Contingency

By Liz Crowe

He's a widow, screwing his way through grief while fending off publicity for the unique side hustle business he founded. She's a young, naïve new real estate agent, desperate to put her ugly past behind her.

Neil Jensen is the founder of HandyMan Inc. He makes a point to hire, train, and supervise those at risk of falling through life's cracks. He puts them through a real-life boot camp via hard work landscaping, junk hauling, and other projects. Many of his former employees credit Neil and their time with him for their later success in life.

Chloe Layne is a newbie real estate agent with a killer new listing in a prestigious old money Ann Arbor neighborhood. She hires Neil's crew to help out by hauling away some old furniture, and despite all advice to the contrary, discovers herself drawn to the compelling, handsome older man.

Neil and Chloe have enough personal baggage between them to stock a small hotel, and yet they've found consolation, and hope for humanity through their unexpected friendship. When life throws yet more obstacles in their way—including a dead body in the kitchen of her new listing—they have to reach deep to find strength to admit that their feelings for each other are too intense to deny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liz Crowe
• Release date: May 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224337422

Book preview

This book is dedicated to anyone who has overcome personal adversity and found love in a surprising place.

Content warnings:

Suicidal ideation

Memories of past sexual abuse

Chapter One

Neil

I am sorry, Mr. Jensen, but you can’t do that.

Neil used his best former-lawyer glare on the uniformed woman at the desk. She remained unfazed. If anything, her lips turned up in a smile. Bring it on, little man, he could practically hear her saying. 

I have the money for his bail, he said, keeping his voice neutral even as the fury rose high up his spine, hitting the base of his brain with what he believed was an audible thump. 

His bail won’t be set until tomorrow and even then... The woman paused as she thumbed through the papers in front of her before turning to the large screen and tapping on the keyboard for what felt to Neil like an hour. He drummed his fingertips on her desk. She raised her eyebrows at his hand, then met his gaze with a beatific smile. That young man is ours, for now. Take your little junkie rescue mission somewhere else.

I’m not on a junkie rescue mission, Neil said through gritted teeth. I am here to bail out my employee who was arrested without cause at a worksite.

The woman heaved a sigh. Neil didn’t move.

Well, that doesn’t quite square with the information I have here from the arresting officer. She brandished a thin yellow sheet of paper. Or here. She turned the computer screen around so he could see it. He ignored it.

You people...

The woman’s eyebrows rose even higher. Neil thought if they got any further up her forehead, they’d merge with the dark cap of curly hair on her head. We people? 

Neil closed his eyes and counted to ten, then twenty. The arresting officers didn’t let him tell his side of anything, he said, once he felt he could speak without launching himself across the desk and throttling this annoying gatekeeper. 

She’s just doing her job, he reminded himself. 

That’s not the information I have, she reminded him, helpfully. I see here that Mr. Thomas was combative, verbally abusive, and even lashed out physically at Officer Grant. He had no side to tell, Mr. Jensen, other than the one where he told them he was, indeed, on the premises illegally with intent to commit theft.

There is nothing to fucking steal. It’s a goddamned empty house. Neil’s temples pulsed. His chest ached. He counted to ten again in his head, watching the woman’s face devolve into fake shock.

Language, please, Mr. Jensen.

Fuck you, he muttered, turning from the desk and glaring around the room full of people doing their jobs and ignoring his floor show. 

Is there something I can help you with? a deep voice intoned from somewhere near his left side. Neil turned to see a tall, older guy with salt-and-pepper hair, dressed in a shirt and tie, looking over the woman’s shoulder at her computer screen. The woman had her arms crossed, obviously put out with the guy’s interference.

Yes, he said, not looking at her. He didn’t recognize the guy, but he had an aura of authority, so Neil decided to go with that. There is. DeShaun Thomas was picked up at one of my worksites last night for no reason other than he was a black man in a rich neighborhood. He was working for me at the house, hauling off some landscaping debris.

The tall guy frowned at the screen. Monica, may I please see that? He indicated the yellow sheet of paper. 

The woman handed it up to him, keeping her angry gaze on Neil. He smiled pleasantly at her, then focused on the man. He was working at eight p.m.?

