“Hey!” He points his steak knife at me. “You better watch what you say about my wife while I’m holding a knife.”
I hold up my hands and back away playfully. “Just making an observation, man. Would you prefer I called her ugly?”
He scowls at me, takes another bite of the steak, and chews with exaggerated violence. “Hell no, but I think it's best to move on to focusing on a different woman if you catch my drift.”
“It's okay. I have a plan forming already.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah, what's that?”
I flash him a grin and pour myself a glass of wine. “You just wait and see.”
IZZY
Even after twenty-four hours, my blood still hasn't fully cooled from my exchange with Jameson Fury yesterday morning. I could practically feel my blood pressure skyrocketing with each step I took toward our building, and then his attitude when I got there soaking wet only made it worse.
It isn’t good for me to get so worked up. What went down with him, coupled with a long day on my feet, left me so utterly exhausted, I could barely get out of bed this morning. But I forced myself to swing my legs over the side and get up—just like I do on all those days when the realities of life threaten to become overwhelming and I want to quit.
And Jameson Fury is just one of those realities I’m going to have to figure out a way to deal with—hopefully in a way that doesn’t make my blood pressure shoot to the stars. But it’s hard not to get worked up over the situation…or him.
That man is arrogant and infuriating. The way he gave me that cocky grin and all but assured me that his restaurant was going to put mine out of business before we even opened…
I'll fucking show him.
After all the obstacles I’ve overcome to get here—after losing Mom and Grams, I don’t have any intention of giving up at all, let alone easily.
I glance at the clock on the car dash.
Six am.
I'm getting here bright and early today to get a head start before the asshole is at his place. Avoidance may be the best way to handle this problem. Avoid the man and move ahead as fast as I can because if my blood pressure rises like that every time I see him, I’m going to end up in the hospital before I can even get my place open.
It means I'm going to need to rush the timeline a little bit.
I'd hoped to have three months minimum to really have everything perfect before the grand opening, but now that I know that man will be right next door, I need to make sure I get ahead of the game. And ahead of him.
That starts today.
Get it done, Iz. Get. It. Done.
I turn on the street and spot the edge of our building, and it looks like there's a big open space right in the street out front.
Hell yes!
I do a fist pump. “That’ll show him.”
The early bird gets the worm.
When Grams told me that old saying while I was growing up, I always laughed it off since I greatly preferred to sleep in until she pulled the covers back or until the scent of her famous cinnamon rolls baking woke me, but it’s proving to be an important piece of advice that rings true.
I’m getting prime parking today. It’s too bad there isn’t a cloud in the sky this morning and the summer sun is already shining. Part of me wishes it were pouring again so that jerk would have to park and walk the way I did yesterday.
That would be the ultimate fuck you from Karma. But it appears she’s going to get him back in another way.
I move down the street closer to the building, throw on my blinker to pull into the open spot…and slam on my brakes.
“What the fuck?”
A pool lounge chair sits across the wide space that could easily hold two cars, ensuring there's no room for a vehicle on either side, and that smug bastard lies across it in nothing but a pair of swim trunks, his hands propped behind his head, shades over his eyes.
I throw the car into park, put on my flashers, and shove open my door.
This motherfucker!
My door slamming shut makes him turn his head slowly toward me, grin firmly in place.
I storm over to him with my hands on my hips and stare down at him in all his almost-naked glory. Even in the early morning sun, his abs practically glisten…and look incredible. Almost like he was carved from marble rather than crafted by God’s hand.
More likely the Devil’s actually.
Another one of Grams’ classic sayings is true: never trust a skinny chef. I don’t trust Jameson, and he’s more than skinny—he's absolutely ripped. Any time the man doesn't spend in the kitchen, he must spend in the gym. Either that or he’s been blessed with some sort of nuclear metabolism women would kill for.
It's unfair, really. I eat a piece of bread or a grain of rice and I gain five pounds. I constantly have to watch what I eat or drink and limit my diet.
So damn unfair.
Thinking about that only heats my blood more. I scowl at him and cross my arms over my chest.
One of his dark eyebrows rises above the top of the shades. “Good morning, Isabella.”
“What the hell do you think you're doing?”
He holds up his hands innocently, the move shifting his hard pecs in a way that makes me squirm. “I'm not sure what you mean.”
I point to the lounge chair. “This. This fucking chair. Why is it here?”
“I thought that would be obvious.” He shrugs. “I'm sunbathing.”
Sunbathing? The nerve of this guy!
I motion toward the blue sky. “It's six in the morning.”
He somehow manages to keep a completely neutral expression despite the fact that my blood pressure is rising to dangerous levels again. “What's your point?”
I growl at him and clench my fists at my side. “This isn’t the time to sunbathe. Nor is this the place to do it.”
Jameson angles his head down to look at me over the top of his glasses, his bourbon eyes dancing with humor. “I beg to differ. I like the early morning sun when the ultraviolet rays aren’t as harsh, and this is the perfect spot to do it because with all these buildings”—he motions toward the apartments that line the street around us—“this is the only spot around to get sunlight for longer than half an hour.”
I stomp my foot and take another step closer. “Move the damn chair so I can park.”
“Oh?” He feigns innocence and places a hand over his heart. “You wanted to park here?”
“Yes.” I motion to my car blocking any traffic that might come down the street. Thankfully, this early, there isn’t much. “I would.”
“Well, that's a rather unfortunate coincidence that it's my sunbathing spot, isn't it?”
I groan and throw up my hands. “You’re a real piece of work, Fury.”
He grins at me and waggles his eyebrows. “Thank you for noticing.”
“Jesus Christ, who taught you your manners? I'd like to have a little chat with them to tell them what an asshole you are.”
His jaw drops, and he presses the same hand over his heart again in mock offense. “Ouch. I'm sure if my mother were alive, she’d be deeply offended by that statement.”
“If my mother were alive…”
Shit. Now I feel like an asshole.