Ladies' Night, Andrews, Kay [best time to read books .txt] 📗

they read TrueGrace every day. J’Aimee steals my pictures and recipes all the time. Both of them have stopped by here. As to why, that’s simple. For revenge. The last time J’Aimee lifted one of my blog posts, and the photos and posted them on Gracenotes as her own, I got fed up. It’s copyright infringement, pure and simple. I e-mailed all their advertisers to let them know what was going on. I know at least one of their biggest accounts pulled their ads because of that.”

“Will you tell the cops?”

“I would if I thought it would do any good,” Grace said. “But all I have is a lot of theories. So I’m going to do the one thing that will piss them off the most. I’m going to start all over, and I’m going to make this house fabulous, even if it kills me.”

“Okay,” he said. “Count me in.”

50

Grace stood in the middle of the living room, her hands on her hips, and scowled. Wyatt came in just in time to catch her angry expression. “What now?”

“On top of everything else, she stole my damn iPod,” Grace said. “I left it in here the other night. The thing was, like, four years old, but it had all my music; my running music, my painting music, everything. Now it’s all gone. Dammit. I need my music to paint by.”

“I’ve got my iPod out in the truck,” Wyatt said cautiously. “But it’s getting kind of late, isn’t it?”

Grace looked out the shattered front window. The sun was hanging low in a bright orange-tinged sky. “Wow, it’s almost sunset. What is it, after eight?”

“Five after eight,” Wyatt said. “Are you ready to quit yet?”

“Are you?”

“I’ll keep working as long as you want to. But you’ve been at it all day, Grace. Since nine this morning, with only a half-hour break at lunch. Do you really want to keep going?”

“No,” she admitted. “As Rochelle would say, my get up and go got up and went. Maybe I’ll head home.”

“Good idea,” Wyatt said.

“Unless…” A smile crept over her face.

“Unless what?”

“I was just thinking, you might like to see my other design project.”

“I didn’t know you had another project.”

“It’s Mitzi’s condo over on Gulf Drive. She’s turning it into a furnished vacation rental, and she’s hired me to fluff it. The back of my car is actually full of towels and rugs and bedspreads and curtains for the place. I just started shopping for it yesterday.”

“Sounds nice,” Wyatt said, wondering where this conversation was headed. “But it’s getting kind of late for a sightseeing tour. Maybe you could show it to me this weekend?”

“It sits right on the gulf,” Grace told him. “The master bedroom has a balcony with a spectacular sunset view. And it has a king-sized bed. And I have the key.”

Wyatt’s eyes lit up. “Are you propositioning me?”

“Would you think less of me if I were?”

“Not at all,” he assured her. “And I promise. I’ll still respect you in the morning.”

*   *   *

They left Wyatt’s truck at Mandevilla Manor and drove to the Publix on Holmes Beach to pick up supplies. While he circled the parking lot, Grace made a sweep of the supermarket. She hummed as she careened through the aisles, tossing a bag of dog food, a bottle of wine, a six-pack of beer, a pound of boiled shrimp, some good cheese, a loaf of French bread, and some grapes into the cart. On her way to the cash register, she caught sight of herself in a mirrored display in the floral department. Ugh! She was a mess. She backtracked through the store and added a bar of scented soap and some shampoo and conditioner to the cart, and then, in a flash of genius, she added a jug of detergent because the condo had a laundry room.

“Get everything we need?” Wyatt asked, pulling alongside her at the entrance to the store.

“I think so,” she said, holding up the wine.

When they got to the condo, Wyatt snapped a leash to Sweetie’s collar and carried the grocery sacks, and Grace loaded her arms with the linens she’d bought. She juggled the packages while she dug in her pocket for the key. When they entered the apartment, it was already flooded with the dying light of the sunset.

Grace glanced down at her paint-spattered sneakers and kicked them off before stepping onto Mitzi’s pristine white carpet, and Wyatt followed suit.

Wyatt dropped the groceries on the kitchen counter and walked back to the living room, standing in front of the sliding glass doors that led out to the balcony. The sky was streaked with brilliant layers of colors, from navy to violet to scarlet, orange, and pink. “Awesome,” he breathed. Grace hurried into the bedroom and dropped her packages. By the time she got back to the living room, Wyatt had opened the wine and poured glasses for both of them, and Sweetie was curled up on the rug in front of the television.

“Come here,” he said, holding out her glass. She took a sip of the wine. He put his arm around her, and she rested her head against his shoulder.

“Nice place,” he said, looking around the room. “Kinda white, though, isn’t it?”

“Mitzi’s a great lawyer, but, as she herself admits, she sucks at decorating. She gave me a five-thousand-dollar budget and a deadline of two weeks, but otherwise no restrictions.”

“Hmm.” He was nuzzling her neck. “Is it okay for me to be here?”

Grace chuckled, thinking of her conversation with her lawyer. “I think she’d be okay with it.”

He turned her toward him and slid his hands around her waist. “Pardon me for being forward, but didn’t you say something about a king-sized bed?”

“Mm-hmm.” She gave him a lingering kiss. “What about the sunset?”

“I thought you said the bedroom looked out onto the gulf.”

“So I did.” She kissed him again, then pulled away.

“Much as I hate to bring up the subject, I am absolutely filthy, and I smell like a goat. I’m just