Neil took a breath. Yes, he lied. It was still light. He hadn’t gotten done with...

The tall guy held up a finger, his eyes still scanning the paper. Hmm, well, let me take this over to...

You can’t do that, Monica insisted, reaching for the report. The judge has left for the day.

Yes, well, the man said, stepping out of her range. I know where he lives and I think we should consider this. The woman at the desk fumed. Neil thought he could see actual smoke rise out of her ears. I’ll take over on this one, Monica, the man said. Send me the codes for the file, please.

Monica harrumphed and muttered under her breath as she tap-tapped on the keyboard. Good luck, she said to the man while staring at Neil.

Thanks, both men said at the same time.  

If you’ll follow me, Mr.... The man said, indicating Neil should join him behind the woman’s desk.

Jensen, Neil Jensen. Call me Neil.

The man stuck out a hand. I’m Sawyer Callahan, Neil. Come on back to my desk and let’s get the judge on the phone.

Four hours later, a contrite and obviously scared shitless DeShaun Thomas was back at his apartment. Neil and Sawyer drove him there together to present him to his distraught mother.

Good Lord, boy, what have you done now?

I’m sorry, Mama, DeShaun said, looking down at his shoes. Neil elbowed him in the back. He looked up and met his mother’s eyes. I was hanging around, you know, smoking... and stuff.

She blew her nose, smacked DeShaun twice on the back of the head, then yanked him inside by his ear. Take a shower, then do your homework. We’re going to church after that.

DeShaun rolled his eyes. Neil cleared his throat and shot the kid a hard look. 

Yes, ma’am, he said, rubbing his ear. Sorry. Thanks, Mr. Jensen, he said, his eyes suspiciously watery. I didn’t... I mean... I’m sorry if I got you in trouble, too.

Thank Mr. Callahan, Neil said. 

Uh, yeah, I mean. Yes. Thanks. Mr. Callahan. The boy looked wigged out and antsy. 

No more hanging around the worksites when there’s no one there to supervise you, Sawyer intoned, his already deep voice going down an octave. The kid blinked up at him. You’re lucky you didn’t cost Neil his license.

I know. He ran a hand around the back of his neck. I am really sorry.

Thanks, Mr. Jensen, the boy’s mother said, fanning her face with a tissue. He’ll be at work on time tomorrow. She glared at DeShaun. He looked down at his shoes again. 

I know, Neil said, smiling at DeShaun’s mother. 

Can I get you anything? she asked them. Coffee? Water? Neil glanced quickly around the small, tidy space.

No thank you, ma’am, Sawyer said, holding out his hand. She shook it, then surprised Neil with a hug.

You are an angel, Neil Jensen, she whispered. 

Mama, DeShaun said from behind her.

You’d best hush up and get in the shower. She stepped away from Neil and wiped her streaming eyes. Thank you, she said again.

Neil nodded at her. You’re welcome. See you tomorrow, DeShaun.

Yeah... uh... yes sir, the boy said. 

The two men walked to Neil’s truck in silence. Sawyer wasn’t chatty, which Neil appreciated at that moment as he was still coming down off the adrenaline high of lying to the police in order to right what was still a wrong, no matter what. He felt sweaty, light-headed, exhausted. And thirsty.

Buy you a beer, he offered as he opened his door.

Read my mind, Sawyer said, getting in and buckling up.

They drove to one of the bars near the University, wedged between a pot dispensary and a Koney Island. They sat, ordered a couple of hoppy, locally brewed beers and both exhaled loudly at the same time. Sawyer chuckled and leaned back in his chair. What a day, he said.

Something like that, Neil muttered, wishing he’d dropped the guy off and come here on his own. He looked around at the potential targets for the night, the familiar tingle hitting his lower spine, making him shift in his seat. When the beers arrived, Sawyer held his up. To good deeds, he said. Neil grunted and clinked, then downed half of his in one gulp. 

A phone buzzed. Sorry, one second, Sawyer said, tugging the device from his pocket as he got up to answer it. Neil sat and finished his beer while Sawyer had his conversation. When he returned, his face was flushed, his eyes dark with what Neil suspected was anger. 

