Perfection sometimes came with certain caveats, especially when that perfection was expected out of a piece of real estate.

One of the big ones was, that if you wanted work done on your house, you either better know how to do it yourself or know a really good contractor. Unfortunately, Julia Hawkins had neither of those things. Sure, she could peel and scrape off old paint and wallpaper, but there was only so much she could do on her own. Add on the fact that she’d hired, and subsequently fired, three local contractors, who didn’t know their asses from their elbows, and it would be safe to say, her frustration level with what she’d thought was her dream home, rose by the second. She’d put in numerous calls to what was supposedly the best contracting company in the county, but couldn’t get them to return her calls.

Julia’s second exception to the perfection she so desperately craved, was that her home office was completely inoperable. Not only was she was falling behind on her work, but the disarray was driving her crazy.

Literally.

When she worked, she tended to lose herself and she needed a secure environment to do that in and that was saying nothing of the rigid schedule she kept. That was why the office was the first on her list of must do projects when she’d bought the house. Her assistant, Kelsey, had tried to talk her out of buying a house that needed so much work, but Julia got the idea fixed in her mind that she wanted a nice little house in the suburbs, and nothing would make it budge.

Her office was nothing more than a shell, completely gutted and torn down to the studs. It was so bad, that for the past week Julia had taken to walking by the room with her hand shielding her eyes, while reciting the alphabet backwards, to distract herself. If she didn’t see it, it wouldn’t set her off so badly. The reminder that things weren’t going according to her plans didn’t do anything to help her mood.

What she needed was Williams Construction, the most recommended company in the area, to call her back. She needed to get them to come fix the house top to bottom so she could get back to her life. So far, five calls in four weeks had gone unanswered.

As dark settled over the empty house, Julia clicked on one lamp in the hallway and one in the living room as she readied herself to make the arduous journey to the local grocery store. She’d already made the mistake of venturing there during daylight hours once and had quickly decided that she’d never do that again. Turns out, grocery shopping on a weekend in Troy, Connecticut, was like an invitation for conversation. People hadn’t hesitated to ask her name or where she lived. They wanted to know what she did for a living and what brought her to town.

It had been intimidating and annoying, and she’d left with nothing but a body full of anxiety, her fingers snapping together as her body responded to the pressure she felt inside.

So, she’d taken to shopping in the evenings, when there were less people and far less questions. People still introduced themselves, but it was certainly less overwhelming with fewer people present, fewer questions to answer.

She went into her bedroom, and tried to ignore the fact that it wasn’t the master bedroom she had envisioned yet, and changed into something more appropriate for the store. She could admit that she had a weakness for designer clothes. Having worked and lived in New York City for so long, she’d become accustomed to having nice things. Moving to the suburbs hadn’t changed that and she often found herself overdressed when she went out. She’d gradually dressed herself so far down from where she started that she wasn’t sure how much further she could go. Jeans and a sweater were about as dressed down as she’d get in public.

Grabbing the boots Kelsey had couriered over, she slid them on and then put her hair up in a fabric wrap, choosing to get it out of the way. Earrings and bracelets went on quickly and she was ready to go.

Being only a few blocks away, she walked to the store, hoping to pick up just enough to get her through a day or two. She’d just chosen a cantaloupe from the display and sniffed it, shaking it and trying to decide if it was ripe enough, when she noticed a man watching her. He was on the other side of the aisle, carelessly grabbing apples without looking and then dumping them into a bag as his face stretched into a big grin.

Was he laughing at her?

“Like cantaloupe?” he asked, still smiling.

“I just want to make sure I get a good one,” she replied before testing the weight of the melon again, adding it to her cart, and heading off toward the pineapple.

Again, she poked, prodded, and sniffed the fruit. She put a few back before she found one that she felt was right. When she turned to put it in her cart, the man was standing right behind her. She yelped in surprise and bobbled the pineapple. He chuckled and made a grab for the fruit, steadying her hand.

“Sorry,” he said with a smile. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Julia wasn’t sure how to respond, her heart hammering, so she took the pineapple back and put it in her cart.

“You’re pretty picky with your fruit,” he pointed out.

He was very attractive, probably a few years older than her, with gleaming brown hair and dark eyes. His teeth were perfectly straight and white, surrounded by a five o’clock shadow, as he stood there with a flirty smile. He stood about six inches taller than she did, but she was wearing heels. He had a lean muscular build, his flannel shirt tucked into jeans buckled over a narrow waist.

He was cute.

“When you don’t choose wisely, you get fruit that’s already damaged,” she replied. It was the first thing that came to her mind, her brain triggering the words to come out and bypassing any type of reciprocating flirtation.

He had the audacity to laugh loudly, making her feel silly. “Wow. That sounded like a thickly veiled warning.”

