“NO FUCKING WAY.” I throw my needle nose pliers aside.

“What is it?” Manny asks.

We’re almost finished with the contemporary mansion on Dolce Pass when in walks the developer with a friend in tow.

“Sutter,” Richard Kepner, the developer, flags me down. “Sutter, this is Mr. McCauley, he’s just put in an offer on the home. Robert, this is our electric guy. If there are any changes you want made, now’s the time to speak up. Feel free to take another look around, make some notes, and we’ll have Sutter and his team put everything into action. Sutter, would you mind coming with us?”

It’s not like I can say no.

My jaw is clenched too tight for me to speak anyway.

Following the suited assholes around the fifteen-thousand square foot manse, I find myself repeatedly distracted by the balding backside of Robert McCauley’s egg-shaped head.

It might as well be a damn target.

“Sutter, what kind of wire did you run here?” McCauley asks.

He looks at me like he’s never seen me in his life, though I don’t know him well enough to know if he’s bluffing to save face or if he’s truly that socially inept.

McCauley does seem like the kind of guy who doesn’t exactly give a shit about anyone else but him, and if you’re not giving him something he wants, you’re not worth the effort it takes to memorize your face.

I answer his questions like the true professional that I am, but when he interrupts my explanation to take a phone call, I have to walk away.

“Yeah, babe. I’ll meet you at the Chateau for dinner at eight. Reservations are under my assistant’s name. I’ll text it to you … and yeah, wear the black dress … the one I like.” He scratches at his temple, making his way around toward the window with a smug grin on his face.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, I have a call I need to take. It’ll just be a minute.” Richard respectfully excuses himself, disappearing into one of the several bedrooms down the hall.

With Richard absent, Robert pretends to check his phone, scrolling and thumbing the screen mindlessly. For someone who’s networked his way around Hollywood, I find it interesting he can’t be bothered to so much as attempt to make small talk with me.

Then again … I’m blue collar.

I’m a laborer.

The help.

I’m worthless and useless to someone like him.

He clears his throat, glancing up from his phone toward me for a moment, and each passing second brings with it the challenge of keeping my mouth shut.

Robert takes another call before I get the chance.

Lucky bastard.

“Hey, hey. Was wondering when you were going to be back in town,” he says in a pathetic attempt to sound sexy. “I’m busy tonight, but tomorrow night? All yours. Wife is out of town this week.”

“Wife?!”

Oh, shit.

That wasn’t in my head.

Robert whips around, brows knitting as he shoots me a look.

“Love, I’m going to have to call you back.” He ends the call. “Is there a problem … what’s your name again?”

It’s hot as literal hell in here. My ears burn. My jaw clenches. My entire body tenses from head to toe.

Dragging in a long breath, I take a few steps closer, until I’m towering over him, and I keep my voice low. “I don’t want to bother you with having to know and actually remember my name. Just call me The Guy Who Wired Your Security System. Might be a little easier to remember that way.”

Robert puffs his chest out. “Is that a threat?”

“I didn’t make a threat. I simply answered your question.”

His left eye is squinted as he sizes me up. “Why do you look familiar? Let me guess … failed actor? Wiring houses to make ends meet? Blaming people like me for your lack of success?”

“You’d be so lucky.” That asshole. What I wouldn’t give to slam his back against these framed walls right now. “I’m not an actor, you sick fuck.”

Robert eyes the doorway, like he’s anxious for Richard to return. He’ll be back soon, so I take one final step closer. When our stares lock, his tan skin washes in white and he swallows hard.

Pencil-dicked coward.

“If you ever so much as think about touching Melrose Claiborne again, I promise … you’ll live to regret it,” I say.

This piece of shit should be sitting in a jail cell instead of wandering around his next multi-million dollar purchase, but I’ll take what little justice I can get.

At least for Melrose.

She’ll never have a chance to stand up to him, and he needs to know he’s not going to get away with this shit forever.

When Richard returns, Robert wastes no time mumbling some excuse about having another meeting to get to, and then he says he’ll send his wife to finish the rest of the lighting picks when she’s back from Fiji next week.

I might not have money, fame, or fortune, but I’m rich with a conscience, and that’s more than Robert McCauley can say. And I have to admit, watching guys like him sweat, guys who hide behind attorneys and gated houses but back down like chicken shits when a regular guy gets in their face … was fucking priceless. And if McCauley’s got any smarts about him, he’ll keep his mouth shut to Richard.

Richard isn’t afraid to ask blunt questions, and he doesn’t put up with anyone’s bullshit. He didn’t become a multi-millionaire by being a doormat.

I tug at the collar of my t-shirt, fanning myself and taking a moment to gather myself before heading back down to finish the main level with Manny and the crew.

Taking the stairs a minute later, I find myself grinning like a child when I think about the look on his face—sheer terror, shock, confusion.

I can’t wait to tell Melrose tonight.

Hell, I can’t wait to see Melrose tonight.