Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“He’s legit, Dani. I’ve worked with him on other jobs,” Kyle confirms, and his vouching for this guy only pisses me off more.
“So, what now?” I demand, mostly of Kyle.
“Now I confirm my findings,” Zach answers, virtually running away toward the front of our lots. I notice for the first time that he has a tripod set up on the edge of the street, and he peers at something on it. He walks back toward us, carefully sticking to the fence, but on my side this time.
As he gets closer, he stares at me with hard eyes that say he’s done this before and lived to tell the tale and he fully expects to do the same today. I’m not looking to get arrested for intimidation or assault, so I don’t lunge his way how I’d like to, but I also don’t move one of those precious inches he supposedly thinks belong to The Bitch Next Door, so he scoots between me and the chain link with his back to Kyle and Kathy like he considers me the bigger threat. Smart man.
At the back fence line, he looks at the device in his hand that’s started beeping and then back at the tripod. He licks his lips and takes a big breath like he doesn’t like what he’s seeing. He walks all the way back to the tripod while I try to murder Kathy with my eyeballs and she ignores me, watching Zach in eager anticipation.
Back on Kathy’s side, he says, “The fence is incorrectly placed.”
“No, it’s not.”
Zach isn’t talking to me, though, so he’s sure not listening to me, and he keeps going, “The submission to city hall is electronic, so it’ll hit their files today. I’ll mark out the fence placement guides before I leave, Kyle. If there’s nothing else?” He directs that to Kathy, who shakes her head, smiling like she’s won the Mrs. Bitch America pageant, all innocence and appreciation.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Rollins. I want to make sure my grandbabies have all the play area they can because every bit is so precious.”
I want to vomit at her sugary-sweet, loving grandma act.
He nods, gives Kyle a look of ‘good luck, man’, and walks back toward his truck, which is parked in front of Kathy’s house. Of course, she doesn’t have a problem with that, I think spitefully.
Sounding more like her usual snobby self, Kathy says, “The fence will be up tomorrow, right, Kyle?”
“Yes,” he grits out, sounding furious.
I get that he’s stuck between a rock and a bitch, but it doesn’t make me any less mad. Not at him, but at this fucked up situation. I growl as I spin on my toe, heading back inside where I start slamming everything I can. Lids hit the counter, spoons clang against sides of the pots, and boxes slam to the table. None of it helps.
I know it’s only a few inches, but it’s the principle of it. Kathy has tried to take everything away from me, and I’ve had to fight her off over and over, so those few inches feel like a victory she doesn’t deserve.
I watch through the window over the sink, glaring at Kathy and Kyle while they talk and cursing under my breath as Zach walks back along the fence line, spraying neon paint on the grass. On my grass.
I burst out the front door, hauling two huge bags of Styrofoam boxes in my hands for the truck in front of my house. But when I hand them to Marco, he says, “Thanks, Dani, but who’s the city guy?”
I look behind me to where he’s pointing to find another Polo-wearing guy in Kathy’s yard. Are they multiplying or something? Is she cloning them in her garage?
Kathy’s pointing at the fence and then toward my house while the new guy writes something on a clipboard. Is the clipboard supposed to make this guy look official? Newsflash, it doesn’t. Anybody can slap on a high-visibility vest and grab a dollar-store clipboard, so it doesn’t make you officially anything other than a pain in my ass.
“You can’t be serious,” Kyle barks. His gaze finds me, and I realize that the shit’s hitting the fan. Again.
His sunglasses are off, so I can see the fury bright as day in his blue eyes. It doesn’t dim when he looks at me, but if that anger is for me, then we’ve got even bigger issues than whatever’s going on in Kathy’s yard.
“I don’t know,” I tell Marco.
“Maybe the asshole’s getting shut down,” he suggests, his brows climbing his forehead and a smile growing beneath his mustache.
He means Kyle, not Kathy. Marco has no reason to know that I’ve been seeing Kyle. It’s none of his business and he’s backing me up from the first day when Kyle’s guys screwed up my delivery system. It’s appreciated, but not as warranted now.