Chapter 20
"This woman's got little or no taste. I just cannot figure out the rationale behind wanting me to redo these gorgeous cherry- wood floors to match fake maple furniture?"
"Hey, buddy lighten up. There’s the old saying that the customer's always right, remember?" Pierre tapped him on the back. "What's more, there could be some nice bonuses. Remember that day she stormed into the kitchen? She looked really hot in that sheer robe and those silky pajamas." He emitted a lusty sigh. "Man, I'd like to get to see her in living color."
"Cut the crap," Hervé growled. His vision became obscured at the thought of another man even touching her. "Leave her alone. And don't speak about her like that. It’s shameful"
"Really? You don’t feel she's hot?" Pierre asked seemingly innocence. "I'm just saying it as it is." He grinned. "Look at the brighter side. You only have to work here for a while. You’re not living here."
"Thank goodness for that," Hervé said with emotion. He shifted the magazines on the coffee table obviously looking for something. "Hey, has anyone seen my sketchbook—the ones with all the cartoons I’ve drawn?"
"No. Why?"
"I can't find it anywhere." Hervé raked a hand over his bald head. "I just hope I didn't forget and leave it at Rosalie's. If she sees any of those sketches, she's going to be really mad at me."
"So what? It's just adding a little more fuel on the fire? Yes!" Pierre jumped to his feet cheering. "I don’t believe that she can get any more upset than she did when I turned off the hot water whilst she was in the shower."
"I really don't know about that." Hervé headed into the kitchen for another beer. He needed something to reassure him in facing the daunting prospect of what tomorrow could hold.
"Hmmmm! If you forgot your sketchbook there and she finds it, it could be pretty interesting. I think you're going to see a whole lot more than a glimpse of her refined behavior."
"Sure bet." Hervé took a long gulp of Hairoun beer. "That's what has me a little worried."
When Rosalie walked in the house was quiet. She wandered into the living room dropping her briefcase on the table near to the front door. Gasping she immediately let out a shriek.
"Oh my God! What has he done?" Instead of the attractive light pink she'd requested, he had painted the room in what seemed a bold mango peach. "Did he do this on purpose? There's no way he could've messed up this badly by accident."
"Is there something wrong? What are you talking about Rosalie?" Hervé inquired. He shuffled out of the kitchen, whilst drying his hands. "Don’t blame me. I'm not the one who chose this unpleasant color."
"I didn't choose this color either. It was pink that I chose. A lovely, light pink." Striding over to look at the empty paint skillets under the window, she found her answer to the mystery.
"This isn't the number I gave you at all. I distinctly told you to buy color number nine-six-nine-three-D.B." Snatching up one of the paint cans she shook it in his face. “This is six- nine-six-three-B.D."
"Well that's the number you gave me. And to be sure I wrote it down in my notebook."
"Just a minute. You mean this notebook?" Her blood was boiling. Rosalie moved to the desk. Pulling out the drawer she exposed the sketchbook. "The only thing I’ve seen in here is some poorly-done cartoons. I imagine they are supposed to be of me."
Infuriated she threw the book at his chest and exclaimed "I sure hope you don't expect to get paid for any of this…" Her words trailed off as she gestured at the walls. Then she became aware of the coffee table. "Holy cow! What did you do to this?"
She was absolutely overwhelmed. Still stunned, she hurried over to inspect it more closely. "You idiot! I wanted you to redo the floor, not the furniture."
Dropping the sketchbook Hervé had now begun to show a little emotion. Throwing up his hands he said "Now you're the idiot. I cannot begin to imagine anyone dense enough to even consider stripping this gorgeous wooden floor and redoing it to look like maple. The floor is made of cherry wood. For crying out loud, cherry is not maple. Staining it the color you wanted would've caused it to look ridiculous."
Hervé continued. "And since your furniture is originally out of pine that's been stained to look like maple, to me it made more sense to me to redo the furniture rather than ruin this beautiful floor."
"You’re an over confident proud ‘fella’. You're so brainless you're given the number and brand name, yet you can't even get the right color of paint."
"I wrote down the number you gave me." Retrieving his notebook she'd noticed him scribble in everyday he'd worked, he flipped through it. He showed her a number which was sitting by itself all alone on the page. "That's the number you gave me," he shouted. "Nine-six-nine-three-B.D. I wrote it down just like you told it to me."
"Let me see that." She snatched the notebook and looked through it turning her back to him when he tried to snatch it back. "That’s the only number written down in this book," she said tossing it back to him. "And you didn't even write it correctly. It's obvious to me that you a difficulty with numbers."
"What's obvious to me is that you're a heartless feline who has absolutely no taste." Hervé replaced the note pad in his pocket. He picked up his toolbox and Knapsack. “Fine! You don't like my work then pay me what you owe me and I'm gone."
"You really believe that I’ll consider rewarding you for tarnishing nice furniture and defacing the walls? Yanking the door open even though it was much easier to do since he'd fixed it, she said "Now get your sorry butt out of my face."
He stopped on the curb of the walkway setting down his toolbox, backpack and sketchbook. Deftly he moved so fast that she never saw it coming. With one swift move he hauled her against him.
"For now this will suffice," he murmured crushing his mouth to hers.
She struggled and protested but it seemed as though her bones had dissolved. Any contact with his body seemed to cause her brain to close off before she had the chance to mount any kind of defense. When he altered the angle and intensified the kiss, a whimper emerged. Was it from him or her?
He disconnected and let her go suddenly. Surprised she blinked. She opened her mouth to tell him off but before she could utter a word he put his fingers against her lips and shook his head. Grabbing his toolbox and backpack Hervé left whilst stealthily closing the door quietly behind him.
Whilst staring at the door she noticed his sketchbook lying on the floor. Her head was spinning and her breath coming in gasps. Going through his sketchbook page by page, she'd found only a few words and numbers he’d written. Observant as she was Rosalie noticed that many of the letters and some of the numbers were