Forbidden Boy by Abbott, Hailey (moboreader .txt) 📗

she was in the trailer choosing colors, design-ing lighting, or planning the landscaping for the owners, she resented the trailer just for being there.

Even worse, Remi was everywhere Julianne turned.

She felt like he was looking over her shoulder, just waiting for her to mess up. Of course, she found herself making stupid mistakes when he was around. She could almost forgive him for keeping such a close watch on her, but she wasn’t sure she could forgive herself for letting him psych her out so much. If she started to drill a board into place without sanding the rough patches down first, she’d turn around and, sure enough, Remi would be standing right there. Accidentally attach a solar panel upside down? Remi suddenly appeared two feet away, and Julianne could swear his eyebrows were arched.

The more Julianne stressed out about Remi’s suffo-cating proximity, the closer he seemed to get. She felt paranoid, anticipating that he would find fault even with her best work.

“Hey, Julianne—that panel could be a little bit straighter, okay?” she muttered to herself, mocking his helpful suggestions.

Not even five minutes later, his imagined voice popped back into her head with “Hey, Julianne—that tile could be set a little bit closer to the others, okay?”

“Definitely. I’m on it,” she responded to herself, even managing a jaunty salute. She was totally losing it.

Half an hour later, when she saw Beau’s broad figure lumbering across the site, she tensed up immediately:

“Hey, Julianne—you might want to think about using a different bit on that drill, okay?”

“Anything you say, chief.” Julianne sighed. She was getting exhausted just thinking about it.

“Hey, no need to get snippy with me,” Beau said, raising his hands in faux surrender. “I just don’t want to see you get showered with splinters is all.”

“You don’t want to see me get all splinter-y—or you were sent over here to tell me I’m doing something wrong?” Julianne asked suspiciously, fiddling with the Velcro on her work gloves.

“Whoa …” Beau said, laughing, arms still up in mock defensiveness. “I’m here with only the purest of intentions.

No nefarious plotting whatsoever. And every time I’ve talked to you in the past week—if you don’t mind my saying, Jules—you’ve asked me if Remi sent me over. A few too many unnecessary protests, if you know what I mean.”

“Hey now, Mr. Big Imagination,” Julianne protested, half-laughing. “I think you’re spending too many of your lunch breaks reading romance novels—don’t think I haven’t seen you huddled back by the trailer—it’s starting to go to your head!”

“Maybe,” Beau replied slyly. “Or maybe not all the sparks flying on this site are from your drill bit …”

“Oh, shut up!” Julianne said, laughing as she rolled her eyes. Beau shrugged and headed back over to his workbench. “Drama queens,” she muttered to herself.

“Guys are such drama queens.”

By the end of the third week, Julianne had resorted to singing to herself—or rather, to every song on her iPod playlist—to keep herself calm and focused on work rather than on Remi. When that lost its charm, she moved on to imagining elaborate spy scenarios. Her favorite one involved her and Chloe—decked out in matching James Bond spygirl outfits—rappelling into the Moores’ mansion under cover of darkness only to find out that the whole thing was an elaborate cover for an international drug cartel. They called in the FBI and not only were the Moores sent to a remote island to grow bananas and repay their debt to society, but the girls were both rewarded with presidential medals and the deed to the entire beach. Which they, of course, designated as a free public space and artists’ colony. Julianne played this fan-tasy over and over in her head until she began to feel a little bit creepy for wishing it were actually true.

When she wasn’t imagining new and creative ways for the universe to karma-smack Remi and his family, Julianne waited with her ears perked for any mention of Remi’s name around the site. Whenever one of the other guys mentioned Remi, Julianne would hang back pretending to tie her shoe, or take additional measurements on something she’d just measured twice a few minutes earlier. Unfortunately, they never seemed to say anything, except what a great guy and good manager he was.

She was becoming a pro at looking casually disinterested or distracted while secretly absorbing every last syllable being uttered around her. In short, she was well on her way to being the best spy in Southern California.

Okay, maybe not. But definitely the best spy in the Palisades.

Chapter Nine

Julianne crept around the corner, trying to stay crouched down low to escape notice. She was holding a small, electronic stud-finder in her hand, working her way around the perimeter of the wall. If anyone walked by, it would look like she was checking to see where to attach the moldings at the bottom of each wall.

She kept her head down, waiting to make her move.

Only a fellow spy would have recognized that Julianne was honing her skills—waiting for Remi to come around the corner after his 10 a.m. meeting. James Bond had nothing on her.

After three weeks of progressively more intense surveillance—of what she and Chloe were now jokingly calling “the subject”—Julianne had come up with precious little that was of any help to her cause. She had, however, developed a whole arsenal of easily deployed spy tricks. The stud-finder was her latest innovation. As Julianne knelt on the floor, she was torn between feeling incredibly clever and beyond sketchy. On one hand, she was undercover—complete with techno-props. On the other hand, she was sort of curled into a ball as an elaborate excuse to try to overhear a few seconds of Remi’s morning plans.

She heard footsteps coming and snapped back into her position—her face shielded, the stud-finder level with the floor and beeping softly. The click-click-thump of shoes was getting closer, and Julianne strained to hear what was being said. After a few more moments, she began to get worried. Nonetheless,