Among The Roses

Chapter 4: Problem Solving

Chiara handed over the pain reliever after retrieving it from her bag, which sat on the passenger's side of their work truck. The company name, "Cavuto's Yards," was painted on the sides, with pretty vines twining through the letters.

"Thank you," Andrew who owned the place managed as he accepted the proffered tablets. He looked around uncertainly, holding them in his hand.

"Uh, you wouldn't happen to have any water, would you?" he asked.

Chiara stared at him, eyes wide. "No, I'm sorry, I only have my own," she finally said. They were certainly not on a bottled-water-sharing basis yet.

"Looks as though you have access to a water source in your, um, house," Chiara added, looking at his drenched head and generally drowned looking form.

"Right," Drew answered, narrowing his eyes. He didn't want to have to take the time to go back through the house to the kitchen, if the truth were told.

His head hurt too much.

"Right," he said again. "Thanks." And he turned away, heading grimly around to the French doors at the back of the house. He tried to walk with confidence (and balance), knowing she was watching him go.

As soon as he got around the corner, however, he reached out to brace himself on the cool side of the house. He resisted the urge to rest his head on it, in case the mean girl with the pills was coming. Seriously, you'd think she'd be nicer to him. He was her boss, after all.

Plus, he was Drew Pennington.

Not that this last should matter. As he always tried to prove, through action and words, people should be nice to each other just because. He hated the sycophantic, arse-kissing people he came into contact with so much. It was kind of refreshing to interact with someone who didn't just drop to her (or his) knees and offer to suck him off, like he would be doing them a favor or something to let them.

These thoughts were going through his head as he opened the French doors.

Or tried to.

The ruddy doors were locked, because he, the stupid new owner, had insisted on brand-new, state of the art locks for every door immediately upon purchasing the country estate.

Fuck and bugger.

He knew from the lightness of his trousers that the keys weren't in his pocket. Plus, he could see them sitting on the beautiful granite countertop, just inside the doors.

So close and yet so far. From his keys, from his wallet, from his (dead) phone, from the bloody water he needed to swallow the pills--

Drew felt so bad he kind of wanted to just sit down and cry, except that would've made his headache worse.

Reluctantly, he turned back to the overalls-girl, who was back at work in the rose bed.

"Errrrmm--" he began.

The girl turned around, holding a wickedly sharp looking pair of clippers.

"Yeah?"

"I seem to have locked myself out," he began, hoping he didn't look as idiotic as he felt.

The girl continued to just look at him as she crouched, clippers in hand. She snapped her clippers closed a couple of times as she considered.

"I don't have the keys to the place, and neither does my dad," she finally said. "You're going to have to call your estate agent or something, I guess."

"Well, I would, but my phone is inside as well. In my bedroom." Drew gestured toward where he believed his comfortable bedroom suite was located on the second floor.