Trouble at home, Neil asked, not really caring, holding up a hand to get the check. He needed some space. He’d made eye contact with a chick sitting alone at the bar, and his lizard brain was rising to the occasion. It was time to shed his day skin—that of a responsible small business owner and employer of downtrodden souls—and transition to his usual evening persona. Man whore, he supposed as he played with the empty glass and kept making flirty eye contact with the receptive woman across the room.

Sawyer gulped down his beer and sat the empty mug on the table with a loud thunk. Another round, he told the waitress, who nodded. 

Um, I’m not...

Just one more, Sawyer said, as he leaned forward, elbows on the table. You married, Neil?

Nope, he said, toying with the napkin holder and keeping up his flirtation with the chick at the bar and wondering if she had a friend. He was feeling pretty energetic and needy now that the rush of the day’s shit storm had worn off. 

Take my advice. Stay that way, Sawyer said, staring into the middle distance over Neil’s shoulder.

Neil grunted a non-reply. Silence fell between them. He cursed himself for inviting the guy out for a beer. He didn’t want or need a buddy. But Sawyer had saved his ass today. He sighed and determined to be mature about it. Thanks again, he said, meeting Sawyer’s blue gaze. That kid is a piece of work, but I have real hope for him. His mother says he got a 27 on his ACT but they could only afford community college. She wants him to apply to the U on scholarship, but he just wants to graduate and get a job at his uncle’s bar or some shit.

How many kids are you trying to save?

Neil winced. I’m not...

Sawyer raised an eyebrow. Neil’s admiration for him ramped up higher. He appreciated a guy who cut through bullshit like this man liked to do, cleanly, with minimal drama. I keep ten on the payroll at one time. That, plus my three regular employees, two of whom were my first... uh... projects. He shrugged. 

And you got bonded and insured, despite keeping known at-risk employees on your job sites?

You don’t want to know how much I pay in insurance.

No, I probably don’t. Sawyer nodded at the waitress when she brought their second round. They sipped. I remember reading about your company.

Yeah, I get decent press. He smiled around the edge of his glass, recalling the hot television reporter he’d nailed in his office when she’d come calling. 

Decent, I’d say. A couple of awards from the mayor, that kind of thing.

Neil shrugged and drank, noting the hot girl had left the bar. It’s not why I’m doing it.

I know, Sawyer said, eyeing him in a strange way. But I’m wondering, why do you do it?

Neil opened his mouth to give his standard speech. Sawyer tilted his head and leaned back in his seat. My wife, I mean, my late wife, she was a bystander killed during a car jacking. An accident—wrong place, wrong time, whatever. The kid who did it was only sixteen and his mother... He stopped, staring down at his half-empty beer glass. Sawyer stayed quiet. His mother came to my house after her funeral. I was sitting on the porch, empty bottle of whisky in one hand, a loaded gun in the other. Neil’s heart pounded. His throat dried up. He’d not spoken much about that time of his life. The time he worked his ass off to forget. Let’s just say that kid’s mother saved my life. He met Sawyer’s gaze. Neil appreciated that the man remained neutral, as if Neil were telling him about last night’s baseball game. 

After a few more seconds of silence, Sawyer picked up his half-empty beer and held it up. Neil picked his up with a shaking hand. He’d never told anyone this actual story, not even the hot reporter chick, not even after the second time he’d fucked her. They both finished off their drinks. Sawyer took a breath. Something tells me there is more to the story to get you from suicidal point A to this particular point B, but I guess you’ll tell me eventually.

He motioned for the waitress. Neil watched, words drying up in his throat as the man asked for the check, received it, paid it, then stood. I want to invest in your company, Neil, Sawyer said, standing over him. Here’s my card. If you would, email me your prospectus and financials, including the list of any other owners.

I, uh... Neil scratched his head, confused, and trying not to be angry at Sawyer’s presumption that he wanted any investors. 

Hey, if nothing else, I can help you make your insurance nut every month. Sawyer’s bright blue eyes shone. He held out a hand. Neil rose and took it, speechless and feeling like a total idiot in the face of the other man’s calm, cool, collected. They shook. Sawyer nodded at someone over Neil’s shoulder. Have a good night, Neil. Something tells me you will.

