Drilled, p.1
Drilled, page 1
DRILLED
WOOD BROTHERS
BOOK 3
ABBY KNOX
Copyright © 2023 by Abby Knox
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is coincidental.
Edited by Aquila Editing
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CONTENTS
Drilled
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Abby Knox
DRILLED
Harley
Charlotte is supposed to be helping Wood Bros. Construction sell our latest rehab project, but all she's done so far is come back to me with more demands. Her client wants changes to the house that I'm not willing to make. Charlotte should know better. For some reason, she's hell bent on bulldozing all my patience and sanity to the breaking point. On top of that, the fact that she won't date me because of something as silly as "professionalism" isn't making these meetings any easier.
Charlotte
On the outside, I'm as capable and honest as real estate agents come. Except I have a fatal flaw when it comes to Harley. When he first asked me out, it was easy to turn him down under the guise of professionalism -- he's clearly way more experienced and, uh, too big for me to handle. But now I've caught feelings, and I can't resist coming up with excuses to see him. And now I'm flat-out lying to him about my demanding buyers. The truth is: It's me...hi, I'm the client; it's me.
CHAPTER ONE
Harley
Maybe I’m not the smartest of the Wood Brothers, but I know my limits.
And Charlotte Sinclair is stepping right over that limit at the moment.
“Come on, Mr. Wood. No one wants a garden tub anymore.”
I don’t dare look into those flawlessly made-up eyes and ask her what the heck is wrong with a garden tub. If I do that, I know what her response will be. Charlotte will squint those all-seeing eyes at me as if I’m arguing in favor of dog fighting or something.
I sip my coffee, buying time for my response. Charlotte tilts her head as her eyes survey me, her gaze traveling everywhere but my eyes.
She’s been weird with me ever since I asked her out. Awkward, like she doesn’t know where to look. And always calling me Mr. Wood, like I’m my dad.
She’s the one who turned me down, so I don’t know why she’s the awkward one. I’m fine.
Totally fine…to wait her out and obsess in the meantime.
When she cocks her head like that, her dangly earrings glint in the morning sunshine, swinging against her graceful neck. Her skin looks so soft and warm right there. She is as inviting and mouth-watering as a Boston creme donut. I’m probably not supposed to compare women to food, but what can I say? I’m motivated by both. That is to say, I’m motivated by Charlotte and food. They both drive me to make impulsive choices.
“I’m not taking out the garden tub,” I say with a too-arrogant chuckle. “Your client can take out the garden tub after they buy the house.”
Charlotte and I have been going back and forth about the Hilltop House for weeks. She should have sold it for us already—that’s how long it’s been finished—but her client keeps asking for more, more, more. I turn down one ridiculous contingency after another, but this client really seems to want the house.
If it’s not the garden tub, it’s the breeze block wall in the backyard that needs to come down. Or the custom bookcase that needs a television nook. Yesterday, Charlotte declared the distressed kitchen cabinets “cheugy,” whatever the heck that means. I lost my temper on that one and told her to go fly a kite.
She should be happy she can double-end her commission on all these properties. I know she’s an intelligent businesswoman, and she made a killing on all the houses we’ve rehabbed in Fate. Well, except for the Paget mansion and the Ingalls house—those my brothers bought for themselves.
Charlotte sold all the other properties we’ve fixed up this far before the homes went on the market officially. She’s a savvy business lady with business and money smarts. She’s everything I look up to—all the things I am not good at. I thought we’d make a good fit, but she only wants to remain professional to the point of being weird and stuffy.
That’s fine. Like I said, I can wait.
What I am good at is working with my hands.
My specialty is the stuff that nobody else at Wood Brothers Construction wants to do. Buck handles the administrative duties and clients. The middle brother, Wade, is great with a scroll saw and painstaking historical details. He’s also good with keeping contractors on budget. Me, I do the real heavy lifting. I might not know how to make things pretty or keep things under budget, but I can measure, cut, haul, and install fixtures faster than three people. If a crew member doesn’t know what they’re doing, the brothers send them to me to show them what’s up.
Charlotte knows all this about me, which is why I think she thinks I’m going to give in and rip out the garden tub for her client. She knows if she pushes me hard enough, I’ll give in. I never should have asked her out to begin with because she knows I have a soft spot for her.
“Come on, Harley. It’s not that big of a project.”
“That’s not the point,” I say.
“You won’t have to come down on the price if you just do this one tiny little thing for me.”
I growl in response. Not because I’m angry. The truth is I kind of like our little back and forth. She’s absolutely out of her gourd, but what can I say? If anyone is gonna waste my time, it might as well be the beautiful Charlotte.
