The Dirty Secret Read Online Free PDF

and he’d been embarrassed, like he’d intruded on the privacy she wore like perfume.
    A chorus shouted his name over the blues beat. Killian found the table where Bengt sat next to a heavy-boned woman with a bleached buzz cut. Across from them, a man with black curly hair and massive forearms waved a pint glass.
    He took the seat between Deb, the firm’s master plumber, and Seth, the head carpenter on the new development.
    Bengt poured beer from a pitcher into a glass and passed it to him. “Is Starla coming?” he asked.
    “On her way,” Seth said.
    Killian waited for the foam in his glass to settle and kneaded his neck, stiff from crouching in chairs too short for his frame. His phone rang with an alarm, a reminder for a deadline. He glared at it and reset it for an hour later.
    Bengt raised an eyebrow. “Hot date?”
    “Addendum bidding opens at midnight, and it’s still covered in red lines,” Killian said.
    “No working during happy hour, dude.” Bengt emptied the pitcher into Seth’s pint. “Hey, how many carpenters does it take to change a lightbulb?”
    The carpenter frowned. “Only one, but the contractor has to approve the job ticket before it goes into the queue?”
    “Nope,” Deb said. “It’s a trick question. Only the architect can make blueprint changes.” She waved at the waitress, holding up the empty pitcher.
    Killian asked, “So how many plumbers does it take to change a lightbulb?”
    Seth smirked. “Three. One to come by when no one is home, one to show up with the wrong parts for the job, and one to replace a perfectly good faucet.”
    Deb flipped him off as she chuckled.
    “How many architects does it take to change a lightbulb?” Bengt asked.
    “Only one,” Killian said. “He holds the light and the house spins around him.”
    A low catcall rose from the table of guys next to them. Bengt waved as a young woman walked through the room. She wore corporate clothes and supermodel makeup, her light red hair coiled up in a severe bun. Every male eye in the bar followed her movement as she approached their table.
    “Oh my god, I need a drink.” Starla dropped her jacket and purse in the empty chair at the table. “If the waitress comes by, I want a Cosmo. Or four.” She left in the direction of the restrooms.
    “So how many marketing interns does it take to change a lightbulb?” Deb asked, watching her disappear.
    “Depends on how short her skirt is,” Bengt said, tilting his chair for a better view of her legs as she walked away.
    “That’s inappropriate,” Seth said.
    “How much beer does it take until you get fun?” Deb asked him.
    The handbag in the chair was made of polished leather and had chrome findings, the complete opposite of Vessa’s backpack, which was patched with stars and had words in French drawn onto the fabric. Killian drank his beer in big gulps, the way he’d swallowed his relief when she said she’d take the job, or at least start it. He wondered what she would do with the tiny washroom in the hall—the absolute smallest that builder’s code would allow. She hadn’t asked him for a budget and he didn’t care. He’d pay for it himself if it meant she got the job done by the opening.
    “I love this song,” Star said, nudging his chair leg. “You want to shake off a bit of the work week?”
    “Er. I have food coming,” he said.
    She rolled her eyes at him and then leaned backward over Bengt’s lap, demanding he dance with her. As soon as they left the table, Killian caught their waitress and ordered a burger and fries.
    “How does it all work with straight girls?” Deb asked. “She wants to sleep with you, a funny-looking bag of bones who is essentially homeless, rather than the Nordic bodybuilder heir to the throne.”
    “She’s the lieutenant governor’s daughter,” Killian said. “She doesn’t need her fuck toys to have money, Deb. I doubt my student loans bother her.”
    “So she’s rich, stacked, horny and into you, and