AN: I do want to introduce you lovely folks to Alcide too. So… here he is…
Chapter 2
It will not do to leave a live dragon out of your plans if you live near one.
~The Hobbit
APOV
"Jesus Christ," I mumbled as I pulled my pickup behind the limousine parked outside the Compton house.
I hadn't been happy when my father gave me this assignment. Hell, I'd tried to pass it off to Cal Norris as soon as the call came in from William Compton, Jr. Cal had always been the foreman at Billy Boy's projects, and I wasn't sure why Dad was trying to rock the boat on this one.
I hated the Comptons. Always had; always would. William Sr. and my father had gone to prep school together, and Bill and I had followed suit. We both came from equally established old Southern families, with equally good lineage. But where William Sr. had decided to live off his inheritance through investments, my father had decided to follow his passion and started the contracting business. That's where the rift had started. They'd been best friends growing up, but the minute my father entered the "working class", everything had changed. They would invite us to their Christmas parties, but we were treated like the poor relations, even if we could buy and sell them three times over.
Bill had always been nice enough to me. He had more of his mother's temperament than his father's, though that wasn't saying much. He'd always been, well, boring. And the years hadn't helped with that. Let's face it, a boring 10 year old is infinitely more interesting than a boring 32 year old. Last time I'd seen Bill, we'd been at a charity function in New Orleans. He'd been married to his equally boring wife Lorena at the time. I heard they divorced, which was about the most interesting thing Bill had ever done in his life.
But, despite being mind-numbingly dull, I couldn't really say a bad word about Bill. That didn't mean I liked him any better. When William Sr. had died a few years back and Bill received his full inheritance, he entered the working world too. Yes, he wasn't exactly getting his hands dirty, but he also wasn't sitting back and doing nothing. He'd even thrown a few jobs our way, dealing primarily with Dad, but that was fine by me.
I grumbled as I walked up to the front door of my new project, the only sound my boots crunching on the gravel driveway.
I heard a high pitched voice met by Bill's slow drawl on the other side of the door as I raised my hand to knock on the door. Maybe he'd gotten back together with his wife? I couldn't imagine anyone else going with Bill Compton. I shrugged and knocked anyway.
The door swung open and I was met by Bill's dull brown eyes.
"Alcide," he said, his voice laced with shock. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me. I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought we'd get Cal again."
"I thought so too," I said, trying not to make my distaste too noticeable.
"Well," he said, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another, "do come in. There's someone I want you to meet. She's going to be integral in the renovation process."
Great. Just fucking great. The last thing I needed was some uppity bitch – and let's face it, a man like Bill doesn't hang around with any other kind – pretending she knows anything about remodeling just because she watched a House Hunters marathon.
But, Bill was our client, and I knew Dad wouldn't like it if I didn't at least try to work with her.
With one last breath of the real world, I stepped through the large wooden doors into the foyer of the house. It had good, clean lines, and it had been built to last, that much I could tell. But beyond that, it was obvious that no one had bothered to take care of it, and maintain it over years. The wallpaper peeled away from the corners; the wood floors looked as if they hadn't been treated in a century. I was scrutinizing the grand staircase when Bill passed by me and headed towards the kitchen.
"Susannah. There's someone I'd like to introduce you to."
I heard the click of her shoes on the hardwood floor before I saw her. I braced myself to face a dull woman like Lorena had been, but that's not what came around the corner. As soon as I saw her, my breath hitched in my throat and I felt like a teenage boy. I'd seen plenty of women before, women that could be classified as more beautiful than the one walking towards me, but at that moment I couldn't think of any. She was nothing that I expected. She was petite, but curvy; her blonde hair was pulled back into a severe bun, revealing a long neck that my fingers itched to touch; she was tailored to within an inch of her life, and for the first time in my life I questioned my work attire.
I looked down at the worn work boots and jeans I generally preferred and shook my head. There was nothing I could do about it anyway. And if she was here with someone like Bill, I doubted she had the personality to keep me intrigued for very long.
"Alcide, this is Susannah Stackhouse. Susannah this is Alcide Her-"
"Just Alcide," I said, extending my hand out to clasp hers. The roughness of my skin rubbed in contrast to the hand I grabbed. You would have thought the woman walked around wearing kid gloves all the time. Oh hell, what did I know? She probably did. She looked like a pampered poodle; definitely not someone that had worked a day in her life. She was perfect for Bill Compton.
I was surprised when she closed her eyes and sucked her lower lip into her mouth. Fuck. I don't know if surprised was what I was feeling, so much as turned on.
"Nice to meet you," she said, opening her eyes and setting her chin in determination. Her eyes flashed with anger when she tugged her hand from mine and I didn't let it go. She continued in her no-nonsense Northern accent, "I'm looking forward to working closely with you on this."
I wondered how closely she'd be willing to work with me. Most women I'd met like her had a handy man fantasy. I might be willing to play the role for this one.
Bill broke the film that was playing out in my mind. "Susannah here, is excellent at what she does."
I'm sure she is.
She smiled up at me wryly, as if she knew exactly what I was thinking and was amused. "And what is it that you do Ms. Stackhouse?" I asked with a smile.
