Major Renovations

By Vanessa M. Knight

A summer romance, built to last.

Ritter University Novella - Book One

Andrzej Kaminski—Ski to his friends—has always wanted to be a doctor. At least that’s what his father tells him. Ski’s not so sure. With medical school no longer a foregone conclusion, Ski suddenly has no purpose, no direction. He has no idea what he wants to do—football and wrestling don’t count.
Samantha Thunder's life is overflowing with two-by-fours and sacks of mortar. She doesn’t have time for romance, especially pretty frat-boys with dreamy pecs. She needs to run the family construction business, whether she likes it or not—which means staying far, far away from big, muscled distractions.
Unfortunately, she can’t stay far, far away, no matter how hard she tries. This summer, Samantha is managing the renovation of the Phi Rho fraternity house on the Ritter University campus, and Ski is babysitting the house while he pretends to take some summer classes.
The pressure is on for both of them to make some major decisions—about their future, and about each other. Walking away may be the best answer.
If only they could...

*Reader Note*
This Ritter University book is part of series of interconnected but stand-alone books.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vanessa M. Knight
• Release date: Dec 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9780996217200

Vanessa M. Knight

Vanessa M. Knight has always enjoyed writing, and once she found romance, she was addicted. She props her laptop in the suburbs of Chicago with her family and menagerie of four-pawed claw-babies (AKA cats and dogs.) That laptop has partnered-in-crime to write contemporary romances with a dash of humor and splash of snark.When she has a few moments to spare, you can find her singing off-key (but she assures everyone it’s still considered singing), reading, kickboxing or killing a few brain cells as she stares at the many sitcoms and dramas available through the Internet and TV.For more information on Vanessa, including her Internet haunts, contest updates, and details on her upcoming novels, please visit her website at www.vanessamknight.com.

Book preview

Chapter One

Ski

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Another box. Another electrical cord. Walking through the Psi Rho fraternity house while it was under construction was definitely hazardous to one's well-being. Between the crap lining the floors waiting for someone to trip, to the dust-encrusted air, Andrzej Kaminski’s home away from home was a combined obstacle course and deathtrap, an epic journey pitting man against boxes and abandoned nail guns.

And so far, the nail guns were winning.

Ski barely heard his cell phone chirp from his pocket with the way the whirring and screeching of power tools rattled around in his head. He pulled the phone out and checked the screen. Tata. He didn’t have the energy to fight with his father, or worse, deal with the guilt. Tata would never understand. How could Ski explain what he hadn’t done or, even worse, what he had done?

He hit Ignore and slid the phone back in his pocket. He was busy. Call of Duty wouldn’t play itself, right? And his Xbox was practically screaming from the other room—Come play with me, bitch. All he wanted was to hang around and relax this summer. Play video games. Maybe watch some TV. All the things he never had time for from September to May, between the craziness of his pre-med classes, the fraternity, Ritter University football season, and wrestling. Besides,

the family’s annual pilgrimage to the homeland was mainly his father consulting with fellow doctors and his mother sightseeing and visiting relatives. No surprise Ski had volunteered to stay here in Indiana, watching over the frat house during construction.

It’s not that he didn’t like spending time with his family, or that he dreaded making the trek to Poland, but he needed a break. A break from his family. A break from responsibility. A break from the freight train Medicine, barreling toward his inevitable career as a doctor.

He needed time to think about his future. He needed to make some decisions without his father breathing down his neck, telling him what he liked and didn’t like.

Ski!

He turned toward the voice yelling for him over the roar of construction.

Ski, where do you want the new tiles for the kitchen? Barry O’Brien's balding forehead glistened with sweat, and what was left of his hair stuck out in curly gray branches.

They're here?

Barry stared at him, bushy brows furrowed. What did you say?

Ski shook his head. Sometimes his Polish accent led to a huge communication gap. He’d thought about speech training, but he was hoping his mouth would just get the hang of English on its own. He’d been in the country for over four years, and his mouth still wasn’t cooperating.

They. Are. Here? Over-enunciation seemed to be the key, and Barry nodded. Does Samantha know?

I thought I'd tell you first. Barry awkwardly hefted the small but apparently heavy box he was holding. Ski tried to relieve him of the oddly weighty hot-potato, but the old man pulled it back to his chest. Thanks, but she's running this show.

Ski eyed the box in Barry's hands. There had better be a huge

stack of those little boxes somewhere, since they were tiling the whole top half of the wall. That kitchen fed thirty-five guys. It was big. You might want to run it by her.

Run what by whom? Samantha walked into the room. More like sauntered, or whatever you called that gorgeous sway of female hips. He definitely wanted fries with that shake. Hell, that milkshake could tempt a Vegan until he had a white-rimmed mustache.

She dropped her stylus on the floor, and when she bent to pick it up, her rounded ass was on glorious view as she bent over. Oh yeah. Milk—it does the body good.