Even if she won’t date me.
“Charlotte,” I laugh. “The house hasn’t sold because you keep coming back with this dumb shit client.”
The dumb shit comment was too far; I see that now. Charlotte purses those full, pretty lips together in a hard line, and her cute little nostrils flare.
“Harley. It’s a cheap fiberglass tub. It’s not even your brand.”
She knows full well that Hilltop House was my baby. My over-budget, historic arts-and-crafts money pit that I fell hard for. And now, I’m insulted because she knows I went cheap on that one fixture. So what? I didn’t cut any corners on the build itself; she knows that damn well.
“Everyone buying new these days wants a big deep soak tub. That will sell the house.”
“A tub ain’t what sells houses. It’s good bones.”
“Excuse me, but who’s the agent here?”
I don’t bother reminding her that she’s only 27 years old, and she’s been doing this for a lot fewer years than I’ve been in the building business at 37.
“I could bring in a more experienced agent from Gold Hill and have them explain it to you.”
Now I’ve stepped in it.
“Harley Wood. You. Take. That. Back.” She says it slow and deadly, and through her gritted teeth like I just suggested we summon Satan himself.
Am I sorry I got her all keyed up? Nah. It’s fun to hear her say my name when she’s mad.
Damn, she’s cute. Why won’t she go out with me?
Maybe I brought it on myself. It’s not a secret that I’m tossing around the idea of starting my own business.
I like working for my brothers, but I need to stand on my own two feet. Buck and Wade have taken good care of me and given me a great start, but it’s time to stop letting family prop my ass up.
The truth is, I don’t have the best track record financially. That’s why I wanted to do the Hilltop House primarily by myself, with the Wood name attached to it. I’m hoping this experience will give me enough credibility to get a business loan when I go to the bank.
Fate’s a small town, so it’s possible that Charlotte doesn’t want to date an entrepreneur starting his own business while she’s established in her career. I get it.
That business loan will only come through if Charlotte can sell the damn house to a client whose head is not planted firmly up their own ass.
Getting the loan shouldn’t be an issue, as my business will be much smaller than Wood Brothers. I won’t even be fixing up houses to sell. I’ll be building bathrooms as a private contractor with a small crew of skilled laborers.
And then, perhaps I can provide for a family.
And if I’m not in the business of selling houses, then there’s no more professional boundary between Charlotte and me.
Like I said, I can wait her out.
CHAPTER TWO
Charlotte
That could have gone better.
I sh ould just come clean and tell Harley the truth.
I haven’t spent the last several weeks brainstorming with a mysterious client to come up with ridiculous contingencies on Hilltop House.
The client? Is me.
Why haven’t I officially listed the house?
Good question.
My libido can answer that: because we don’t want to cross that professional boundary, and yet we can’t stop thinking about the giant thing between his legs.
There, I said it.
Everyone in Fate knows it.
Honestly, I wonder how he can even find jeans that fit him. While most women would put a big dick in the plus column for a guy, I find it pretty intimidating.
Because there’s something that he doesn’t know about me—something that every guy I’ve dated since high school has shied away from. Not only am I a virgin, I’m a pretty thoroughly scared virgin, raised in a high-control church in the backwoods of Kentucky, who was taught since a young age that sex outside of marriage was wrong. I only stopped believing that in my early 20s. But even the residual hangups have caused me to strike out in the dating world. I don’t kiss on the first date. I don’t even hug or hold hands, and I dress pretty conservatively except when I’m home alone.
Harley is the prettiest of all the Wood brothers, and I’m 99 percent certain he has a body count that would make me blush.
We’re just not a good fit.
So why do I prolong this charade with the fake buyer? For the dumbest reason ever. I like his company. Not only do I like looking at Harley. I like making him bristle. I revel in his reactions to my outrageous demands. Our banter is fun. And, he smells good, like fresh-cut pine and clean sweat.
And I really do like Hilltop House. I’m getting tired of my condo, and I’d love a house with a garden and kitchen big enough to entertain friends.
And that’s why I’m headed to the bank now, to get pre-approved for a loan. Once that’s done, I can come clean with Harley. Maybe he won’t care that I’ve been leading him on, especially not when my offer is above asking. I have plenty set aside for a down payment, plus some wiggle room for earnest money if this becomes a bidding war. So it’s a good thing I’m the listing agent, right?
I sit at the windowed office of the assistant bank manager, Brenda. She’s gone to fetch us both some coffee, so I pass the time by staring out into the lobby, bustling with customers.
I recognize nearly everyone here. Even with the town having grown so much in the last few years, there are still plenty of people in any given place that I know from growing up here. Rex is in line at the teller carrying a zippered money bag marked “Rex’s Towing and Garage.”
