He holds the phone away a little and lowers his voice. “Make sure you know what you’re saying yes to. This is your inheritance, Darce. I’ve got contracts that you both need to sign. Even though we’re all friends, everything is going to be done right. You’re both clients as soon as you sign.”

“Business is business,” Jamie’s voice says faintly from the phone. “I taught you well.”

I’d have said yes to ten. Twenty. Five percent of his heart. Anything.

“What’s the big deal? I trust you. I’m sure it’s fair. As long as the house is restored, that’s all I care about.”

“You’ve got to start caring about money more.” Tom doesn’t look like he’s glad that I’ve got blind faith in him. He looks like he’s feeling sick.

“Hear that, Tom? You’re the only person on earth Darcy Barrett trusts!” Jamie says, a little too exaggerated, a lot jealous. I narrow my eyes at the phone.

“He’s the perfect man,” I say, just to jab at Jamie.

“You’ve got to stop saying things like that,” Tom says in a pained way. To himself, he says, “No pressure.”

“You’ve been telling her the truth about everything, have you?” Jamie says, and there’s a long silence. Endless. The cotton threads on Tom’s body squeak. “Ah, I see,” Jamie says, speculation in his tone. “Yes, I think I know why you’re playing it this way. Smart.”

For the first time, I feel a sliver of doubt. Tom won’t look at me now. “What the hell are you two cooking up?”

“Nothing,” Tom tells me with a heavy sigh. “All right, this is going nowhere. I’ve got a guy coming to look at the foundation. I really need you two to agree on the style before Wednesday. I’ve got to order stuff.”

“Just make it look exactly the same, but new.” I nod. Case closed.

“Make it look like my apartment,” Jamie orders him. “Just deal with her until she leaves and do your standard modern renovation. Like that place you did last year, with the fancy gray feature wall. Do what sells.”

“Gray feature wall? Loretta is laughing until she’s crying right now.” I look around at the beautiful wallpaper. I thought I could trust Tom to take care of this place. “You know that an old cottage like this would look ridiculous done modern.”

“We’ll need to have a weekly budget meeting,” Tom says, persevering, “and any changes once we’ve set the baseline will have to be agreed on by both of you. I’m having this job come in early and under budget.”

“I know you will,” Jamie says, his voice nothing but confidence. I’ve never heard him sound like that. “I’m going to a meeting. Tom, make it modern.” Jamie hangs up. Tom tosses the phone onto the coffee table and leans back. Under the blanket, my feet are pinned by his thigh.

“Modern vintage,” Tom says to himself. “Barrett versus Barrett. I’m not sure how I’m going to pull this one off. You know I can’t make you both happy, right?”

“You just have to decide who you want to make more happy. Hint: It’s me.” I smile at him. As doubt pinches his features, I smile wider, cuter, a nose-wrinkle, putting every bit of spoiled baby sister that I can into it.

“I do like making you happy,” he admits grudgingly, and I’m bumped up. Three percent. I feel like a store’s millionth shopper.

“Why was Jamie hinting about a secret? You can tell me, you know.”

He takes the empty takeout container from me, and I swipe the syrup container and drink the rest. Judging from his expression, that was gross.

“You’re going to get diabetes,” he says faintly. “Or rot your perfect teeth right out of your head.”

Perfect? “Worth it.”

“There are no secrets when it comes to this renovation. I’ll be up front with you both.”

His eyes catch on my mouth. I lick and everything’s sweet. Everything’s heavy. He’s still sitting on my foot and I didn’t know that was a fetish, but hey, what did I know two minutes ago? I sit up with an ab-muscle tremble and it was a mistake, because now we’re closer.

“Do you still live on-site when you renovate?”

“Yeah, I’ve got my camping gear.” One second is up, and he’s passing his palms over his knees like he’s wiping away sweat. “Did Jamie say you pierced yourself somewhere?”

“Yep. And it hurt like a bitch.”

He won’t ask me where it is. He refuses to. “Thought you’ve had enough needles in your life.”

“I needed one more.” I was so cavalier about it, imagining my next heart review and how tough it’d look. It hurt like my entire body and soul had been pierced and I loved it, because in that all-consuming agony, I couldn’t think about diamond rings and my brother’s fury.

Plus, it looks hot. Silver and pink is one hell of a combination.

He’s thinking about where it could possibly be, I just know it. Time to get Megan back in the room with us.

“What does Megan think of you being away from home so much? She hates it,” I conclude without pause.

“She doesn’t care,” Tom says with no bitterness. “She’s used to it.”

“If you were mine,” I say, and the words seem to run down his spine because he sits up straight, “I wouldn’t like it. You know what I’m like, though.”

“What are you like? I have no idea,” he adds when I cast him a come on look.

“With most guys? I couldn’t care less if they lived or died. You, though …” I look at the two empty coffee cups and feel the weight of his goodness and I want to tell him the truth in return.

The thought of how a million people must abuse his kindness—myself included—makes me crazy.

I want to walk two steps in front of him, wherever he goes, bulldozing the world a little flatter for him. If he were sleeping on a building site, and he were mine, I’d be in that tent, too. All night, every night, as the wind whistled and the rain beat down. I’d never let another woman sit as close as I am right now. Megan seriously lets this walk around on earth, completely unattended?

If I were Megan, I would fuck me up for sitting close enough to smell the scent on his skin. He smells like birthday-candle wishes. I’ve never in my life felt even a passing possessiveness for another man, but Tom Valeska? It’s something I have to keep lashed down inside me, hard and tight, because I have no right to it.

Maybe he’s not the only wolfy sled dog around these parts.

Some of this is in my eyes because he blinks and swallows. He’s trying to ignore the undercurrent between us. It’s because he’s a good guy. My brain doesn’t want him to be any different. But my body wants him to pick me up and put me against the wall. Windowsill. Floor. Bed.

I have to salvage this situation.

“Oh, come on. You know what I’m like better than anyone. Now, are you going to tell me this secret?”

“It wouldn’t be a good idea, trust me,” he says carefully, but his pupils give him away. They’re black drugged eyes, and I know he wants to tell me. Why else would he leave a little gap for me to squeeze through? He didn’t just say no.