Love Shack (Tiny Houses, Big Hearts) (10 page)

The problem was, today, when Brandon stepped out of the shower and his pants clung to him like a second skin, she was pretty sure she could use some of
that
too.

Felicity wasn’t in the market for a date, though. She was in the market for a banker to back her project. She was in the market to make her passion a reality, and that didn’t leave much time for a romp in the hay. And that was all it would be with the man who definitely needed to sleep on his own damn side of the bed tonight.

Brandon was stubborn, and lived to an excess she never wanted to be a part of again.

Felicity thought for just a moment about the pretty dress in her closet. Her old life wasn’t worth it. It was why she told herself she kept the dress, but in reality, there was a little tiny part of her heart that loved the way the material slipped against her skin. Something woke up inside her when she’d worn it last. The cutaway sheer mesh between the leaves of blue stylized flames let everyone know the garment had hugged her curves perfectly. She was a vision of power in that dress. Some said beauty, but really Felicity had just felt the strength that came with knowing all eyes were on her. She’d had the attention of every single person, male and female in the room that night.

Two years ago, she could have said something meaningful. She could have done something great with that power, but instead she’d held an award. She’d been placed in the background. She’d fantasized about stepping forward and grabbing the microphone all night, but she hadn’t. She’d let herself be decoration.

That was the night she’d left. The next time she wore that dress, Felicity vowed, she wouldn’t let herself fade into the background. She would step forward into the light and make the very people she’d run from listen. Some nights she dreamt about it.

“Are you ready to go?”

Brandon’s voice called her out of her memories, but the motivation stayed with her as they made their way out of her home and into her truck.

* * * * *

Getting to the studio took them right past the bank. Brandon visibly twitched and Felicity couldn’t help but look over and watch as her passenger eyed the building like he was going to catch people looting the place in his absence.

“You want to go and check in?” she asked him. “They might need you to lock the vault so they don’t lend any money to crazy people like me.”

He frowned at her. “I just don’t like being disconnected.”

“You have checked your email three times since we left the house. I don’t think you’re that disconnected.”

“I like to be there with my team. I like to make sure things are…”

“Under your control?” Felicity finished for him as they pulled into a parking spot.

Brandon didn’t even try to deny it. “Exactly. I need to make sure I’ve got a handle on things, and that’s hard to do with only email.” He checked his phone again. “I like to have my hands on the reports and look into people’s eyes when they tell me things.”

“It’s a good way to do business.” Felicity agreed. She checked her teeth for lipstick in the rearview mirror before clicking the locks on the truck.

“Where are these interviews?”

Brandon asked, but from the look on his face, he’d already seen the tents that were set up in the back of the parking lot. The news story had gained a lot of attention, and the only way Debbie had agreed to share with the other news outlets was if they did so behind the building with the billboard advertising her own show in the background.

Felicity was surprised they took her up on it. It was one of those ballsy moves that she hoped to learn from out of this experience. Debbie had been emailing her too, but Felicity was a bit more reluctant than her roommate to jump at the notification and answer it. She was starting to question herself.

Not her idea. Felicity still believed in getting people in environmentally responsible houses that they can afford to maintain. She knew she could help create something wonderful in her community with this project, but she needed to show everyone else how right this was. She had to sell herself. She had to use her smile and her confidence to convince others.

Her smile hadn’t been as strong lately, and although she was always out and about in town, she was complimenting other people, not tooting her own horn.

The crowd of reporters seemed to spot her all at once, and when all those heads turned to look at her, her stomach dropped. Not only did they look like some creepy children of the corn who were about to ask her to come play with them, they all looked like they were calculating some complex equation.

They were judging her. She didn’t have anything that would even come close to business casual in her wardrobe. Debbie had suggested she go shopping, but Felicity had insisted she should do this as herself. Looking at the reporters whispering to cameramen, she knew they were probably talking about setting up shots and lighting, but as they kept pointing at her, she felt naked.

A little business casual armor might have helped her out. When Debbie came up with a sympathetic look, Felicity realized the reporter might have been telling her to dress up to protect herself.

“You take advice worse than I do, granola.”

Oh, and Debbie had started calling her granola. If granola wasn’t so tasty, Felicity might have been offended.

“I thought it would be best to not put on any airs. My idea is good and they should listen to me based on what I have to say, not what I’m wearing.”

Debbie laughed. “Girl, if that is how the world worked, I wouldn’t be wearing these heels.”

“I don’t own any heels.” Felicity felt out of place, but at least the flats she wore would let her run from the crowd faster.

“You don’t even have any for that blue Versace?”

Debbie turned at the name Versace and looked up at Brandon as if she was seeing him for the first time. “Why are you here?”

“Nice to see you too, Deborah.” Brandon held out his hand, but pulled it back again when Debbie just stared at it and made no move to shake it. “Anyway, I was just coming along so I didn’t have to stay in the house by myself. It’s so little. I didn’t want to break anything.”

Deborah shook her head. “How are we supposed to talk about you if you’re here? And do you not know anything about these tiny homes? I’ve seen the plans. Her house is more solid than any lame traditionally built home plunked down in a subdivision. You couldn’t break that house without a super power.”

Felicity was going to ask who to speak with first, but the reporter from MSNBC pushed to the front of the pack and began asking questions. It took a moment to catch her breath, but Felicity realized even though she wasn’t wearing the dress, didn’t mean she couldn’t say something into
this
microphone. A reflective screen was aimed her way by an assistant to the cameraman, which made her blink before the person on the ground adjusted it.

