The Right Words Read Online Free Page A

Michael Martinez. We met yesterday when you came out to the house.”
    “Oh. Right. Of course. How can I help you?” My heart was suddenly beating halfway out of my chest.
    “I’ve been thinking about what you said, you know, about there being some things that were maybe unsafe in the house. I don’t want to do anything crazy but… I think since I’m stuck here for the time being, maybe I should do some basics. Are you still interested?”
    Fuck yes! I willed my breathing to normalize before I addressed my potential new employer.
    “Absolutely. When are you available to meet?”
     
     
    T HE NEXT day I found myself on the 405 freeway stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic near the Los Angeles airport. It was midmorning and I was naively surprised by the sheer number of cars on the road. Weren’t people supposed to be at work already? The trip to Orange County from West Hollywood should have taken me an hour and fifteen minutes factoring in a little traffic delay, but at the rate I was going, I would be late meeting Michael Martinez for sure.
    When I finally pulled up in front of the home on the quiet cliff overlooking the Pacific, I was so stressed out from my drive I was practically vibrating. If he had any significant work in mind, which I sincerely hoped was the case, I would have to find another living situation close by. A daily commute between Brandon’s and Corona del Mar would put me in a mental tailspin. Caffeine could only take care of so much.
    At least he was expecting me this time. I left my portfolio, which included some material samples, in the car. I decided to hear what renovations he wanted to concentrate on first. I didn’t want to overwhelm him or be presumptuous. The house needed a total makeover, but I sensed stating the obvious wouldn’t get me the job. I checked my reflection in the car window before I turned to walk up the path toward the house. I was going for California casual with a blue-striped designer shirt and well-fitted jeans. I didn’t know Michael Martinez at all, but I got the impression on our first meeting that he was an informal kind of guy. One piece of sound advice my mostly wacky mother gave me was to dress your part. Since I didn’t know my role, I went with instinct. I removed my dark sunglasses, brushed my bangs out of my eyes, and raised my hand to knock on the discolored red door. I hoped painting was part of his plan.
    “Hey.” Unlike my first visit, my host answered the door almost immediately and actually smiled. And wow… he was sexy as hell.
    Michael’s dark eyes lit with humor as I apologized profusely for being late. He gave me a brief once-over as he hopped backward on his good leg to let me in. He waved his hand dismissively and told me he’d spent time parked on the freeway. I was pleasantly surprised by this friendly, welcoming man. He was the polar opposite of the guy I met a couple days before.
    “Want anything to drink? Water? Coffee?”
    “Coffee would be amazing if it’s no trouble.”
    “No trouble at all.” He actually winked before turning on his crutches to lead the way to the kitchen. I stared after him warily and shrugged. Why question his change of attitude? It was preferable to his cranky one for sure.
    The designer in me began to do a mental reconfiguration of the boring square space the moment I stepped onto the faded and peeling linoleum in the kitchen. I knew enough of the layout from my previous visit and information Jamie had given me to know there was one wall dividing this uninspired room from the spacious living area and jaw-dropping view of the ocean on the other side. I was wondering if he would be open to a full kitchen remodel when I felt a warm hand on my elbow. I flinched and nearly sent the coffee mug in Michael’s outstretched hand flying.
    “Sorry! I was daydreaming. This roo—never mind. Thank you.” I bit my bottom lip and took the mug, willing myself to shut up and listen to what the owner had in mind.
    He