Don't You Wanna Stay Read online

  Wyatt backed out of the dark hole of the crawlspace, and she tried not to notice how well those faded jeans cupped his ass. “If it were me, I’d absolutely put in another, more accessible shut off.”

  She wondered if he’d covered how to do that on his show. “How did the pipes look under there?”

  “I didn’t do a full inventory, but they didn’t look as bad as you might expect. Somebody replaced the plumbing at some point. It’s not new by a long shot, but it’s not all galvanized pipe, so it’s got life left in it, I think.” He brushed dirt and cobwebs from his rich, dark hair and off his clothes. “Now, let’s go see what’s what.”

  Circling back around to the front, Deanna led him inside. “Welcome to Blackborne Hall. Or maybe hell. Jury is currently still out.”

  Wyatt tipped his head back and scanned the foyer. “I had no idea this place was here. When was it built?”

  “I don’t know for sure. Sometime during the 1850s. There may be more information on the place somewhere, but I haven’t had a chance to track it down.” Certainly, the documentation that had come from the auction was limited.

  He said nothing as he took in the space. Was he seeing the faded beauty or the disaster zone?

  Bracing herself for judgment, she led him into the kitchen, where the water had stopped gushing in the sink. There didn’t appear to be fresh water anywhere else at first glance, so her fears of a flood faded. Small miracles.

  Two steps into the room, Wyatt stopped dead. “Wow.”

  Her shoulders tightened. She knew it was a hot mess. If he said something about how foolish a purchase this place was—

  “That pressed tin ceiling is gorgeous.”

  Looking up, Deanna saw what he did. She’d been so overwhelmed by the rest, she hadn’t noticed it before. Paint was flaking off across the whole surface, but the actual pattern of the ceiling tiles appeared to be intact. The ornate design lent elegance to a room that was otherwise a complete disaster. This was the silver lining of the room she’d been looking for.

  Without commenting on the rest of the mess, Wyatt moved over to the sink and examined the faucet. “Long run, you’ll want to replace this, but I think I can get it functional for you for now.”

  “That would be much appreciated.” Anything she could put off in favor of the more important stuff would help.

  “Let me get a few things from the truck.”

  He strode out, leaving her alone for the moment. She looked back at the ceiling, wondering how tough it would be to get the panels down, strip off the old paint, and reattach them. The idea of it had fresh hope dawning. Or maybe that was Wyatt himself.

  Of course, he understood. His entire show was about taking houses in terrible shape and transforming them. That was exactly why she watched it. So maybe they were kindred spirits on that front. It wasn’t fair to treat him as if he was judging her by the same standards as her family. Nor was it reasonable to blame him for her poor decisions.

  He came back into the room, wearing a tool belt that drew her eyes to his narrow waist and those long, powerful legs.

  Eyes up top, James. You are not here to ogle this gift horse.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted.

  He glanced up. “For?”

  “It wasn’t fair of me to blame you for getting me into this mess.”

  His lips curved into an amiable smile. She’d wondered whether that was only for the show. Looked like it was just him.

  “No worries. You’re hardly the first person to panic over the true scope of a home renovation. I like knowing my show inspired you to buy this place.”

  “Well, it inspired me to think about it. It was copious amounts of wine that pulled the trigger on the auction.” Deanna grimaced and wished she’d kept that part to herself.

  “You bought this at auction?”

  She appreciated that he didn’t comment on the drunk part. “Online. I didn’t really know what I’d bought until I got here. The pictures were terrible.”

  “You didn’t even tour it first?”

  “I’d intended to, in a get a clearer picture of whether buying and restoring a historic house myself was an attainable goal kind of way. Then I had a run-in with my ex-husband at work, and my best girlfriend came over with therapeutic wine, and when I woke up the next morning, I’d bought a house.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  “Well, that’s certainly one of the more interesting acquisition stories I’ve heard. What sort of work do you do?”

  Really? He wasn’t going to comment on the hazards of… any of that?

  “I’m in public relations in the music industry.”

  “Yeah? Bet that’s interesting.”

  “It’s… something. A lot of the time I feel like a glorified babysitter for spoiled celebrities.” As if she’d conjured one of them with the words, her phone rang. One glance at the screen showed her Mercy Lee was calling. Wincing, she sent the call to voicemail and waited for Wyatt to ask what famous people she’d met, as most people did. But he surprised her.

  “So you’ve got some aggression to work off on a project. This house should fit the bill. Lots of demo to do. Did you get a decent deal?”

  “Based on the size of the house and the property, I got a steal. I think maybe somebody screwed up the listing. The auction ended at midnight instead of noon. It had been on the market for a long damned time, apparently. Some past owner got it on the national historic registry, so nobody could just buy and bulldoze to make way for another McMansion.”

  “Sounds like the Universe is looking out for this place.”

  “It’d be nice if it looked out for me.” She didn’t realize she’d said it aloud until he took a step toward her and rested a hip against the counter.

  “Maybe it is.”