“Your apples will all be bruised tomorrow with the way you were tossing them into that bag. The cells get damaged with that kind of impact and release phenols, polyphenol oxidase, and oxygen, causing the fruit itself to oxidize,” she pointed out as she put her hands on her cart and pushed past him.

He didn’t respond as she moved on to her next target.

She probably shouldn’t have said that, but she couldn’t help it. Despite years of communication and behavioral therapies, she’d never gotten any better at navigating social situations. When she had plenty of space or time to process things, she had a better handle on her reactions to certain things. When someone snuck up on her, startling her as he had, she didn’t have the time to digest his comment and produce what might be considered right.

Julia had worked for a long time, trying to fit into places she never felt like she belonged, trying to be normal. She couldn’t count how many times her grandparents had begged her doctors to just make her normal. Julia’s version of normal and theirs was just different, she’d been told, but that didn’t make her memories disappear. Every time she walked away from an interaction, she wondered if she’d made a fool of herself as they’d always told her she did. Being alone was far easier, she could live and work as she chose with no one to question her or make her feel like she’d done something wrong.

After picking out a handful of other items that met her standards, she made her way to the deserted checkout lines. She put her things on the conveyor, counting them aloud out of habit.

“How’s your dad doin’, honey?” a woman with a name-tag that read JoAnn asked.

Julia looked up, confused at the question, but the woman wasn’t looking at her, she was looking over Julia’s shoulder. Uncomfortable, Julia glanced back and saw the same man from the produce section waiting in line directly behind her. Her back went ramrod straight as discomfort skittered down her spine.

“Oh, he’s just fine, Jo,” he answered. “How’s Hank?”

“Oh.” She blushed. “He’s fine, too, just puttering around on his new knee. I hear your dad’s been sick?”

“Yeah,” he said, his lips turning down. “Had a bout of pneumonia a few weeks ago. He’s back on his feet now, though. I expect he’ll be back around soon to bug you like he bugs us.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s just so proud of you boys for starting your own business. You must be busy with all kinds of jobs.”

“We’ve been really lucky to get some great jobs and work with some great people. Williams Construction was always our dream.”

Julia couldn’t help it, she gasped with indignation.

This was the guy who hadn’t been returning her calls?

He and JoAnn both turned to look at her, wearing quizzical expressions, but stayed silent. Judging by their faces and posture, she’d done something wrong. Her natural inclination was to walk away.

When JoAnn held out her receipt, Julia snatched it, ignoring them, and fled the store. At one time, she would have confronted him about his business not returning her calls, but instead, she opted to recite complicated computer codes in her head.

Therapy worked, she mused absently.

As she walked toward the sidewalk, across the parking lot, she heard a voice call out to her and she debated not stopping. Instead, she steeled herself and mentally went over the things she’d worked her entire adult life to learn. Be clear and concise. Say what you think, not what you feel.

“Those boots are killer,” the man from the grocery store told her when he caught up. He eyed her feet appreciatively.

Like she didn’t know that. They were knee-high, ruched suede Prada platforms in graphite gray and they weren’t even in stores yet.

“I know,” she told him plainly.

“Where’d you get em?” he asked as he swaggered towards her, hands in pockets, looking adorable and mischievous.

“They aren’t for sale,” Julia said.

“They look too good on you to take them away,” he said with a casual wave of his hand. “Where’d you buy them?”

By now he was standing in front of her and using her boots as an excuse to peruse her body from head to toe.

“Bergdorf’s.” It was a tiny white lie. They’d be in the store in a month. Julia had gotten a pair direct from the designer, her money speaking louder than words.

“What happened back there in the store?” he asked, letting go of the conversation they’d been having about her shoes.

It didn’t occur to her to be coy about the situation so she told him the truth.

“I’ve left five messages for Williams Construction in the last four weeks and no one has returned my calls.”

His swagger and flirting dissipated as what she said sunk in. His smiling eyes changed, turning down as his eyebrows scrunched down over his dark eyes. Confusion, she thought as she watched him closely. He seemed surprised and she deduced that he wasn’t in charge of listening to messages or returning phone calls.

“My name is Julia Hawkins. I’ve been in my house for five weeks and three days. I’ve fired three other companies because they didn’t do what I asked them to do. Williams was recommended as the best in the area, which is why I’ve been so persistent, but no one has bothered to call me back,” she explained, pursing her lips. “I don’t like not being called back. It’s bad for business.”

“I’m so sorry.” It seemed sincere and natural when he leaned forward and tried to take the grocery bag right out of her arms. Not expecting it, she held on, her hands tightening. He smiled again and Julia felt the gesture down to her tingling toes. “I’m not usually in charge of lining up jobs or returning calls,” he said gently, extricating the bag from her arms. “My brother, Elliot, deals with all of that. I’m Cole, by the way. Cole Williams.” He held out a hand for her to shake. “You’re Julia, and stunningly beautiful I’d like to add,” he tacked on with a smile. “Why don’t I help you put this bag in your car and you can tell me more about the job?”