Different kinds of spotlights here. But still the same opportunity. Felicity smiled as the red light on the camera turned on. She knew she was doing what she was supposed to. It was time to convince everyone else of that too.

Chapter Eighteen

It was different watching Felicity talk when she wasn’t trying to include him in the conversation. Brandon tried to ask Deborah why he wasn’t involved in this set of interviews but she’d blown him off to go over notes with a few other reporters.

Brandon was about to go and prod for answers about what her angle was on this story, when he heard Felicity laugh. At least someone was having a good time.

Another email came in. It was another of his assistants asking him to review some documents. He tried to pull up the item in his PDF viewer, but the print was too small on the tiny phone screen, and he’d have to wait until he got back home to look it over.

His head jerked up. Why was he referring to that tiny shanty as home? This woman was messing with his head.

Her laughter made its way to his ears again, and Brandon found he couldn’t be mad at her for it. Some people just drew others to them. Some people had a gift for making others feel welcome and wanted. In all his years dealing with the general public, Brandon had never mastered the technique. If he was honest with himself, he’d never even tried.

“Are you the bet?”

Brandon turned and looked in the eyes of a beautiful blonde. Her hair was smoothed down and locked into place by some powerful styling products. She looked up at him with her baby blues and normally Brandon would have started thinking of ways to ask for her phone number. Career woman, busy schedule, banging body, and a job that carried the motivation to keep it that way—she was exactly his type.

But this time, he noticed something else. Her eyes didn’t shine with excitement like Felicity’s did. This blonde was one who was using her beauty to get what she wanted. Brandon saw the fire in her eyes, and it wasn’t for him—it was for a story. She was sneaking around Debbie’s back for a new angle. Brandon didn’t particularly care for the “Debbie Digs” show at this point, but he was scared of the woman with the bun.

And fear was enough to let him push back against this woman, who had her hand in a jacket pocket. Brandon had no doubt there was a recorder there. It wouldn’t be ethical to record him and use it for a story, but she’d most likely have an “anonymous source” if he spilled anything.

“I’m just here to get out of the house. I believe this is Deborah’s show. You might want to defer any questions to her.”

The blonde didn’t give up. “She always makes the people she doesn’t like call her Deborah. She makes us all call her that too.”

Finding something in common with your mark was a technique scam artists used. Brandon had trained himself to spot it when he’d first started giving out loans with his company’s money. When a competitor was robbed blind by a scammer, it looked good to remind the boss you’d turned that same person down. Apparently, it was also good training to have with reporters.

“I already knew Deborah wasn’t fond of me. But I respect her, unlike other reporters I know.”

The gleam in the reporter’s eye brightened. “Really? How many reporters do you know?”

“Two.”

It took her a minute to realize what he was saying, and once she did, Brandon was finally left alone.

Or so he thought. The laughter he heard next wasn’t from Felicity, but from around the back of the publicity tent flap behind him.

Deborah walked out and dropped the cigarette he smelled to the ground. She squashed the butt with the point of her heel before slapping him on the back.

“She’s a gossip reporter. Journalism is a loose translation for what she uses her even looser morals to report.”

“She was about to do something unethical. I’m not about that.” He eyed the cigarette. “Didn’t know you smoked.”

“You never got close enough to me to smell me. I stink of it when I’m stressed. The rest of the time, I have quit.”

“Why are you stressed? This thing seems to be getting a lot of attention.” He pointed to where Felicity was being asked questions by another reporter. One of Deborah’s assistants was moving the people into place to ensure her billboard was in the camera shot, no matter what the poor cameraman tried to do.

“Attention is good, but follow through is better. Are you going to give her a loan?”

“I still think it’s dumb, but my district manager has this idea that it will be good for community morale, and we’re going to write it off as a charity project.” He shrugged. “Either way, you’ll get your story and she’ll get her money.”

“She’s going to repay you even if you tell her she doesn’t have to.”

“Sorry to destroy the happy ending to your story, Deborah, but when you give people free money, they don’t give it back. And no one is going to buy one of these houses to live in unless they are destitute, and that’s not going to make for a very good story.”

“I’m going to live in one.”

Without any explanation, the one news reporter he respected hopped on the crazy train and began her trek over to the reporting tent. She woke her phone and started talking into it. Walking into the competing local news’ shot, Deborah made sure she was getting her free advertising even as the other station’s cameraman tried to avoid her billboard.

That woman was going to live in a tiny house? How would it contain her ego?

Chapter Nineteen

Felicity took the bottle of water and swallowed the whole thing in one long series of gulps. She was surprised she had a voice left. After the second interview, she was starting to feel a small scratch against her throat. By the fifth one, she was sure she sounded more like Kathleen Turner than herself. Not a bad image to mimic, but uncomfortable, that was for sure.

Usually, after getting to talk about herself and her idea, Felicity was hyped up and ready to go into the world and take it on. This had beaten the enthusiasm out of her.

She had planned on taking Brandon through the local farmer’s market and getting enough food to grill some kabobs. The tuck away outdoor kitchen was one part of the house she hadn’t shown him yet, and thought it would be a nice surprise—and an excuse to be outside and get some space.

After this, she was thinking about taking a nap instead.