  Deanna blinked up at him, noting his eyes were the exact shade of her favorite charcoal gray sweater and somehow just as warm. Was he… flirting with her?

  Almost as soon as the thought crossed her mind, he straightened. “Faucet’s fixed, for now. Show me the rest.”

  Cursing herself as an idiot twice over, she did as he asked. Of course, he didn’t mean he could or would take care of her. No man had ever done that, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to start expecting it now. The only person she could truly count on was herself. Well, and her girlfriends. But Wyatt Sullivan was a legitimate contractor with a great deal of knowledge and interest in historic homes. And he was here, so she’d take advantage of his expertise and pick his brain as far as he’d let her.

  “The house is, what? About four-thousand square feet?”

  “Forty-two hundred heated, according to the paperwork.”

  Wyatt stepped past her onto the screened-in side porch. “I’d wager this is another three hundred. For looks, I’d say eighty-six the screens, replace those posts with sturdy cedar beams, or wrap them if they’re salvageable. It’d make a nice place to sit and have a beer at the end of the day. Especially if you clear out all that vegetation blocking the view to the… what is that? A lake? Pond?”

  “I didn’t get close enough to see how big it is. Looks might not matter at the height of summer. We don’t know how bad the mosquitos will be.”

  “Fair point.”

  They moved through the rest of the first floor, checking out the half bath with a functioning, if filthy, toilet. There were more signs of started and aborted efforts at renovation in several other rooms, plus a warren of smaller ones that didn’t seem to fit with what she knew of the architecture of the time period.

  “I think maybe somebody hacked up some larger rooms to create these smaller ones. The original layout probably mirrored the other side of the house.”

  “How hard would it be to open them back up?”

  “Well, you never quite know until you open up walls, but theoretically, not bad. They probably aren’t load bearing, so unless they ran some pipes up through there for something upstairs, it should be easy enough.”

  They finished the lower
floor and began moving up the stairs. Not rotten, thank God.

  Wyatt’s hand stroked over the banister. “Damned fine craftsmanship. They don’t make them like this anymore.”

  A warm glow of gratification settled in her chest that he saw the potential she did. “Right? This is a staircase designed for someone to make an entrance.”

  He nudged her toward the window on the landing and mimed like he was framing a shot. “Great view.”

  Deanna’s cheeks heated. Was he talking about her?

  “You could totally build in a window seat right here to look out over the property.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, through the dirty panes to the rolling hills beyond. Not her. The land. Of course, it was the land.

  Idiot. You’ve read too many romance novels with contractor heroes. This is not She Shed Casanova.

  Embarrassed, she moved on up the stairs.

  Her phone rang again.

  “Do you need to get that?”

  “She can wait.”

  The second floor was divided into four bedrooms, two baths, and they found a second staircase leading down the back of the house. The rooms were dark, dingy, and also appeared to have a rodent problem. One of the bedrooms had spongy floors, with clear water damage that matched the pattern of the ceiling above. More evidence of aborted renovation showed up here.

  “It’s like whoever had the place before just started randomly ripping things out, trying to see what problems there were,” Wyatt observed.

  There were many. So many that were beyond her capabilities. She could learn a lot, but not this much. And beyond a basic toolbox for maintenance, she didn’t have the tools needed for any of this. That alone would eat into the money she’d be able to repurpose for the next month or two. So much of this project called for skilled labor, which meant hiring people. She didn’t have the budget for that, which meant this dream she’d been entertaining wasn’t attainable after all. She wrestled with that as they took the second stairway down to the first floor and came out through a door that led into the kitchen.

  Wyatt turned to face her. “You’ve got a helluva house here, Deanna. So much potential and character.” He took a step closer to her.

  Her pulse picked up as she became abruptly aware of the height and breadth of him. She’d watched his show, thought she’d understood the scope of his size, but it was nothing compared to standing beside him as he looked down at her, his face alight with interest. In the moment, it felt as if they were in this together, bonded over mutual fascination with history and architecture. She caught herself about to raise a hand and step into him.

  Don’t be stupid.

  She’d imagined the connection between them, just seeing what she wanted to see because he was a nice guy who seemed to share her vision. It wasn’t real. After everything she’d been through, she was more than done with imagined connections with pretty men.

  “I want to work on this house. I want to help you make it what it wants to be.”

  The yearning in her chest was so sharp, it felt like a knife. “You have no idea how much I want to take you up on that, but I can’t.”

  “Do you already have a contractor?”

  “I can’t afford to hire anyone to restore the place. I’m financially in over my head. I wiped out my savings to buy it, and there’s almost nothing left to put into even the most basic facelift. Needless to say, this wasn’t at all how I wanted to do this. I have to acknowledge that I made a great, big, expensive mistake. At this point, I just want to get it in decent enough shape to sell to someone—anyone—so I can recoup my losses.”

  This antebellum behemoth was exactly the sort of project Wyatt itched to sink his teeth into. Beneath the rough condition lay a showpiece. Restoring it was the kind of big and impressive that could get producers to sit up and take notice. They wanted more. Blackborne Hall absolutely fit the bill. He could buy it. Maybe.

