Page 31 of Between the Lines

No one ever calls me at night, but it could be Eddie, so I grab it without checking.

“Hello, Caden.”

Great. I set my plate down, my shoulders already tense.

“Hi, Dad.”

“When were you going to tell me you were stealing my crew for a personal job?” His voice is harsh, and I cock my head back, staring at the coffered ceiling.

“I’m doing great, thanks, how are you?” I muse dryly.

“Do I need to remind you that you don’t own the damn company. You gave up that opportunity, remember?”

My fingers curl into a fist, and I expel a short breath.

Only Sterling Brooks could get under my skin this quick. He’ll never understand why I quit because he’ll never understand me. We aren’t alike. I’d never walk all over other people to get ahead. And if I had a wife, I’d never fucking cheat on her.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “First, I didn’t steal your crew. Eddie and two guys had availability—I cleared it with him. And second, I paid in full, in cash, upfront. Didn’t ask for a family discount. Better than ninety-nine percent of the clients you contract, so I don’t want to hear it,” I rebut, keeping my voice level but my message crystal clear.

He doesn’t need to know who I called in the favor for. It’s none of his business, and it’s not like he checks the books, or even shows up to the office beyond board meetings.

My father starts to speak, but I cut him off.

“How did you even find out?” I ask. “I thought you and Mom were in Tampa til the end of the week?”

He grumbles something incoherent then says, “I have eyes everywhere, you know that. Either way, you can have Eddie’s crew for three weeks tops, not a day over—”

“No.” I shake my head, stopping my fist right before it hits the coffee table. “I paid them to complete the job. If it takes six weeks, that’s what it takes. They will finish it. You might be pissed at me, but remember that this is your company. You really want to spoil the business’s image . . . again?”

“You got some nerve talking to me like that—”

I scoff. “Dad, it’s paid for so stop pretending anything else matters. Are we done?”

I wait for an answer but don’t get one. He hung up.

I toss my phone to the side of the sectional and glance out into the backyard. The sun is beginning to set, the evening sky full of pink, sinewy clouds. Beyond the pool, the glow from inside the guesthouse catches my eye.

Fia paces back and forth in front of the window, red hair cascading down her back, rocking Daisy in her arms.

My chest pings with something. Maybe it’s responsibility because it has become abundantly clear that I’m the only one helping out Fia right now. And I’m not going to be the one to let her down. She’s saved my ass at Good Grinds more times than I can count.

This house repair has to go smoothly and timely for her. She deserves that much.

I reach for my phone and shoot Eddie a text.

Caden: Whatever my father says, ignore him. I expect nothing but perfection from this job. No cutting corners for time’s sake. Treat it like you would your own house. Got it?

12

Fia

Another Monday, another chaotic start.

First, Penny texted me asking if Daisy loved the broccoli bites she made her. She did not. Then, Daisy’s oatmeal exploded in the microwave—a mess I tried to clean up before I saw what time it was and promptly had to abandon that, opting for a breakfast of Cheerios and blueberries because we were already late. Leaving on time was already a daily struggle, but now I’m fifteen minutes out from Luanne’s, and the boss is right there. He’ll know if I’m late.

“Wait, Daisy, come back!” I call out like she’s a dog with a recall. As if any toddler ever stopped running because their mom called their name.

I snatch the back of her shirt right before she can face-plant into the tire of Caden’s Jeep.