Man at Work Read online

  Man at Work

  Love Under Construction Series: Book 1

  By Chanta Rand

  Copyright 2014 Chanta Jefferson Rand

  Smashwords Edition

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Real Estate Agent, Candace Jones is looking for man who can work it in the boardroom as well as the bedroom. What she's not looking for is a man with paint on his jeans and sawdust under his nails. That's why when she meets handsome Gabe Hunt at a local hardware store, she doesn't give him the time of day.

  Millionaire, Gabe Hunt is captivated by Candace's full curves and sassy attitude. He wishes she would look beyond his beat up truck and rough exterior. He's more than just a fix-it man, but he keeps his true identity a secret from Candace, hoping she's not just another gold digger.

  When Candace finds herself in need of Gabe's help to secure a lucrative contract, she learns he's not the average man at work.

  ONE

  Candace Jones was aware of the other customers in line rolling their eyes and blowing out deep breaths of frustration. She hated when people got to the front of the line with more groceries than money. They acted like they didn’t know they couldn’t pay for what they had. Yet, she was doing that very thing, holding up the line at Sampson’s Home Improvement, a mega warehouse for do-it-yourselfers.

  To her credit, the cashier (whom she’d affectionately named Nose Ring because of the delicate chain connecting the girl’s nose piercing to her earring) waited calmly, wearing a patient smile. As the faint sounds of The Temptations’ Silent Night crooned through the store’s overhead speakers, Candace frantically rummaged through her oversized handbag. Thirteen dollars short. The last time she’d seen her debit card was last night. She’d been too busy stylin’ and profilin’ in her skin-tight jeans and gold sequined top to carry a purse. She’d slipped the precious plastic into her back pocket before stepping into a holiday party at a club with her cousin, Toye. Too bad some drunken fool had spilled beer on her. So, the jeans were at home right now in the dirty clothes hamper—along with her debit card.

  Damn!

  She’d have to put something back. But what? She needed the nails, the leveler, and the three dozen chrome cabinet handles. She had a kitchen full of refinished cabinets waiting for an extreme makeover.

  Just as she was debating whether or not to keep the circular saw, a deep baritone sounded behind her. “Allow me to help, pretty lady.”

  When Candace turned toward the source of the voice, her expression of gratitude died in her throat. Dark brows and lashes as thick as fringe framed a sexy pair of chestnut colored eyes that boldly scanned her from the toes of her fresh pedicure to the tops of her threaded eyebrows. The fact that they were attached to the most devastatingly handsome face she’d seen in a long time didn’t hurt. Her benefactor had a smooth bald head and full lips that she imagined were well-versed in providing hours of unbridled pleasure.

  Unfortunately, the five star review ended there. Not even the man’s square jaw and bulging biceps could detract from his disheveled appearance. Splatters of white paint liberally dotted his clothing from the collar of his well-worn black t-shirt to the tips of his dingy steel-toed boots. Maybe she could have appreciated his chiseled physique if not for the ripped and dusty jeans encasing his muscular thighs.

  She was not being rescued by Prince Charming, but by the enchanted frog instead.

  “No thanks,” she declined his offer. “I can’t allow you to pay for me.”

  “You can pay me back when you have dinner with me tonight.”

  Her eyes locked with his.

  No, he didn’t have the nerve to step to me. Especially looking like he was just dragged off a construction site!

  She was not looking for a man with sawdust under his fingernails. Been there. Done that. She would be thirty-five next month, and she’d promised herself no more losers. She’d been trapped in the vicious cycle of the dick-whipped merry-go-round. She kept falling for men who could rock her world physically, but had nothing other than empty promises to offer. From now on, she wanted someone with the money to go along with the ambition: a star in the boardroom and the bedroom.

  “Kitchen remodels don’t come cheap, and neither do I,” she told the handsome stranger.

  The man’s clothes might be sewer-worthy, but the smile he flashed was priceless. His deep chuckle wrapped around her like an electric blanket in a snowstorm.

  “Spunky. I like that.”

  “I bet you do.” Her eyes raked over him. This man was the definition of virile. Each time he licked his full lips, her heart stuttered. But he was a common laborer. The last blue collar guy she dated kept asking for her help paying his rent. Hell no. She was not setting herself up for failure again.

  “Hey dude,” a burly man standing further back in line with an artificial Christmas tree tucked under his arm called out, “you can pay for my stuff if she don’t want your help.”

  Candace shot the ogre a dirty look, her eyes resting on the coarse hairs sprouting from his bare shoulders. That was one of the hazards of celebrating Christmas in Miami–tank tops had a never-ending season. She turned back to her benefactor. “I appreciate your offer. I’ll accept your cash, but I can’t do dinner. I…uh, have other plans.” The lie slipped easily from her glossed lips. She had plenty of experience thwarting the efforts of slick come-ons from men who thought they had a chance of hooking up with her.

  “Some other lucky guy beat me to the punch, huh?”

  The flirtatious wink he gave Candace sent shivers down her spine. Good looking with a playful side. She could only imagine what freaky shenanigans he had up his dirty sleeves. She could get caught up in those playful games if she let her guard down. For one insane moment, she was tempted to tell him the truth: there was no other man. There was just an empty house that she desperately needed to flip before she found herself in breach of contract. But she didn’t want to give him false hope.