  “How much are you in for?”

  Deanna named a figure that had his brain spinning. With the profit off the last flip, he could afford it, but he wouldn’t be much better off than she was now in terms of funds to leverage toward the renovation. Not a good place to be on a flip, even if he didn’t have the pressure of a mortgage payment. Then there was Scott and the cost of his care. He wasn’t solely responsible, but he couldn’t afford to juggle this place and other flips with an eye to profit. There was only him and Simon and the occasional volunteers. Even if he took up Levi on his offer, he didn’t have the luxury of a full crew.

  All that aside, this woman didn’t want to sell. His question hadn’t spawned hope in her expression, the way his earlier offer of help had. She’d looked like she swallowed bad sushi, as if parting with it made her physically ill.

  “Why did you buy this place? I mean, apart from the wine impulse. Why did you want it or some other old home instead of a new construction that doesn’t need so much work?”

  Deanna remained quiet for several long moments, her gaze skimming over the room. “This house, in a lot of ways, represents my life. I guess I feel like if I can come in here and not only see the possibilities and potential but actually bring them to fruition, then there’s still hope for me. I want to live in a world where character matters.”

  Wyatt hadn’t expected such a raw and honest response, and given the bloom of color in her cheeks, she hadn’t meant to give it. On the surface, Deanna James looked like a polished professional, with her wavy blonde hair, flawless makeup, and that little pencil skirt that made his hands itch to touch. But she had something to prove. That was a drive he understood down to his marrow. His chest went tight with an unexpected sense of kinship.

  Her phone rang again. This time, she offered a wince of apology and answered. “Yes, Mercy Lee?”

  Mercy Lee? As in Mercy Lee Bradshaw? Damn, she really was working with some famous people.

  “I’ve been in a meeting. What can I do for you?” Her manicured fingers tapped the counter as she listened. “You insisted you needed an interview in Songbird. The whole spread has been arranged and the shoot with the photographer is next week.”

  The fingers curled into a fist, the knuckles going white, but Deanna’s calm, neutral tone never wavered. “How does the fact that Taylor Swift is appearing in it this month have any bearing on your center spread next month?”

  As he listened to her smoothly and confidently talk Mercy Lee off of whatever the hell ledge she was on, explaining what the interview would do for her career, it occurred to Wyatt that he could use someone like her. Someone who understood the nuance of public relations and social media and how best to use it for a specific aim.

  By the time she hung up, he’d decided to do something a little bit reckless and a whole lot driven by a desire to thumb his nose at the asshat who’d basically told him, “No, you’re not good enough.” He was so done with anyone who believed that.

  She heaved an exhausted sigh. “Sorry about that. My job interrupts a lot.”

  Wyatt leaned one elbow on the kitchen counter. “I have a proposal.”

  “I can’t afford to take any less on the house.”

  One corner of his mouth kicked up. “I’m not trying to buy it. But I do want my hands on it. I’ll do the work, with whatever help you can pitch in, pay for whatever materials you can’t afford, if I can film the whole process for my show.”

  She blinked at him. “But… you never film renovations of other people’s property.”

  He really liked that she’d watched enough of his show to know that. “There’s a first time for everything. Here’s the thing: I need a bigger project. The kind of thing that can help draw in more interest, more viewers. I want to build my YouTube following enough to leverage for a proper show, and it sounds like maybe that’s an area you know something about. You could use some of those professional PR skills to help me out with that. In the end, you’ll have a fully restored house you can sell for top dollar. When it sells, we split the profit. You’ll have enough to not only buy, but
renovate another old home if you still want, and you’ll have learned the skills you need in order to actually do it.”

  This time she studied him during the silence, her expression a neutral mask. He wondered what was going on in that head of hers.

  “Are you on Instagram? IG TV? Facebook? Anywhere you have actual interaction with your fanbase?”

  Was all that required? Wyatt rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “Um… no?”

  “Bless your heart. You need me as much as I need you.”

  He was too excited to take offense. “So we have a deal?”

  “Qualified.” She held up one manicured finger. “You have to actually listen to me. I already babysit a bunch of entitled people who can’t be bothered to follow directions and then blame me when they don’t get the results they want.”

  He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor. And same goes on the listening. Renovations can be dangerous if you’re not careful.”

  She nodded and held out a hand. “We agree to respect each other’s professional capacities.”

  Wyatt took it, wrapping his fingers around hers, surprised at the strength of her grip. “There’s just one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Part of how I’ve been able to do all the restoration and flipping I’ve done is by living in the house I’m flipping. I just sold my latest project, which is how I’ve got money to put into this, so I don’t have a place to live at the moment. I’d need to move in here.”

  She bit her lip, which only served to draw his attention to the pretty pink of them. It was probably a terrible thing to notice the attractiveness of his prospective business partner.

  “Here’s the thing. I also have to move in for financial reasons. I can’t afford to have this place and keep my apartment.”