She was gorgeous everywhere. Brown skin. High cheekbones swabbed a faint pink from hard work. Form-fitting jeans and T-shirt hugging that tight body. Straight black hair tied up in a ponytail.

I was asking Ski where to put these. Barry held out the box. The kitchen tiles are here.

Why are you asking him? Last time I checked, I’m the manager. She shook her head back and forth, ponytail swishing with every movement. That hair was too fine to be tied in a knot. Tragic, really. Always in that damn ponytail. Just once, Ski wanted to yank the band out of her hair and see the dark strands surround her deep blue eyes. And don’t get him started on those soft, pouty lips. Thank goodness he wasn’t a Vegan.

Although, right now, those lips were hard and angry as she headed his way. Not so much soft and pouty. Those beautiful eyes? Narrowed nail guns glaring right at Ski. Somehow, he must have screwed up again. No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to get on her good side. And he knew she had one. She was pleasant to other people.

He should probably just take the hint. But…maybe he wasn’t a Vegan, but a masochist?

He's the owner. Barry ran a hand along his reddened face, and Samantha met his glare head on, fire burning beneath her long black lashes. Even angry, she was freaking hot.

Yep…definitely a masochist. But had he mentioned those hips, those lips? His pants shrank a size as he thought about that mouth and the things she could do to him with those hips.

He's not the owner, the fraternity is. He's the babysitter. And I'm sure he has better things to do than decide where to put boxes of tile.

Barry turned an alarming shade of dark red, and Ski really wanted to tell him to calm the hell down before he was on the voltage end of a defibrillator. Your father would never— Barry began, nearly yelling.

My father isn’t here. I am, Samantha snapped back at him.

Who needed Call of Duty when there was a war waging right here? Although if Barry launched an attack, Ski would kick the man’s ass. He wouldn’t feel good about giving the old man a beating, but he couldn’t just stand here and watch him battle with Samantha.

Where is your dad, anyway? Ski slid in between their glares. If he had a red cape to wave, he’d do it just to get their attention off each other.

He’s on vacation. He needed a break, Samantha growled, her icy-hot glare now directed at Ski. Great plan. Still glaring, she wrapped her tablet closer to her chest. Sometimes Ski would swear that piece of technology was grafted onto her arm.

"Ha, needed a break. You made him go. Barry angled around Ski, his face growing redder by the moment. He’s miserable out there."

His blood pressure was over—

Speaking of blood pressure, Barry’s face was now a dangerously deep shade of purple. Before Ski could interrupt, Barry took a step closer to Samantha.

When is he coming back? Ski stepped between them again, his hand sliding into his pocket and wrapping around his phone. The most important response to a stroke was getting medical attention ASAP. Time lost was brain lost. He looked the old man up and down, gauging his symptoms. Alarming color aside, Barry’s face wasn’t drooping, and his bulging eyes were focused and alert. He was still clutching that box of tiles, so no arm weakness. And the man hadn’t shut up yet, so there was no problem there, either.

Soon. A barely audible sigh passed her lips, but her spine stayed rigid. She flicked her glare at Ski. Is there a problem?

He shook his head. Not at all.

Should I put these in the kitchen, boss? Barry sounded calmer, his skin returning to its normal paleness.

Samantha attempted a smile. Yes, thank you, Barry.

Ski watched Barry skulk away. The man had been at the frat house a few times over the past couple of years, helping Samantha's father make changes and upgrades to the buildings on the Ritter University campus. Now Barry was working for Samantha, and Ski got the feeling the older man was not too happy about that arrangement. He was lucky Ski had been taught to respect his elders— although he was questioning that philosophy lately. Barry’s attitude was itching at Ski’s foot to boot him square in the ass. Gowno, if he were the guy’s boss, he would have sent him to the unemployment line a long time ago.

So, trouble in the ranks, Sammy? It wasn't his business, but the spark in her eyes told him he’d struck a chord.

My name is Samantha. She pulled her tablet even closer and glared at him.

He knew that version of her name pissed her off, and he also knew he shouldn’t be pushing her buttons when she was having a crap day with insubordinate employees. Somehow, neither seemed to stop him. Sorry. So, how are things going while your dad’s away?

Things are under control. We are on time with the completion of your project. She turned on her tablet, tapping and swiping at the screen.

Ski blinked. Huh. A computer-generated message would have been more warm and fuzzy. Apparently, he needed to be more direct. Does Barry have a problem reporting to you because you’re a woman, or because you’re not your dad?

She heard him. He knew she did. Her lips tightened when he asked the question, but she kept her eyes on the damn tablet.

Sammy? That always seemed to get her attention.

Samantha. Why is that so hard for you to remember? Oh— She put her hand to her cheek in mock sympathy. Too many hits on the football field?

He wasn’t going to let this drop. Samantha. I’ll keep that in mind. What about Barry? He still hadn’t ruled out beating up the elderly. All she had to do was say the word.

"Probably a