Read Home Matters (A Ripple Effect Romance Novella, Book 1) for Free Online Page B

face grew warm, reliving her faux pas. “Oh, I did,” she admitted. “It’s like designers have their own brand of political correctness or something.”
    Pete circled the front page around, closing Olivia’s sketchpad. “Tell me about it. I’ve had to deal with her attitude, and that of her minions, a lot longer than you.” He set the pad on the plank and opened his arms to the room. “Nothing’s a kitchen, or den, or whatever.” He made air quotes with his fingers. “It’s a ‘living space.’”
    “Yeah, and simply saying ‘sunlight’ is so passé,” Olivia added flippantly. “‘Natural light’ sounds so much more sophisticated,” she said, her expression turning thoughtful. “But what I don’t understand is, if light from the sun makes ‘natural light,’ then why isn’t light created by electricity referred to as ‘unnatural light?’”
    Snapping his fingers, Pete pointed at her. “Good question.”
    “But what really bothers me is when the writers insist the homeowners use the lingo too,” Olivia continued her rant. “Regular folks don’t say, ‘outdoor living space.’ They say ‘yard’ or ‘patio.’”
    Pete held back a smile. “You are aware that there’s very little ‘reality’ in reality TV, right?” he asked, rushing to elaborate. “Take today’s show, for example. Surprise! Your turn-of-the-century mansion has foundation and electrical problems,” he said, referring to the segments they’d filmed earlier where he’d informed Olivia of these exact issues followed by a dramatic scene with her telling the homeowners they wouldn’t be getting a larger master bath. But if Eleanor had listened to Olivia and chosen to keep the kitchen fireplace, they wouldn’t need a support beam, and thus would have enough budget to complete the bath.
    Pete made a dopey face. “Who’d a thunk?”
    A thick case of the giggles bubbled up from Olivia’s gut, but she pressed the laughter back down. Did she really want Pete to know how much she was enjoying his company, not to mention the ease in which she’d been able to share her art, and now her misgivings, regarding the show with him?
    Pete loaded his drill with another screw and pressed the sharp tip to the wall. “Speaking of which, I hear you’re shooting some segments with my guys tomorrow.” He depressed the drill’s trigger. “Refinishing a dressing table for the nursery and hanging drywall?” he said over the loud whirring.
    Typically, switching on a blow dryer or taking the occasional turn around her apartment behind a vacuum cleaner was the closest Olivia dared come to using a tool powered by electricity. She watched the two-inch screw disappear easily into the wall. “How hard can it be?” she said, pretending not to be overly concerned.
    Pete hooked the drill back to his belt and reached for another sheet of drywall. “Right,” he said, like he could see right through her. “Whatever you say, Peaches.”
    A prickly burr worked its way up her spine. One minute he was warm and friendly, and the next, teasing her for no good reason. “Excuse me?” she chided. “It’s ‘Peach.’ And my daddy’s the only person on God’s green earth allowed to call me that. So, I’d much appreciate it if you’d refrain from now on.”
    A wry smile lit his eyes with mischief. “All right,” he conceded. “How ’bout I call you Olive instead?”
    Olivia knotted her arms together and held her position. “How ’bout Olivia?”
    Replacing the drywall to the stack, he sidestepped until he was facing her straight on, then reached out and lifted her glasses to rest on top of her head. “No, I think Olive is better.” He hijacked her gaze with his. “It matches your eyes when you’re angry and not hiding behind those ridiculous contacts.”
    “What could I possibly have to hide?” she challenged.
    Crossing his arms over a set of firm pecs, Pete looked to the ceiling in thought. “For starters,” he began, “you have an