P.S. You're Intolerable (The Harder They Fall, #3)(30)

I pulled up in front of Catherine’s house and parked at the curb. I had never been here before. From the background check I’d had done on her, I’d known she owned a home, but I hadn’t allowed myself to look any further into her. Nor had I come up with a reason to drop by on an evening or weekend despite my repeated temptation.

Catherine lived in a two-story Craftsman. It wasn’t much from the outside. No landscaping, a crumbling porch, paint chipping off the rails and trim. The windows couldn’t have done much to regulate the temperature. They had to be at least thirty years old, and only half had screens.

This surprised me. Catherine was fastidious in all ways, but her house was a bit of a wreck.

The neighborhood was all right. At least she wasn’t in imminent danger of being shot or mugged when she stepped outside.

There were no cars in her driveway, so I wasn’t certain she was home.

I reached for the doorbell but hesitated. Probably better to knock, just in case Josephine was sleeping. As I’d been told more than once, babies did a lot of that.

It took a while. So long, I was about to give up when the door finally swung open.

“Elliot?”

Catherine stood in the open doorway, waiting for me to say something. The problem was, I’d been rendered speechless. The Catherine I knew was buttoned up to her neck, hair tied back, conservative, and almost modest in her style.

The woman in front of me was barely dressed. Her shorts stopped at the top of thick, creamy, tattooed thighs. Her tank top didn’t cover any more of her. Her breasts nearly spilled out of the low neckline, belly button peeking out from the gap above her shorts. Her bare arms were covered in colorful tattoos from wrist to shoulder.

Her hair, which was always tamed into submission, spilled around her shoulders and neck in a violent riot. It wasn’t curls like I’d always suspected, but wild, licking, wavy flames that shot out in all directions.

I met her eyes, which were wide with alarm, and finally found my voice.

“This isn’t what you look like.”





Chapter Thirteen





Catherine





Elliot Levy was on my porch.

Elliot Levy was. On. My. Porch.

“Elliot?”

He stared at me for a long time. Unblinking, taking me in like he was trying to figure out who I was. Seeing as he had shown up at my home, it made no sense whatsoever.

I stared back. His ebony hair was tousled like he’d been running his fingers through it all morning. His plush mouth molded into a frown, pulling the rest of his face down with it, a deep crevice forming between his brows.

My chest panged. I’d missed him, but that didn’t seem right. How could I have missed this unyielding, deadly-serious man?

My jumbled-up emotions were tricking me.

It had been a rough day. Joey-Girl was perfection, but everything else was in shambles.

She still hadn’t gotten into any of the day cares, and I was feeling the weight of really having to put her in one of my drawers when I went back to work.

Even heavier on my mind was my house. I couldn’t sell it in the condition it was in, and I had to. I absolutely had to, or I’d be so screwed. But I was in no position to do all the work that had to be done, nor did I have the money to buy the supplies. I’d thought about calling my parents more and more often, and I hated the very idea.

I’d let myself cry while Joey slept. It was the only thing I could do when none of my efforts were making a difference and it felt like I was constantly swimming upstream.

And now this.

Him.

His eyes met mine, and I hoped they weren’t as puffy and red as they felt.

His frown deepened. “This isn’t what you look like.”

My mouth fell open, but I knew exactly what he meant. I wasn’t dressed up like Catherine. Elliot was getting a view of Kit, and he didn’t know this girl.

“Ah—I don’t know what to say to that. This is me when I’m not in the office.” I cocked my head, playing off the fact that I was standing in front of my boss in barely more than underwear. They were clothes from before my pregnancy. They’d been snug then. I was much, much curvier now and all too aware I was spilling out of them.

I shouldn’t have answered the door.

“Sorry. You’re right.” His words were tight. His cheeks flushed like they did when he was pissed at me. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why are you on my porch?”

“I’ve come for the schematics.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks and rocked on his toes like he was preparing to make a run for it.

“I told Daniel to send a messenger. Was he too frightened to tell you that?”

“No, he told me. It was easier for me to come for them myself.” His frown had flattened into a hard line. “Is this how you always answer the door, Catherine?”

“No one ever comes to my door, Elliot.” His unwavering stare pricked at my bare skin. I’d always been so careful to cover my tattoos at work, but all that effort of finding conservative, nunlike clothing had been thrown out the window. He was seeing way more of me than I’d ever wanted to show him.

“Anyone could see you like this.”

I glanced left and right. The sidewalks were empty. “No one is around. I think I’m safe.”