“I’ll leave the charm to Luca. It’s not my forte.”
“Did I mention charm? I’d never expect that from you.”
This call was getting nowhere. Yes, Weston was successful at what he did, but there was a huge gap between my business and his. He made environmentally sound outdoor wear—not exactly known to be a cutthroat industry. In real estate, relaxing on my laurels and being nice could result in my ruination—not something I was keen on happening.
“That’s good since you won’t get it. Anyway, have a nice laugh with Elise.”
“Oh, I will,” he assured me.
Tossing my phone down, I scrubbed my face and groaned. The mystery had been solved, so why the hell did I still have this massive knot in my stomach?
A knock on my door interrupted my self-evaluation. “Excuse me, Mr. Levy.”
Daniel’s trembling voice ratcheted up my level of pissed off. “Yes, Daniel?”
“Sorry to interrupt, b-but you asked me to prepare the original schematics for Paradise Towers and I can’t seem to find them. From Catherine’s notes, I th-think she might have taken them home with her.”
My eyes flew open. “Home with her?”
He nodded so hard it was a wonder his head didn’t snap off his neck. “Y-Yes.”
“Did you ask her, or are you guessing?”
He nodded again. “I did. I asked her. She has them and told me I should call a messenger to pick them up.”
So many words wasted when he could have led with this. Weston wanted me to be nicer, but sometimes people made it impossible. Taking a breath, I found some patience left deep down in my well.
“Did she? Then why are you standing in my doorway?” That was as nice as I got.
His face turned purple, and he made great efforts to swallow, wincing as he tried. “I thought I should double-check with you before I did anything.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him why he was wasting my time—this was exactly what he’d been hired to do—but I swallowed it down. There was no reason to hire a messenger when my next meeting had been postponed and I now had the time to do it myself.
“I’ll take care of it.”
He startled, his head jerking back. “You will?”
“I said I would.” I stood from my desk. “I’m heading out. I’ll be back in an hour.”
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?”