  “Yep, and he’s very jealous,” she lied. “He doesn’t want me out of his sight for more than a minute.”

  Instead of backing off, the man boldly appraised her, his eyes slowly sliding over her from head to toe, and then back again to lock gazes with her. “Can’t say I blame him. If I had a woman like you waiting at home, I’d never step foot out my front door.”

  She flushed at his cocky words. This handsome stranger might be rough on the exterior, but his rap was smooth as butter. She glanced at his hands. Even the thumbs casually hooked through the belt loops of his jeans hadn’t escaped the curse of the white paint. She didn’t give herself a chance to wonder what he did for a living. It wasn’t her business. He wasn’t her man, and had no chance of becoming so.

  After he was done with what Candace considered a visual undressing, he withdrew his wallet from his back pocket and passed the cashier a twenty dollar bill. As the cashier made change, the hunk addressed Candace one last time. “Enjoy your uh, other plans.”

  She didn’t care whether he believed her or not. Men lied to unsuspecting women all the time. Now, he was getting a taste of his gender’s medicine. “Thanks.” She flashed him a brief smile before pushing her cart toward the front door. She made haste, walking fast toward the parking lot. She hoped she didn’t fall flat on her ass in her four-inch heels. That would be one spill that couldn’t be cleaned up.

  Gabe Hunt stared at the sexy w
oman’s retreating figure. Her shapely backside was almost as appealing as her front. Earlier, he’d seen her pushing her cart along the aisles of the highly polished floors of Sampson’s. Her asymmetrical sand-colored bob wasn’t the only thing that caught his attention. Creamy, long legs high-stepping in a pair of stilettos were a rare sight he didn’t see every day. He wasn’t sure which was hotter—the balmy Florida temperature, or the pink halter top and classic white shorts she wore. The woman was the total package, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit she had him salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs.

  “Sorry, I just ran out of receipt paper,” the cashier said, pulling him from his erotic trance. “I’ll have your receipt as soon as I get this roll changed.”

  “No problem.”

  It suddenly occurred to him that the mystery woman might need the receipt. She’d had a lot of items in her basket. If she needed to return anything, she might have a hard time. The moment the cashier was done, Gabe dashed outside to find the woman. He scanned the vast parking lot and finally noticed the top of her short bob near the back end of the lot. Damn, she walked fast and in heels too! Instead of running after her, he jumped into his work truck, parked in the loading zone in front of the store’s wire reindeer displays. The old, faded red truck wasn’t pretty on the eyes, but it served his needs, hauling everything from asphalt to z-bars.

  He drove up as the woman was loading her purchases in the tiny trunk of her shiny, black sports car. Shapely thighs supported her curvy backside as she bent over. Sunlight glistened on her smooth skin as she worked. All that stuff wasn’t gonna fit in the trunk. He wondered if he should offer his help or if she was one of those independent women who would take offense at his chivalry.

  “Excuse me, Miss?” he called through the truck’s open window.

  She jumped at the sound of his voice. Her pretty onyx eyes widened in alarm when she saw him parked there.

  Shit! She probably thinks I’m stalking her.

  His thoughts were confirmed when she scrambled for her purse and pulled out what looked like a pez dispenser. “Back off, buddy,” she warned. “I’ve got mace!”

  Gabe frowned. “I didn’t come out here to assault you.” He dangled a white slip of paper out of the window. “You forgot your receipt. Thought you might need it.”

  Her face flushed red with embarrassment. Her mouth dropped open, and then snapped shut just as quickly. “You keep it,” she offered. “You paid.”

  He shrugged. “Fine with me.” He watched her struggle with her purchases for a moment, forcing them into the cramped trunk. He should have left well enough alone, but he wasn’t the type of man to leave a female stranded. “Need some help?” he asked.

  “No!” she practically screeched. “I got this.”

  He hated the way she glanced back over her shoulder at him as if he were some annoying pest, like the guy who bought a woman a drink at the club then followed her around the entire night thinking she owed him. “You really need to chill out,” he told her. “You’re too high strung.”

  She pinned him with a narrowed gaze. “What are you, a psychiatrist or something?” Before he could answer, her eyes swept from his face, down the length of his truck, and back to his face again. “Hah!” she scoffed. “I think not.”

  She slammed the trunk shut, and then jumped into the driver’s seat and pulled forward out of her parking spot. He watched the taillights of her car until she exited the lot and merged with the busy traffic on Main Street.

  Gabe smirked. This wasn’t the first time a woman had judged him by his appearance. He looked down at his paint-speckled jeans and shoes. He’d just finished painting the fences at Golden Gables Senior Community Home. He was good friends with the director there. The place needed more than just a fresh coat of paint. He’d volunteered to help out, along with a crew of other men. Unfortunately, the paint sprayer had malfunctioned. Maybe that’s what had turned her off. Or maybe it was his beat-up pickup. He knew his game was smooth, but the woman hadn’t given him the time of day. He shook his head. He hadn’t gotten where he was in life by dwelling on his failures. Something told him he would see the sassy woman again. And when he did, he would ask her out once more. He was nothing if not tenacious.