"Susannah handles all of my renovations."
Is that what they were calling it these days?
"Is that so?" No doubt she picked out some throw pillows and called herself an interior designer between her trips to the boutique.
"Yes, that's so," she said, her clipped voice revealing a hint of a Southern accent. "I own Stackhouse Design. I am Stackhouse Design. Maybe you've heard of us?"
Well shit, now it was my turn to feel embarrassed. Hell yeah, I'd heard of Stackhouse Design. Who hadn't? She'd built quite a reputation for herself, even down in Louisiana. One of my old buddies worked for her from time to time. Why I hadn't put two and two together escaped me. It's not like Stackhouse was that common of a name. Then again, I'd imagined a woman with the reputation the owner of Stackhouse Design had wouldn't look anything like the pretty, petite blonde in front of me. I would've thought more flannel shirt and work boots than stilettos and pencil skirts, not that I was complaining. And knowing she wasn't Bill's trophy wife made her all the more appealing.
"Yeah, I reckon I have. I've heard good things about you from Tray Dawson."
A gentle smile broke across her stern face. "You know Dawson?"
"Yeah," I said with a shrug. "He used to work for my father."
Comprehension flashed across her face. "So that would make you Alcide Herveaux?"
"Guilty as charged."
"Hmm." She crossed her arms across her chest, unwittingly emphasizing the curve of her breasts and my desire to reach out and see if they felt as good as they looked. "Well that's a relief. When Bill told me I'd be working with a crew of his choosing, I will admit that I wasn't too excited by the prospect. But Dawson has spoken highly of you in the past."
"Good to hear."
A loud ringing sounded behind us, and Bill excused himself to take the call.
"So," I said, looking her over now that we were alone, "you work with Compton much?"
"You could say that," she said with a smile. She looked gave me a sidelong glance before nodding and walking towards the kitchen. "Shall we?"
I didn't move immediately, taking the chance to admire her as she walked away from me. One thing you could say about this one was that she knew what looked good, both from what I had seen of her work and from how she dressed herself. But for as put together as she was, I couldn't help but wonder what she'd look like rumpled up from a particular activity I had in mind.
"Are you coming?" she asked impatiently, looking over her shoulder.
Not yet.
I nodded and smiled, following her diminutive figure into the outdated kitchen.
"As you can see, this needs to be redone entirely. Looks like it was touched last in the seventies," she said with a shudder.
"What? Not a fan of wood paneling?" It was hideous, all orange, yellow and avocado. Beyond the color palate, the design wasn't conducive to much cooking – the countertops were broken up every two feet, not giving anyone enough room to do much of anything before an appliance got in your way.
As a general rule, the kitchen was my favorite room in the house; always had been. All good things had happened in the kitchen when I was growing up, and I'd carried my love of that into my own kitchen. A kitchen should be a place to hang out, and a place to cook, if you were so inclined. I liked to cook. There was something relaxing and cathartic about cooking your own meal. I'd redesigned my own kitchen more times than I could count, but I finally had it right.
"Hardly," she said with a dry laugh. "It's outdated, and it needs more counter space. I'm thinking a double oven over there, get a new subzero refrigerator, built in dishwasher… pretty standard really. But I'd like to put a big island in the middle – granite possibly, or recycled glass. Something simple, modern…" she trailed off. "And it can double as an eating surface. Big enough for a family."
"Bill planning on having kids soon?"
Her eyes sharpened as she looked at me. "I wouldn't know."
She spun on her heel without another word and began down the hallway towards the formal dining room. After going over her ideas for that room and the adjoining front room, we headed up the stairs to the bedrooms. Much like with the kitchen, her aesthetic was in sync with my own. She had a vision to update the house with modern conveniences, without stripping it of its charm. There was nothing worse than some Northern yuppie coming in and buying a plantation house for its charm, then turning around and making it look like an inner city loft. I had to admire her taste.
We stopped in front of the doorway to a small bathroom, the only bathroom on the floor aside from the master bath. I leaned my shoulder against the hallway wall and waited for her to survey the room for herself. She had been quick to assess each room, knowing within minutes what she wanted to do and damned if I didn't agree with her every time. I would've liked to argue, to see if I could make her blush. She had the type of skin that would undoubtedly flush with anger, and with desire. I was hoping to get to see both.
A guy can dream.
"The bathroom is quite small," she said with a pout, smoothing her hand over her already perfectly in-place hair. I'd learned in the last twenty minutes that there was nothing Susannah Stackhouse disliked more than things that were where they shouldn't be. She'd absentmindedly straightened pillows, smoothed out wrinkles and adjusted towels – nothing she could probably remember doing, but enough to clue me into her penchant for perfection.
I could tell we were going to butt heads. It wasn't that I didn't like an orderly work place, but I was of the belief that it was darkest before the storm. If things didn't get a little messy from time to time, how else would you be able to appreciate it once it was done? But that was a bridge we could cross later. For now, I needed to get her to trust me, to get her to think that she had the upper hand.