I watch as Brenda is pulled aside by one of the newer loan officers who needs to confer with her on some paperwork. Brenda looks something over, then peers at the officer’s computer screen and expertly taps some keys. She grimaces, then I read her lips: “I’m so sorry, we’re not able to approve that.”
The client’s back is to me, and I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed it before. I’d recognize those shoulders, that hoodie, and that haircut anywhere. Harley Wood is applying for a loan…and apparently not getting it.
I feel embarrassed that I just witnessed whatever that was, and I study my hands as Brenda returns with our coffee and shuts the door behind her.
“What can I help you with today, Charlotte?”
I swallow and say with a sudden heaviness, “I need pre-approval for a mortgage. I’m looking to buy a house.”
Brenda sets down her coffee and claps her hands. “That’s wonderful news. I thought maybe it was another business loan application. We’ve had so many of those that we’ve had to start being picky with these credit scores.”
Playing dumb because, of course, I want the tea, I tilt my head. “Oh really?”
She winces and sits down in her squeaky chair, getting settled. “Yep. That was a bummer, for instance.” She gestures with her head to the lobby, where I see Harley’s long legs loping away toward the exit, his face chagrined like a lost puppy.
“It might work out if he had his brother cosign for him, but that boy is stubborn. Buck, on the other hand? Excellent credit history.”
I am 99 percent sure that Brenda should not be telling me any of this, but then I have no idea what the rules are around confidentiality and loan applicants. Geez, somebody remind me not to cross Brenda. What a gossip.
“You don’t say…” My bottom lip automatically draws up between my teeth, where I gnaw on it for several seconds as I watch Harley and his too-tight jeans get into his truck and drive away.
The pre-approval process goes smoothly enough, but the guilt gives me heartburn.
Maybe once I buy the house, that will help him out.
I mosey down to Ruby’s Diner, where I have lunch every day with my lifelong friend and librarian, Rebecca, and my new friend Emma, who lives up on the mountain but joins us down here in civilization whenever she can.
I want to tell them everything I heard at the bank, but I don’t want to be a party to gossip.
The mayor, Flash, trots over to greet me, and I give him scratches behind his floppy golden ears. He rests his bucket-sized head on my leg and gazes at me with soulful eyes like he understands.
Emma and Rebecca chitchat about their lives, their kids, their husbands, and my mind drifts off.
Something about this golden retriever reminds me a lot of Harley, which pricks at my heart. Harley would never look at me like this with pure adoration, though. Especially if he finds out the truth. He’d be so dang mad if he found out what a manipulator I am.
Alas, Harley Wood is just another pretty face I’ll have to get over. Even though he’s totally irresistible. His full lips make a woman wonder if he knows how to use them.
Ugh. I’m sure he does know how, if family genetics plays a part in that: both Grace and Presley, married to Buck and Wade Wood, respectively, have that look. Not to be gross, but I can tell when those women are well and thoroughly wrung out. One time, I saw Grace limping at the supermarket, and when I asked if she was okay, she grinned and blushed a deeper shade of red than I thought possible for a human. “Oh. Just…working out too hard.”
That was a load of bullshit, but I kept that to myself and stayed salty, kicking myself for turning Harley down when he asked me out last year.
Why would I ever turn down a Wood brother? It’s complicated.
“You seem off today,” says Rebecca when she sees my face.
I fix my face with a smile and chirp, “I’m good!”
“Yeah, right,” Emma says. “What’s going on with you? You’re smiling at me like a serial killer.”
“I just had a tough meeting with Harley over at the Hilltop House, and I can’t get him to see reason.” No matter how I play it cool, I can’t seem to keep his name out of my mouth.
Emma and Rebecca exchange glances. “Really,” says Rebecca. “Are you sure you aren’t stalling for time?”
I tilt my head. “What do you mean?”
“She means,” Emma says, “are you sure you’re not just picking challenging clients so that you can spend more time sparring with Harley?”
They are so on to me that it’s frightening. “Guys, come on,” I rasp, staring down at my water glass and dabbing off the condensation with my thumb.
“Uh oh,” Emma says. “You’ve got it bad.”
The feelings well up, and the knots in my stomach are wound so tight they snap. There’s no point in denying anything. These are my best friends, and I can’t lie to them.
I press my palms into my eyes, forgetting I’m wearing eye makeup. “I like him, okay? I really like him. I can’t date him, but also, I can’t stay away from him.”
Rebecca makes a sympathetic noise. Emma’s coffee cup slides to the side as she leans closer over the table toward me.