He came off as completely trustworthy, but Julia knew that could be easily faked. She’d learned that just because someone was being nice, didn’t mean they were. It took a lot for her to truly understand someone’s motives, if she ever could.

“I walked,” she told him, effectively stopping him mid-stride as he took a step toward the parking lot. “I bought a house in town,” she continued, still talking about the home she’d bought. “The structure, wiring, and plumbing are all sound. I already have an electrician doing some work. I want to rework the layout and have custom woodwork.”

Cole smiled at her. “You sound like a woman who knows what she wants. What was wrong with the other guys?”

“Their work was sloppy when they bothered to show up, and because they never showed up, the work went too slow. I want someone to come to work and do the job. I have blueprints and plans of what I want done, what materials I want used, and a timetable of how long it should take.”

His eyebrows shot into his hairline and then he whistled. “A timetable, huh?”

“It accounts for days off, material deliveries, and minimal errors.”

He let out a laugh. “You’re a trip, Julia Hawkins. What’s your story?”

She didn’t laugh, the subject in no way funny for her. “I just need to be able to work. I was counting on having my office complete within ten days, but it’s been five weeks—”

“And three days,” he added, listening intently.

“And I can’t get anything done. It’s very frustrating, and I might have to move back to the city and I’d hate to do that. I need to get back on my schedule.” She shook her head, irritation simmering under the surface.

“Want me to come take a look? You can show me your plans and the house, and then I’ll get to the bottom of why your calls weren’t returned.”

It sounded good enough but, there was something she had to say. Just because she was a social moron, didn’t mean she didn’t understand how men looked at women. “I’m not going to sleep with you,” she told him.

Even if he was cute and a flirt, she wasn’t into it, and just because she was bringing him home didn’t mean she was going to give it up.

But Cole surprised her by turning serious. “No way, Julia. That’s not what this is about. I honestly just want to come check out my newest job.”

“You haven’t even seen it yet. How do you know it isn’t too much for your company to handle?”

“We can do a remodel. You said yourself it was just layout issues and woodwork. My brother Tucker does great woodwork. Wainscoting, planks, cabinetry—you name it, we can do it. Come on, Julia,” he coaxed with a smile. “Let me at least get a look at it.”

* * *

It was not what Cole had expected of his trip to the grocery store. Bruised apples and shooting the breeze with JoAnn, yes. Smokin’ hot temptress molesting fruit and following her back to her place, not so much. Well, not taking him home for the reasons he’d like, but he’d get over that. Five calls in four weeks to their company with no one returning her calls? He’d kick Elliot’s ass for that. What was his brother thinking? They were just starting their business—they needed all the work they could get. Every job and every recommendation was hard won and earned, why on earth was Elliot throwing them away?

If Elliot had gotten one look at Julia Hawkins he wouldn’t be ignoring her phone calls. The woman was a total knockout. Bright green eyes, button nose, cupid’s bow mouth. She was a brunette, he could tell that much from the little curly wisps that escaped her intricate hair wrap. She had on an oversized sweater-type wrap thingy and leggings. He couldn’t forget the boots from Bergdorf’s. He was pretty sure that was some fancy store in the city that he’d never be able to afford, but holy fuck, those boots were great. They did amazing things for her ass, not that he was looking.

It wasn’t until she turned the corner and started up her walkway that Cole figured out why his brother Elliot hadn’t been returning Miss Julia’s phone calls, and it had nothing to do with Julia at all.

Well, it only partially had to do with Julia herself.

It was the house.

Their grandmother, Mary King, had been the most amazing woman to walk the earth. After her daughter died, Grandma Mary had stepped in to help raise her grandkids. Cole and his brothers had practically grown up in the house that stood before him. When Grandma Mary had died a few years ago, none of them had been in a position to buy her house and it had been sold.

Fast forward a few years later, it goes on the market and Elliot puts in a great offer. At the last second, though, another offer comes in and blows his out of the water. There was no way he could top it and he lost the house.

He lost it to Julia Hawkins of the perfect mouth and out-of-this-world ass.

Not to mention, Miss Julia Hawkins who was calling them to tear apart their Grandma Mary’s home.

It all became so much clearer as Cole followed Julia up the steps and into the front foyer. He nearly tripped over his own feet when he stepped in. What used to be a long hallway down to the kitchen was now wide open, down to the studs on the right side and open into what was supposed to be a dining room. Light fixtures were down to bare bulbs, wiring was exposed, and it didn’t look safe to be living in at all.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Julia told him as she headed down, what used to be a hallway, into the kitchen.

Someone had taken down all of Grandma’s old wallpaper and the top cabinets were gone. It took him a few seconds to process that it wasn’t his Grandma’s house anymore. Julia had the right to make her home look however she chose and it was his job to build it the way she wanted it. His and now his brothers job, too.

