Thursday, 3 March 2016

The Millionaire's Grandsons. Book 1, "Quade and the Glazier" is out today!

Quade and the Glazier (MM) by Cara Adams
The Millionaire's Grandsons book 1

Blurb: Working for his grandfather is far too frustrating. The old man refuses to change with the times or to delegate anything. Business is slipping away from them. Good clients want instant decisions, not to wait weeks for the CEO to reply to them. Necessary upgrades and new equipment aren’t forthcoming. Quade can’t stand being ignored and belittled anymore. It’s time for him to leave Carmichael Industries and build a new life of his own.
Barton Dwyer owns Dwyer Glass. He’s an only child who has always loved being alone and surrounded by silence. He really ought to take on an apprentice or a helper because the business is getting to be too much for him, but he can’t bear the thought having another person always beside him all day long. So why is he attracted to redheaded Quade Carmichael who knows nothing about glass and is completely under the influence of his grandfather?

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Barton Dwyer owned Dwyer Glass. It was a tiny company, but it was turning a profit, and it was all his. Actually, it was turning such a good profit he really needed to hire an apprentice to help him so he could take on some of the jobs he had to turn down from lack of time, in case his good clients started using other companies. But he was an only child who liked to be alone, had solitary hobbies, and had worked by himself for so long he was wary about adding another person into his daily life. Even little things like would they want the radio on in the truck as they went from job to job or, horror, as they installed glass somewhere. He’d passed work sites with music bellowing out from them, and it made him cringe. The only time he ever turned on his car radio was if he was stuck in traffic and needed to find a better route to wherever he wanted to go. As for listening to music, a few songs on YouTube, and he was over it for another week, or even a month.
So the whole need for a helper was sitting on his to-do list, and he was busy ignoring it. Unfortunately the window he was supposed to bid for was a huge damn thing, and today, someone to hold the end of the damn tape measure would have been very useful. Right then a rather good-looking redheaded man of about his age appeared and handed him a diagram with all the measurements carefully written onto it.
“Quade Carmichael. Here you go.”
Damn. His voice was as sexy as his face. “Barton Dwyer, Dwyer Glass. Why are you giving me this?”
“My grandfather demanded three estimates for the job, and I can’t find three companies to come out and measure and quote. One lot will do it over the Internet though, so I got maintenance to measure the windows for me. You might as well benefit, too.”
“You wanted security glass, right? You realize that stuff”—he pointed to the shards remaining around the hole, currently covered up by plywood—“is not security glass.”
“My point precisely. If it had been, the window might not need repairing.”
The man was as smart as he was good-looking. Barton laughed, hooked his tape measure onto his tool belt, and took out his notepad, pen, and calculator. The window was big and would be a bitch to do alone, but somehow he wanted to do the job instead of taking the sensible option and quoting too high so he didn’t get it. His decision had nothing to do with Mr. Sexy though, of course.
“It’s for both windows. Grandpa agreed to security glass in them both.”
Well damn. He couldn’t possibly do two of them alone. It’d take too long. Unless… He finished his calculations and handed the bid to the redhead. “I can do it on Saturday.”
“I’m pretty busy right now.” And maneuvering that large sheet of heavy security glass will be a bitch of a job alone.
The redhead looked at his estimate and then pulled out his cell phone, typed something in it, and said, “You’re hired. What time Saturday so I can ensure maintenance is here to remove the plywood?”
Barton kept his face still, but he was surprised to have been hired so easily. Companies like this, especially ones where someone else made the decisions, which it sounded as though this man’s grandfather did, often took several days to get back to him. They must have been in a hurry to get the glass repaired. He mentally ran through his costs and checked he hadn’t left something out of his bid, but the figure he’d quoted was correct. “I’ll be here at eight. First job of the day,” he said.
The redhead made a note in his cell phone and nodded. “Great. Thanks.” Then he hurried back inside the building.
After admiring the man’s back view and tight ass, Barton licked his lips, shrugged and walked back to his truck then headed out onto his next job, five miles from there. But thoughts of the redhead swirled in his mind all the rest of the day. The man had been polite and friendly, had a nice voice that sent ripples up his spine, and was well built. Unfortunately he was clearly subservient to his grandfather, yet for some reason Barton found himself liking him. Weird.
Even weirder was the way thoughts of the man’s short red hair, chiseled jaw, and smiling brown eyes came back into his mind again and again as he fitted new windows into a house being remodeled. It was ridiculous. The man meant nothing to him. He’d never see him again. Management types didn’t hang around the office on Saturdays. No, they were on the golf course or taking Junior to soccer. Likely he just needed to get laid. It’d been a while.

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