Free Up to Date (Better Date than Never Book 8) by Susan Hatler Page B

to do the work for you.”
    Instead of relenting, he flashed a grin. “We both know it’s customary to keep the client happy. What makes me happy is being with you. Looks like you’re not getting rid of me.”
    Oh, man. He’d beat me by using the most basic rule in customer service.
    “Whatever the client says.” I relented, then glanced down at my paint-splattered outfit. “But I have to change first.”
    “That’s approved.” He opened the door but, before I could slip out, he cupped my face in his hands and kissed me until my knees turned to noodles. Once. Twice. Three times. “I’ll be down to pick you up shortly.”
    I lifted my lashes, feeling dazed. “Okay.”
    As I hurried down the stairs, I had to hold the railing to keep steady. I knew I’d messed up again by kissing Greg. And I should have stood firm and not let him come furniture shopping. I really did know all of this. But, right now, I felt too freaking amazing to care.
    ****
    As I swept my paintbrush down one corner of Greg’s living room walls Sunday afternoon, I wanted to pinch myself to make sure I was awake. I’d always maintained that help was overrated. But, after this weekend, I’d gained a new perspective.
    With Greg, everything I needed to get done for the condo had been accomplished faster and had been more fun. Thinking about our war over picking out the new sofa and loveseat had my belly doing somersaults. I’d brought a list of sofa options to the furniture store that would work visually with the space, but he refused to listen to my researched ratings on customer feedback. Instead, he’d bounced from couch to couch, insisting on picking whichever sofa he could best imagine “watching a Ben Stiller movie on.”
    So not rational.
    But, Greg had won the argument—he was the client, after all—and I’d somehow promised to watch some movie called Zoolander with him even though I hadn’t looked up the reviews yet. In my defense, his delicious kisses had made my brain fuzzy again.
    Another exciting revelation occurred when my muse returned last night. For my logo, I’d sketched a simple, white, antique chair with a paintbrush hovering over the seat’s cushion, turning it red like a magic wand. A splash of angel dust exploded around the paint bristles, finishing the logo off. I also purchased the domain name for my upcoming website, assigned an email address, and printed five hundred business cards. Nothing was going to stop me now.
    Ping! Ping!
    “Your phone’s beeping in the den.” Greg entered from the hallway, then picked up a paintbrush to join me.
    “Thanks.” I considered ignoring the phone call, but climbed down the ladder and hurried to the den. I didn’t want to worry my friends by not answering. I’d already received calls from Jill, Kaitlin, Rach, Ellen, Kristen, and a handful of others checking to make sure I wasn’t going off the deep end after being handed my walking papers from Woodward Systems Corporation. Who was even left to phone me now? The new janitorial staff?
    My cell screen showed four new text messages from Mary Ann, one missed call from my mother, and another missed call from a Sacramento number I didn’t recognize. I scanned my texts first.
    Mary Ann: You know how you got the boot at work? That wasn’t top secret, right?
    Mary Ann: Mom is sort of freaking out. You need to call and reassure her you’ve got a plan. You do have a plan, right? We need something and it’s called money.
    Mary Ann: Are you ignoring me? I’m starting to get that impression. I may have told Mom, Dad, Liam, and the guy who edges the plants out front that you got terminated, but only cuz I have nobody else to vent to. Why won’t you call me? I’m so upset I almost canceled my facial.
    Mary Ann: Don’t misdirect your anger. Your boss is the dodo brain. Not me. Dig?
    My jaw tightened. Unbelievable. Why didn’t Mary Ann just broadcast my dismissal on the news? And how does she have money for a facial, but not rent?