The girl from the bar sidled up. The buzzing in Neil’s head wouldn’t allow him to process it for a split second. At least until her perfume hit his nose and wormed its way into his brain, shutting down any part of it not connected with his body’s urge to get laid, right now, and hard. 

He stood next to the stranger, watching Sawyer exit the bar with a few waves to some people who called out his name, confused when one of them called him Professor. He shook his head to clear it, then gripped the girl’s hand. Buy you a drink? he asked, his voice raspy, as if he’d not used it in a while.

Sure, she said, sliding into the chair Sawyer had vacated. Her body language spoke volumes to his grateful, shutting-down brain. As he watched her lips form words, his gaze travelled along the pleasant course of her neck, the exposed cleft between her breasts, her bare shoulder and arm, to the red-painted fingernails. Neil licked his lips and smiled at her. She parroted him. He relaxed for the first time in hours, shifting into Neil-at-night mode, hating it, but anticipating the blessed release of it at the same time.

Chapter Two

Neil rolled over, in the grip of the usual nightmare, the one that ended his previous life and started this new one. His hand flopped onto something fleshy and warm. Something that made a noise and moved, rolling towards him. 

What’s wrong? a sleepy, female voice said near his ear, blowing morning breath across his face.

He grunted by way of reply and forced his eyes open, shoving the dream out of his head for something like the zillionth time. The woman’s bright blue eyes were half-lidded. Her face had a pillow impression on one cheek. Neil blinked and reached for her, running a calloused fingertip across her lips, down her neck, to her bare breasts. She shifted, giving him better access. To keep her from asking him anything else, he pushed her onto her back and lowered his lips to her nipples. 

Mmm, yeah, she sighed. Neil gave each tiny but firm breast plenty of care, then licked his way down her torso and found her center, giving it just enough attention to make her squirm and squeal and heat his face. This was something he was good at, he knew, and he took a lot of pride in his skill set with the female anatomy. God knows he’d had enough experience with it in the past few years.

But at that moment, all he wanted was for it to stop.

He wanted to be alone. 

He wanted her to go away and leave him to his misery. 

He wanted. What did he want? 

He lurched up between her legs, his face hot, his lips wet, barely recalling the last few minutes. She was smiling that familiar, post-Neil-induced-orgasm smile. She groaned and wrapped her legs around him. He finished with a groan and a shudder about a half second before he recalled they’d used condoms last night—twice.

Oh, shit, he grunted, pulling out fast, his adolescent brain doing the time-honored pull out and she won’t get pregnant mantra. He flopped onto his back, arm over his eyes. 

What’s wrong, baby? she purred, draping her leg over his and running her hand down his sweaty chest. That was something else altogether.

Rubber, he said, his voice rough. Forgot it. Don’t get any ideas. I’m not dad material.

Don’t worry about that, she whispered, teasing his nipples with her fingertips. I’m on the pill. And I’m clean. 

Good, he whispered, already half asleep. You can go now. 

She sighed and put her head on his shoulder. He jerked out from under her and rolled onto his side, wishing he had the balls to just pull the trigger the next time he put the barrel of the gun in his mouth. Go.

He forced himself to sleep. When he woke two hours later, the only trace of the woman from the bar the night before was a lipsticked heart on his bathroom mirror. He smeared it with one hand, then pondered the red stain on his fingers for a long time. 

A pot of strong coffee and a hot shower later, he sat on the front porch, staring at the expanse of grass between the house and barn. The gun lay on one blue-jean covered thigh. Neil liked it there. It comforted and terrified him at the same time. It was a popular, easy-to-find model. Black, with a purported slimline style. It did seem cartoonish and small in his hand sometimes, but he’d been assured by the legit gun broker that it would—in his words—blow the head off a horse at twenty paces, whatever the hell that meant. 

Neil had no need to blow off horse heads.

He picked it up, relishing its well-oiled heft in his palm. With a sigh, he put it between his lips, tasting metal, freedom and fear all at once. He put it back on his lap and finished his coffee in the odd sort of peace that came only after he’d reassured himself that yes, he could still do it if he wanted to.

The buzz of his phone from inside made him jump. The handgun fell to the porch with a thunk. He sighed and picked it up, then headed inside. 

Jensen,