  TWO

  The shrill sound of the electric drill hummed loudly in the air. Candace stopped drilling long enough to stand back and admire her work.

  “Perfect. Now all I have to do is mount these cabinets on the stainless steel brackets.” She set the drill down on the faux marble kitchen counter and looked at the building supplies cluttering the kitchen. She scratched her head. “If only I could find where the heck I put the brackets.”

  “Girl, you need serious help,” her cousin Toye advised.

  “That’s what I thought I brought you guys along for.”

  Candace looked around at her two sisters and her cousin. Her younger sister, Marlowe had her butt perched on the kitchen island, her long legs dangling over the beveled edge. Ronnie, her oldest sister, leaned against one of the exposed sheetrock walls, her nose deep in the latest issue of some news magazine. Toye, their cousin, was the only one who at least appeared to be ready to work. Not that she would have been of much help with those two-inch icicles on the ends of her fingers she called nails. She could barely hold a pencil much less a drill.

  “You need a new contractor,” Marlowe argued. “We don’t know what we’re doing.”

  “I can do this,” Candace said, refusing to acknowledge the difficulty of the task. “I saw it on HGTV.”

  Toye shook her head, causing her long, brown springy curls to bounce as she moved. “Cuz, I think this time you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.”

  Candace swatted the air as though killing a pesky mosquito. Whereas she had a positive outlook on life, Toye viewed the world through a glass half empty. Her full mouth was in a perpetual frown. With her smooth, dark skin, slender frame, and mysterious blue-grey eyes, it was hard to believe she was related to any of the Jones sisters, who all inherited the same “cream with coffee” complexion, smoky eyes, and curvy figures. That was the beauty of genetics. Anything was possible with a recessive gene.

  Candace smiled at her doubting cousin. “C’mon, what happened to that can-do attitude?”

  “I think Jerry took it along with everything else in my safety deposit box.”

  Candace cracked up laughing. They could joke about it now, but two years ago when Toye’s husband, Jerry, walked out on her, Toye was a blubbering mess. She and Jerry had shared an idyllic existence until he ran off with Toye’s dog walker. Ironically, the charlatan left the dog (an adorable Shih Tzu) behind, but he’d helped himself to his and Toye’s joint bank account. By the time Toye realized his transgression, the fool was long gone. He could be in Timbuktu for all they knew, or right around the corner. Miami was a big city. It was easy to disappear.

  That was the way their luck had gone with men. It seemed the male species had a way of mysteriously showing up and then vanishing from their lives. It started with Candace’s mother, bringing home a string of freeloaders who never lasted more than a few months. Candace was fourteen years old before she realized a true boyfriend was not a man who used women as doormats and sucked them dry of their confidence.

  Her mother was deceased now, but the life she lived had a lasting effect on her three daughters. Ronnie was the only one who’d experienced love. But sadly, her husband died in Afghanistan years ago, leaving her with a broken heart and a baby boy. Candace’s only nephew, Jovan, was now eleven years old. Now, Candace was experiencing the same drama with men. Only this time, the man wasn’t her boyfriend.

  Four months ago, she’d contracted with a prominent realtor to renovate this house and have it ready for sale in twelve weeks. Flipping houses was her area of expertise. She’d been doing it for the past three years. It was her passion, and the only way she’d stayed sane after her mother passed away. At first, she’d done it on a smaller scale. Her profession as a realtor allowed her to pick
homes up for a steal. Then, she began flipping them and selling them for a handsome profit. Now, she flipped full-time. It gave her a sense of accomplishment. Her reputation grew and then one day Zion Realty, a faith-based organization that relocated needy families from the streets to good homes, approached her.

  Candace felt privileged to be involved in such a noble endeavor. Not only would this sale make her a ridiculous sum of money, but she’d also be contributing to a worthy cause. Growing up in a broken home, family meant a lot to her. But as luck would have it, the fates were not with her. Everything was on schedule, until two weeks ago when the contractor she used for the renovations dropped off the face of the earth. He took off with the money she gave him and the building materials—leaving the renovations unfinished. She was under contract to deliver this house to the buyer in four weeks, a few days before Christmas. Her reputation was on the line. She didn’t dare trust another contractor to do it. She was using what little construction expertise she had to complete the job. Unfortunately, she had a crew of misfits helping her.

  So much for Girl Power.

  “Y’know, Sampson’s offers classes for free,” Toye told her.

  “Why on earth would they do that?” Candace asked, finally locating the brackets and the corresponding screws. Triumphant, she reached for the electric screwdriver. Initially, she’d balked at the expensive price tag, but she’d found that like chocolate, power tools made life so much easier.

  “I dunno. I guess so folks will buy their products to be used on the projects.”

  Put it that way, it made sense. Still, she was hesitant. “The last time I went to Sampson’s, I saw that guy.” She’d told the ladies about her encounter with the stranger who paid her tab.

  Ronnie glanced up from her magazine. “That was a week ago, Candace. I think it’s safe to go back.”