Necessary Restorations by Kate Canterbary EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Kate Canterbary
- Language: English
- Genre: Women’s Romance Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
I NEVER THOUGHT I’d die in an elevator.
I always figured it would have something to do with my brother
Riley leaving the gas stove on all night, killing us softly in our sleep.
Or gin. Chances were good that my liver was well on its way to
pickled.
Or doorknobs. Touching those things was like licking the goddamn
plague.
But this day was headed for the fires of hell, and it was all
Shannon’s fault.
“Hi, you’ve reached Shannon Walsh. Leave me a message and I’ll
get back to you soon.”
Fucking voicemail. Again.
“I don’t know where the fuck you are, Shan, but I’ve been waiting at
the Commonwealth Avenue property for a goddamn hour. I thought
we were trying to make a cash offer today, but I can’t very well do that
without you here.”
Ending the call, I wet my lips and wiped the sweat from my brow.
This heat wave was in its ninth day, and if I had even a lick of common
sense, I would have hitched a ride to Cape Cod with my brother Matt
and his wife Lauren for Labor Day weekend.
But no, I wanted to see the unit that just came available in the onehundred-and-thirty-year-old French Revival hotel-turned-condo
building in Boston’s Back Bay. Specifically, I wanted my sister
Shannon—the one who held the firm’s purse strings—to buy that unit.
I wanted to spend the long weekend drafting plans to demo it down to
the studs and then restore the unit to its original beauty. I wanted to
lose myself in lines and materials, things I could control.
And I wasn’t up for third-wheeling it with the newlyweds.
I also wanted to be alone.
I could handle industry crowds and clients any day of the week and
twice on Sundays, and I did it so fucking well they were willing to drop
unreasonable amounts of money for my services. I was beginning to
think I could finger-paint my designs and still collect six-figure
commissions.
But I hated small talk. Bullshit conversations about weather or
sports or politics held no appeal for me. I mostly stared at tits and
asses until I was getting head in a coatroom or a drink thrown in my
face.
And I was in a strange place these days. It was an odd inbetweenness; I wasn’t sick but I certainly wasn’t well. Not suicidal, but
far from happy.
I’d been sliding further into this rut for months, and letting my
work keep me too busy to notice. But while I was restoring everything
I could get my hands on, the bottom was falling out on me. It was
gradual, an evolution too small to notice without stepping back and
examining from a distance. It was better this way. I didn’t want anyone
noticing.
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