“Do I have the wrong day?” he inquired. “I thought you said Monday.”
“Monday? Oh!” Cami gaped at him, then winced and held her head because thinking was a big mistake on a two-glasses-of-champagne hang over. “Oh, no.” It was all coming back to her now. Today. Her life. What she and Dimi had been celebrating last night. “You…you’re-?”
“Tanner James,” he said, holding out his big, work-roughened hand.
Oh, God. How could she have forgotten, even for a second, that today was the first day of the rest of her life?
Somehow between the dinner celebration last night and the pounding in her head this morning, she’d managed to forget everything she’d ever wanted was about to come true. She’d truly done it, she’d graduated design school and was officially an interior designer.
At just the thought, she grinned widely. It hurt, because everything anywhere near her head hurt, but she couldn’t contain herself. The clown, the screwup, the Anderson everyone was certain would never amount to anything but a good time, actually had a career right in front of her, a career she wanted with all her heart.
Even if she didn’t have any clean underwear.
Now all she needed were clients. And since appearances were everything, she figured she’d start with her own town house, fix it up, make it her own personal showcase. It wasn’t a bad place to start. The small complex, which consisted of only four town houses, was in the town of Truckee, right on Donner Lake, a place not only immensely rich in western history but California legend, as well. The structure had been built in the late 1800s, which meant she’d have to deal with the historical society, but that was a minor detail compared to the challenge posed by the browns, greens and hideous yellows of the early seventies that dominated the place.
Needing a master carpenter, she’d sent out plans, taken bids and picked a contractor. She’d figured on someone older, someone experienced.
She hadn’t figured on one Tanner James, who wasn’t old, but who was, with that come-get-me look, most undoubtedly experienced-in making women’s knees weak.
Not good. She needed to stay focused here. “Um…”
“You are Cami Anderson, right?”
“Yes.”
“So I have the right place.”
“Yes, but-”
“Good.” He shifted his big body impatiently. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve got?”
“What?” She pulled her blanket tighter around the body that had been a curse all her life. Too tall. Too curvy. Too everything. The everything part consisted of five pounds too much fat, which brought her back to the potato chip thing. Actually, it was also a chocolate chip thing. And an ice cream thing. And okay, it might have been ten pounds, but who was counting?
“Your town house? The work I bid on?” The man’s brow furrowed as he studied her. “You still want it done, correct?”
“Yes.” She let out a little laugh. She was an idiot, thinking he’d even noticed her as a woman. “Yes, of course. The work.”
“Good, then.” His face was carefully bland, as if he was afraid to upset the crazy lady. “Let’s get started. I hate getting going this late in the day.”
Alarm bells rang in her head-not good, given her already firmly in place headache. “Just out of curiosity, what would you consider a good start time?”
Noon, she willed him to say. She’d probably even hug him in gratitude.
“Six.”
She nearly dropped her blanket. “In the morning?”
“Yep.”
Oh, Lord. Not only was he damn distracting with all sun-kissed, light doe-colored hair and even more intense doe-colored eyes, but he was a morning person, too?
This was not going well, but she hadn’t had any caffeine yet and couldn’t cope.
So she led him into the foyer, beyond which was the living room, which had been sorely abused by the previous owner. The walls were puke green and the carpeting puke orange. The windows were in horrible shape, as well, and bare since she’d stripped down the obnoxious shades covering them the day she’d moved in.
And for some unknown reason, there were half walls in three places, turning what could have been a wonderful, huge, open, airy room into a monstrosity.
“Ugh,” Tanner said behind her.
“Yeah. I moved in last year, but I’ve been swamped with school and work until now.” Self-consciously she tugged at the blanket, making sure she was completely covered, not that he’d given her a second glance.
As they walked, she caught sight of herself in the tiled mirror hanging in her foyer…and nearly croaked on the spot.
Her hair stood straight up in spots, and yet was matted down in others, where she’d lain on it all night. The right side of her face had a lovely red spot smashed into it, obviously from her pillow. Her eyes were completely void of makeup, and puffy.
The only thing she had going for her was that she wasn’t drooling. At the moment, anyway.
Some ex-beauty queen. “I’ll…be back in a minute,” she said, amazed he hadn’t run from her screaming in horror.
“Take your time.” Clearly distracted, he pulled out the plans she’d sent him when he’d made his bid. “This is far worse than I remembered.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your town house.” He lifted his clipboard, which had a sticker on it that said, Life Sucks, Wear a Hard Hat, and started making notes. “It’s horrible.”
Feeling defensive, she halted. “Nothing a little fixing up won’t cure.”
“Oh, I know. Beneath your tacky paint job and ridiculous wall placement, this place has huge potential. Don’t worry, I’ll see to it.”
“It’s not my tacky paint job,” she said, wanting to be clear on that, and also feeling a little…jealous at his confidence in his abilities.
“Uh-huh,” he said, not looking up from where he was scribbling furiously on his clipboard.
“And those walls? I had nothing to do with them.”
“Yep.”
She was standing there, practically buck naked, trying to convince the man that she hadn’t decorated the place this way, and he didn’t care.
She had to laugh at herself. “At least you’re honest,” she said to his back.
He didn’t appear to hear her, or if he did, didn’t feel the need to respond. Hunkering down, he spread the plans on the floor, oblivious to the way his shirt stretched over all his interesting muscles and how his tool belt tugged at his jeans, exposing a good inch of sleek, taut, tanned skin across his lower back.
Contractors were supposed to have beer bellies and too much butt crack showing.
Tanner had neither.
And what was he doing as she ogled him? He appeared to have forgotten all about her.
Wasn’t that just the crowning glory on her ego.
Sighing, Cami continued out of the room, thinking maybe it wasn’t so bad being single, really. She didn’t have to worry about bed head. Or clean clothes. She didn’t have to worry about her extra ten pounds. Much.
Besides, if she ever got herself a man-and if her mother had anything to do with it, she would-then she wanted a really great one, who could both laugh and think, maybe even at the same time.
Ha! There wasn’t any such man.
But if there were, and she did, it wouldn’t be Mr. Not-Even-Notice-Her, no matter how sexy she’d just realized a tool belt could be.
2
CAMI REALLY NEEDED pain relief, coffee and a shower, and not necessarily in that order. Then, and only then, could she perk up and be truly ecstatic about her future.
But she didn’t have time. She actually had a man waiting for her, not an everyday occurrence. Granted, he was her contractor, but he was waiting for her.