He laughs. “Not that kinda bind. Do you ever stop thinking with your dick for even a few minutes?”
“Not if I can help it.” I wink, popping the tab on my Bud Light. “What’cha got?”
“All right, so her friend hired this crew to update their family’s chapel… She paid cash.” His head shakes with disappointment. Pretty sure I already know where this is going. “They ran out on her halfway through the job.”
I hiss. “That’s tough…but what’s it got to do with me?” I hope he doesn’t think I’m about to restore a whole fucking church as a favor to his wife, no matter how much I like Kate.
“Well, the Daigles are a pretty influential family in this town. It would be a great contract to land for your first local project.” He drums his fingers, worrying his lip between his teeth.
Contract. Now we’re talkin’. My interest is piqued now that I know it’s a paid job. “What’s the catch?”
His victorious smile seems a little premature, taking into consideration I haven’t agreed to anything yet. “I actually took the liberty of stopping by and hashing out the details with Hank, the owner.”
What the hell? He better not have already volunteered me for anything. “You did what?”
“I didn’t want anyone else snagging the position ahead of you.” His blasé shrug proves he’s not the least bit sorry.
“Oh yeah, I’m sure people are just lined up to take over a half-cocked job at some broke church.”
Beau slings his briefcase up onto the table and opens it, completely disregarding my tirade. “This lays everything out in black and white.” He slaps a stack of legal papers in front of me, open to the last page. “Basically, they’d need you to self-finance, allowing them to make monthly payments on the labor portion for two years. In exchange you could brand every pew with a metal plate with your information. Leave your business cards at the front desk. Stuff like that.”
I take the paper, glancing over the terms. I don’t bother with reading the whole thing. If Beau drew them up, I know they’re legit.
“Look, this place gets tons of traffic,” he urges. “It’ll be a great jump start for your business here.”
I nod, tapping the pen rapidly. It’s not like I’m hurting for money. I still have a good chunk sitting in the bank. If it’ll get my name out, and help a friend of Kate… “You know these people, right?” I quirk a brow. “Cuz I’m not looking to get chained to a bunch of whack jobs.”
“Extremely well,” he assures me. “Great people.”
I take in the light bead of sweat on his forehead and slight shake in his voice. “Then why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me?”
He shrugs, popping the top on his beer and taking a long swig. “No clue. You know I’d never suggest anything that wasn’t in your best interest.”
I’m positive he’s up to something, but I also know that if anyone on earth would be looking out for me and mine, it’s this man right here. So, despite the niggling worry in the back of my mind, I throw caution to the wind, and sign on the dotted line.
It’s not yet six in the morning when I roll to a stop at the address Beau scribbled down on a fast-food napkin for me before leaving in an Uber late last night. His drunken scrawl ain’t easy to read.
I place a booted foot on the ground, shielding my eyes from the sun to make out the sign posted in front of the Victorian style mansion. Daigle Family Funeral Services. Don’t be caught dead any place else.
I look back down at the napkin, comparing the address again 2222 Main Street. This is what the motherfucker was hiding. It’s a goddamn funeral home.
Fuming, I wrench my phone from my back pocket. “You’re an asshole,” I growl before he has a chance to greet me.
His answering groan is one part dread, two parts laughter. “Mornin’.”
“Are you serious with this shit?” I slam the truck door harder than necessary. “This is a joke, right?”
“’Fraid no—”
After a series of garbled noises, the voice on the other end of the line changes to one a little more cheery and decidedly feminine. “Hey, Wyatt!” Kate pipes.
“I can’t—” I start, my breathing escalating at the mere thought of spending my days surrounded by a bunch of dead people.
“You can,” she counters. “Please? Please, please, please…” she drags that last one out for effect. “The Daigles are like family, and they really need the help. Plus, it’ll be good for you too. Please say you’ll do it… for me?”
I don’t answer right away, too focused on the pit of dread unfurling throughout my chest. I don’t think I can respond without losing my breakfast right here on the sidewalk.
“Anyway, you owe me for getting my husband piss drunk,” she continues. “I had to wake up with your niece four times last night all on my own.”
The bitter taste of bile fills my mouth. “I don’t think you understand—”
“You listen to me, Wyatt Landry. You’re being hired to put up walls and build fucking pews, not embalm bodies. You don’t even have to see any dead people…unless you want to,” she adds.
“I don’t.”
“Great. Then you won’t. Don’t be a pussy.”
“Gotta go,” I mumble when a vision in heels and a form-fitting black skirt walks out the front door. My cousin-in-law’s still gabbing when I drop the phone unceremoniously through the passenger window onto the front seat.
“Mr. Landry?” the blonde Barbie calls, making her way down the cobblestone path, her hips swaying side to side with a confidence few women possess. It’s incredibly sexy. As she approaches, her features become clear—ice blue eyes, pillowy lips, dimples for days… She extends a manicured hand in my direction. “I’m Whit—”
“Whitney,” I rasp, before clearing the sudden frog from my throat. I can feel my own eyes practically bugging out of my head.
Talk about a blast from the past.
“Wyatt?” I swear I see flames shoot out of her eyes and smoke billowing from her ears. I’m scrambling to clear my head and think straight, because I can’t recall having done anything deserving of such ire. “There’s been a mistake,” she blurts out, yanking her hand from mine. I swear I hear her mumble something about murder and new best friend beneath her breath. “I’m sorry. I was actually just coming out to tell you that the job has already been filled.” With that she spins on her toes, fully intending to take off with a hasty retreat.
Before I think better of it, I reach for her wrist. “I don’t think so.”
What am I doing? Isn’t this what I wanted…a chance to get out of this shady-ass deal?
“Excuse me?”
I retrieve the folded paperwork from my back pocket and hold out the fully executed document for her examination. It’s already been signed by a Mr. Hank Daigle. Now, I don’t know if he’s her husband or father, but a quick glance at her left hand shows no ring, so I’m feeling pretty damn hopeful—and suddenly desperate for this job. My ego won’t stand for being so easily dismissed—self-preservation be damned. “I’ve been contracted to restore the chapel. I’m sorry if that’s awkward for you, but I’m a man of his word and have every intention to make good on my promise.” I glance back down at the paper. “To…Hank.”