“Here, come in here,” she told him after he set the grocery bag on the counter and followed her into the back bedroom.

It wasn’t a back bedroom anymore, though. It was an office—a really tiny office with boxes stacked on the floor, piles of papers on the desk, and he would swear, not one or two, but three computers on the desk. She rummaged around a few things before finding her building plans and handing them to him. She was leaning over, her finger pointed at the papers in his hands when her phone rang from her sweater pocket.

She checked the readout and answered it, leaving the room without a word.

He perused the plans for the first floor that she given him while pretending not to be eavesdropping as she talked on the phone in the kitchen. The plans were great, adding what looked to be beautiful bay windows in the kitchen where the upper cabinets used to be and columns in what used to be that dining room by the hallway. It was the computer-generated renderings that blew his mind. They were so realistic, it took him a moment to realize that they weren’t real photographs, but graphics. The kitchen would get new cabinetry and countertops, but she wanted to keep the old farmhouse sink and wood floors. It was a great design, something his grandmother probably would have loved, too.

She wanted to turn the old dining room, now a stripped-down mess, into her home office. There would be a lot of open space for the desk she had in her plan and the club chairs that sat in front of it. She’d added more columns and other architectural details that would add some major appeal.

He flipped the page and came to the second-floor blueprints and found himself slightly stumped. What were all those cabinets in the middle bedroom? And there was a new doorway to what was his grandmother’s room. What the hell was she planning to do up there? He kept flipping pages, trying to understand just what she had planned.

“It’s non-negotiable, Jonathan,” he heard her say sternly. “They’re employees and my contracts with them will stand through the buyout. I don’t care if you don’t like him, he stays or the deal is off the table. I know Kelsey brought you multiple copies of the proposed contract this morning. Try reading them.”

She was off the phone and quickly tapping the screen with her thumbs when she entered the room. It took her a few seconds to finish and she put her phone on the desk along with the rest of her things. While she’d been out of the room, she’d taken the head wrap off, revealing what looked like a lot, and he meant a lot, of chocolate-brown hair twisted and piled on top of her head, corkscrew curls escaping all over the place.

“Did you get a chance to take a look at the plans? Is it something you think your company could do?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he answered distractedly and went back to trying to decipher the plans. “Want to show me the upstairs?”

Julia hesitated, her eyes skittering away.

“What?” he asked.

“I wasn’t planning on having company,” she told him. Her phone sounded with a new notification and she quickly grabbed it off the desk.

He waited patiently until she finished typing and put the phone down again. “This doesn’t count as entertaining. This is work.”

She seemed to contemplate speculatively for a few seconds before she turned on the heel of those amazing boots and made her way back to the stairs in the foyer without another word. He found it funny that she seemed to have no idea that the faster she climbed the stairs ahead of him, the more level her behind became with his face. After the first few steps, it was just right there, within biting distance.

She crested the landing and stopped to wait for him, her hands fidgeting as his work-boots hit the landing. Nothing structurally had changed in the upstairs. The difference was the bomb of girl stuff that had gone off. His grandmother had kept her home neat as a pin. Miss Hawkins obviously didn’t subscribe to the same method of housekeeping. In fact, he wondered if she knew how to pick up anything at all. There were clothes all over every surface of the master bedroom that he could see from the hallway. He saw clothing strewn across the bed, and he was doing his best to ignore the not one, but three sexy bras hanging from the doorknob.

There were four bedrooms upstairs, he knew. His grandmother’s master bedroom on the left, a bedroom at the end of the hallway, and two small bedrooms with a bathroom in the middle on the right side.

“I’d like to go from four bedrooms to two up here, each with their own bathroom,” Julia began. “The master will become the second bedroom and the rest of the upstairs will be combined to make a new master suite.”

Cole held out the plans and pointed to one piece. “And what is this?” he asked.

“That would be the closet,” she told him as she opened the door to the first bedroom and then moved just a bit farther to open the door to the second bedroom, as well.

Both bedrooms were packed with clothes. Hanging racks, shoeboxes, and cardboard boxes all exploding with clothes and shoes and boots. Hatboxes piled on one side of the second bedroom next to the biggest coat rack he’d ever seen with what had to be a hundred scarves. Racks were hanging with garment bags, dry cleaner bags, and dresses. There were tall racks and short racks, both rooms just mazes of stuff.

Cole walked from one door to the next a few times, not to survey how her plans would work from a construction standpoint, but just to marvel at the sheer amount of clothing. He’d literally never seen so many clothes outside a store in his life. In the front bedroom, there had to be at least sixty shoeboxes—but there was also a seven-foot-tall bookcase that had shoes and boots on each shelf too.

For the first time in his life, Cole Williams found himself speechless.