to come in until today.”

  Social life? Oh, OK…she got it. Dean thought she was out partying and not taking her job seriously.

  “I’ve been shopping.”

  Dean rolled his eyes. “Great, like you need more shoes.”

  “For the hotel. Designing color palettes and finding furniture that works takes time. Time I can’t spend here making sure this stuff isn’t going up.”

  “Drywall. It’s called drywall.”

  “Dry whatever! It needs to come down. Or some of it anyway so I can have my niches.”

  “Fine!” Dean scowled and his gaze wouldn’t meet hers. “How many niches are you planning?”

  She brushed past him and pointed. “The first one will go here.” She found a construction pencil on top of workbench and placed a small X on the wall. “Then we can evenly space them so we have ten down each hall.”

  Dean leaned over and grabbed the pencil from her hand and marked the wall with an X the size of a toddler.

  Katie crossed her arms over her chest and moved out of his way. He counted to himself as he looked down the hall and shook his head. “You can have five.”

  “I can have five what?”

  “Niches.”

  “Why only five?”

  “Each niche has to be framed, each soffit wired for a light. That increases cost. You can have five on the halls down here.”

  “What about upstairs?”

  He shook his head. “Not in the budget.”

  “Then increase the budget.” Her design was slipping away before her eyes.

  “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “But—”

  “This isn’t a closet remodel, Katie…this is a hotel. You can’t make designs that require construction and expect it not to cost money. Working within a budget might be novel for you, but I’m sure you can do it.”