I pushed myself away from the wall to peek over her shoulder, standing close enough that the rough flannel of my shirt brushed against her silky grey cardigan. Her body stiffened when she realized my closeness, and mine started to too when she bumped into me and her scent filled my head. Fuck, if she didn't smell just like a woman should, all vanilla and flower and something earthy.
"Yeah, it's a tight fit," I said, my voice low and gruff. "But I'm sure between the two of us we can figure out how to make it work." I knew that I was pushing her buttons; I wanted to see if I could get a rise out of her.
"Mr. Herveaux," she said, spinning around to face me, her mouth inches from mine when I ducked my head to look her in the eye.
"Alcide," I whispered, smirking when her breath came out in a shudder.
"Alcide," she repeated, placing a small hand on my chest and pushing me backwards, "I think we're going to have to set some ground rules here. If we're going to work together, you need to respect me as your equal."
"Oh, I respect you as my equal Miz Stackhouse."
"Good." Before I could stop her, she ducked under my arm and made her way into the next doorway. I waited a moment before following her in.
"The master bedroom is quite lovely," she said, turning to look at me from a tall armoire when I stepped into the doorway of the large, abnormally shaped room. My eyes immediately flew to the crown molding, the tall windows that allowed the light to stream across the long room. The original four-poster bed stood tall in the middle of the room. It needed some tender loving care, but I had no doubt that I could restore it to its former glory.
"So," I said, walking over and running my hand along one of the cherry-wood posts, "this is where all the magic happens." I turned my head over my shoulder to flash Susannah Stackhouse my trademark smile. I'd heard it was irresistible.
"We've been watching Cribs too much, haven't we?" she responded, cocking her hip to lean against the doorframe.
"Excuse me?"
"Where the magic happens? It's the go-to line on Cribs." I looked at her blankly. "On MTV?" I shook my head, which was met with a laugh. "So you say that on your own? Oh that's rich."
I shrugged my shoulders and sat down on the bed. "It's where the magic happens in my house. I'd be happy to give you a demonstration."
"Well, since you put it that way," she said sarcastically. "I think you're forgetting yourself." She pulled herself up to her full height, all five feet five inches, maybe three or four inches taller thanks to her dominatrix shoes. I could almost see the frustration rolling off her shoulder blades as she pulled them tightly and faced me with a stern look on her face.
"I tried to be polite about it in the bathroom, but apparently you're too thick to understand, so I'm going to say it straight out. You may be used to getting your way with that charming smile and flirtatious banter, but let me reassure you that I am not susceptible to your charms."
Oh she wasn't? You could've surprised me based on her earlier reaction in the bathroom.
"So why don't you stop trying to tell me how big your dick is? I'm not interested, or impressed by your attempts. We're colleagues. Well, technically I'm your boss, and, as much as I like Demi Moore, I'm not into the whole Disclosure schtick. So, you keep it in your pants and I won't fire you. Are we clear?"
"Crystal," I responded with a chuckle. Her blue eyes locked with my green, a cold glint in their depths challenging me to a staring contest; a contest of our wills. I liked bossy Susannah Stackhouse. I liked her more than I'd like to admit. In fact, I was looking forward to seeing how she'd react when I ignored everything she just said the next time I saw her.
Our contest of wills was broken by the sound of Bill's voice from the doorway. "There you two are," he said with an edge of laughter in his voice. "I was beginning to think you two had run away together."
I raised my eyebrows in Susannah's direction at the suggestion. Even if it was in jest, it wasn't that bad of an idea. One tawdry weekend to get everything out of our systems; that should be enough.
"Of course not," Susannah said, her demeanor visibly changing from hard ass to the soft, pliable Susannah I'd seen downstairs.
"I hope you two are getting along well," he continued, crossing the room to stand next to Susannah. I had yet to stand up from my position on the large bed. It was a good vantage spot.
"I think we'll get along just splendidly," I replied, leaning forward to rest my chin on my hand. "Ms. Stackhouse here has good taste, and some good ideas, though I think I can add something to the design that she hasn't thought of."
I'd expected Bill's smile at my response, just as I'd expected Susannah's wrath. A woman like that hated nothing more than having her skill questioned. Her eyes could have bored holes into my head with their displeasure.
"Yes," Susannah said, her eyes turning soft as she faced Bill. "I think as long as Alcide is willing to follow a woman's command and will do what I say…I think we will get along just fine."
She turned back to face me and her eyes were full of challenge. Yes, this was a woman that was used to working in a man's world and getting her way. She undoubtedly used her sex appeal and her feminine wiles to push the men around her to do exactly what she wanted. She'd be in for another story where I was concerned. No matter how attractive I found her – and a certain part of my body was raising its hand to tell me exactly how attractive I found her – I wasn't one that would be easily persuaded by a flash of cleavage when it came to the job.
"Excellent. I told you it would be okay Susannah," Bill said, reminding me of his unwanted presence. It seemed to do the same for Susannah too, though I didn't think Bill was quite as unwanted as far as she was concerned. No, the woman lit up like a candle and turned to him with a smile.
"Of course Bill," she said coyly, looking up at him from her lowered lashes. "You're the boss."
Fuck. She was in love with Bill Compton.
It figured. It fucking figured.
