 by Lindsey Hart.jpg)
Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
NEVER EVER GOING TO HAPPEN.
Not for bad guys like me.
Until I hear her on the other end of the line.
I should have told her she got the wrong number.
What I specialize in is not house renovation but something far darker and dangerous.
But she sounded so desperate.
So, instead of saying no, I asked for her address.
Instead of calling her back to set things straight, I immediately drove down to the damsel in distress.
Were repairmen supposed to be this hot?
And why did he come all this way out to this haunted mansion to help me out?
He was the only one who agreed to do so.
But I know he's hiding something.
WHEN HE'S COMPLETELY WRONG FOR YOU BUT STILL SETS YOUR SHEET ON FIRE!
Each book in this series is a standalone and can be read in any order. And don't forget, we are team HEA all the way!
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
Victoria
Most people don’t kick off their twenty-first year of life sunk up to their waist in their own porch. I suppose I could stop and smell the roses while I’m down here, but great-aunt Elinore’s property—now my property—doesn’t have any roses. Thistles, thorns, and six-foot-tall weeds are about the only species of plant life out here.
This place is the barren wasteland of my family. The property had been abandoned and left unattended for years. The house was left to my mom and dad, but they literally didn’t want it, so they gifted it to me as a surprise twenty-first birthday present. Surprise, Victoria, happy birthday! Here’s the old abandoned, maybe slightly haunted house we could never sell, and since it’s been the bane of our existence, you should really love it! They gave me the keys, which were wrapped in a little black velvet box complete with a red bow and everything for the momentous occasion and shooed me out of their basement so I would get out into the world and start my life as an adult.
I was only living in their basement until I finished college, which I did just over a month ago. I’m twenty-one, but since I’m more of the bookish type, I took more than a full load of classes and did some online classes on top of it. I went to school in spring, summer, fall, and winter. So now I’m the proud owner of a shiny, new, freshly minted English degree, one tarnished key complete with the red bow still attached, one haunted house, seven acres of barren land, the best wishes of my family, and one rotten porch that I just fell through.
Oh, you thought the whole up to my waist in my own porch wasn’t literal? It is.
I try very hard not to sigh as I grasp the edges of the splintered, rotten boards and brace my elbows against them. They smell musty and like old mushroom soup left out in the sun for approximately eight days, four hours, three minutes, and thirty-one seconds. Or maybe just old mushrooms. I swear there is a whole farm growing under this porch. A porch that hasn’t seen a loving touch or the soft tread of a human footstep in over four years.
Great-aunt Elinore passed away six years ago in a care home, but the house was left abandoned for four years before she died. For a decade, it languished, but two years ago, my parents made an effort to sell it. I pity the poor agent who had to come and list it. I imagine they walked across the porch a few years ago, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they just stuck the sign at the end of the driveway, snapped a few photos, and got the hell out of Dodge.
Either way, the house didn’t sell, and my parents constantly fought about it. My mom and dad love each other; they really do. But my brother and I always knew if anything could pit them against each other to the point of divorce, it was this place.
They solved their Aunt-Elinore’s-haunted-house problem neatly enough.
As soon as I graduated from college, that was the end of the fights. I thought maybe they’d worked it out and decided to be civil about it. But nope. Just. No.
It took me a few months to get everything in order. The titles and legal stuff were the worst parts, but I also had to pack my things and say goodbye to my little basement room. I know for a fact that when I checked the rearview mirror this morning as I drove away, I didn’t imagine my parents’ grins. They’re empty nesters now and proud as freaking punch about it. My older brother, Mike, has already moved out for ages. He has his own condo—a nice condo. With electricity and running water.
Two things this house once had, but I doubt it does now.
Thinking about my parents reminds me that I should call them to let them know I got here alive, even if I am still ultra peeved about the whole giving up my nice comfy basement room for this dump thing.
I hoist myself up, stirring up another foul brew of mushrooms, dead leaves, rotten everything, and earthy aroma as I kick up and pull up on my arms. I scramble out of the hole, earning a few splinters in my palms from the weathered porch floorboards for my effort.
The whole thing creaks and groans, and I swear I feel it shimmy a little as I get to my feet. When I say the whole thing, I may or may not mean the house. I take one careful step to grasp the railing. It groans like it’s dying, so I release it with a gasp and instead stumble toward the front door. It used to be red, but there are only a few scraps of paint clinging to the ancient wood. I grab the handle, insert my key into the rusty old hole, and twist. Nothing happens. I twist harder. Nope, no action. I finally just try the knob and let out a feral-sounding sigh when the door swings in. It wasn’t even locked.