“Well, the situation with the douchebag next door is not in control. But it will be. As soon as I can figure out a way to get him to back off.”
“That's never going to happen.”
I chuckle, then wince at the discomfort the movement brings. “Since when are you the pessimist?”
She laughs. “I'm not a pessimist. I'm a realist. And I saw Jameson’s season of Prime Chef. He's not the type to back down.”
“Neither am I.”
Jameson has certainly proven what Ashley said to be true in the short time I’ve known him, though. He doesn’t back down, and I can’t imagine him having a change of heart.
Still, a girl can dream…
Not only would him backing off make my job easier, but it would also make it easier on my life to avoid the way that man sends my heart racing.
“I know you don’t, hon. I know you can take on any challenge that presents itself, just like you always have. But I worry you're not looking at the big picture here. If you burn yourself out, there won’t be a restaurant to open.”
“I know.” I scrunch my eyes closed. “Believe me, I know. But I'll be okay. And I’ll be careful.”
She releases another heavy sigh. “Why don't I believe you?”
“Because like I said…you’re a pessimist.”
It’s the same “argument” we’ve been having since middle school when we became best friends sitting on the bench at the playground, watching the other kids run around and play. At the time, I was too weak to do it, and Ashley seemed to know exactly what I needed back then—and now—a good friend.
She scoffs and chuckles. “Go to bed.”
“I will in a few minutes, once…you know…it’s done.”
“Get a good night's sleep and try not to let that man get under your skin so much.”
Don't let Jameson get under my skin?
It's a little fucking late for that. The man has been there since literally the first moment we met. And I don't see that changing anytime soon.
“Easier said than done, Ash.”
“Just try. And call me if you need anything. I'm serious. Anything.”
With Grams gone, knowing there is someone there who will always have my back is even more essential. Tears well in my eyes, but I brush them away.
“I will. Love ya.” I drop my phone onto the mattress and relax back, trying my best to do my breathing exercises to calm myself down.
It was a stressful day—one I feel through every aching joint and muscle in my entire body. And I probably should've come home hours ago and taken care of everything that I needed to instead of pushing it one more hour, then one more hour, then just one more.
But I just couldn’t leave when I had more interviews to do and I need to make sure that man didn't poach any more of my potential employees.
At least he left the lounge chair outside so I could sit and ensure he didn't snag anyone else off the street. Without his interference, I managed to hire three solid people who will hopefully be a good fit for my place. No one quite as qualified as Anna would have been to handle running the waitstaff, but I have to work with Jameson’s leftovers, apparently, and take what I can get.
That sucks—to know his charm, name recognition, and budget mean he will probably have better everything than me, but there was one added bonus for the day—a slight tan on my otherwise pale arms from sitting outside for hours.
I refuse to admit it, but Jameson was right about the spot right in front of the building. It’s the perfect place to catch the rays for most of the day, and the warm sun helped ease some of the tension from my body while I was out there.
And it felt incredible. I can’t even remember the last time I just sat in the sun and tried to relax. Not that this was exactly relaxing.
As soon as I heard Jameson’s voice float out his door or turned to find him standing near the jamb, those intelligent eyes assessing me with the smug tilt of his lips, I tensed right back up again and my blood pressure skyrocketed.
That man does things to me.
Bad things.
Things that could get me in trouble in so many ways.
Things there is absolutely no time for.
Not when I have the range being delivered tomorrow. Once that’s in, the kitchen will almost be complete, and we can finally start in on all the little things that really need to get done.
It means I can open in just a few weeks. Even though the to-do list is still ten miles long, at least the hard parts are almost over.
Except for figuring out a way to deal with the handsome problem next door.
My brilliant “avoidance” plan doesn’t seem to have worked out as intended. Even keeping my distance, he’s still managed to find ways to get to me and drive me mad.
That doesn’t leave me with many other options. Not when I don’t have the money or importance or stamina to go twelve rounds with him. And something tells me that will be what it takes to drop him and keep him down for the count.
What I wouldn’t give to see that, though.
I guess I’ll have to keep dreaming about it until a better plan presents itself. Because I refuse to roll over for Jameson Fury. Even if I am rolling over and crashing now for as long as is humanly possible.
Chapter Six
IZZY
The honk of a horn and rumble of a big diesel engine jerks me awake.
What the hell?
Blinking rapidly, I shake my head and try to clear the fog of sleep that seems to want to keep me under. This definitely isn’t my plush, soft bed, though. The hard, unyielding surface under me isn’t doing my aching body and favors. It feels like I’ve been sleeping on concrete.
Where am I?
It takes me a moment to get my bearings as my vision finally comes into focus. The old, scratched-up table under my arms. The faint smell of sawdust hanging the air from the construction.
The restaurant.
That's right.
Somehow, I managed to drag myself out of bed this morning despite feeling like complete shit because I had to be here. This is the only day for the next two weeks that the supplier could deliver the range, and I can't really get things started without the most important appliance, the heart of the kitchen.
So even though my body is revolting and screaming at me to go home and climb back into bed, instead, I push myself up from the table where I apparently fell asleep with a groan and rush out the door onto the sidewalk.
A large delivery truck partially blocks the road. I was so tired this morning that I didn’t get in early enough to beat Jameson, and the jerk left his infamous chair in the loading zone, which means there is nowhere for this damn truck to go.
The driver climbs out and comes around with a clipboard in his hand and approaches me. “Isabella?”
“Yes, that's me.”
He narrows his dark eyes. “Are you okay, ma'am?”
“Huh?”
Why wouldn’t I be okay?
He motions toward my cheek. “Um, your face. You have a big red mark.”
“Oh! Shit!” I reach up and rub my hand across it several times to work away the evidence of my little impromptu nap. Embarrassing. But my life seems to be full of those moments, especially lately. I motion back toward the restaurant. “I just fell asleep. It was a hand imprint from my little nap.”