Coldhearted Boss(25)
I brace myself as I knock on the door. A deep voice bids me to enter, but I linger there on the precipice for a moment longer, trying to gather courage. If they’re going to fire me just because I’m a woman, I’ll fight it. Somehow. Maybe I can find a lawyer who accepts Monopoly money.
With that thought, I push the door open and am arrested by the sight that greets me: Him, the suit, my cabinmate standing behind a desk with regal posture and a formidable presence.
Somehow, it’s shocking, though it shouldn’t be.
Of course he’s not a common construction worker. He wasn’t with the rest of the crew back at the jobsite. He’s not staying in the bunkhouses with the other men. He was wearing a suit all those weeks ago, and that thought propels me toward another: right now, he doesn’t look all that different than he did that night in the bar. It’s more like looking at two sides of a coin. One version seemed perfectly composed, gentlemanly even. This other version might be wearing jeans, boots, and a blue Lockwood Construction shirt rolled to his elbows, but his hair is the same shade of dark brown. His jaw is still carved from marble. His eyes are just as piercing as he looks up and pins me to my spot by the door.
“You asked to see me?” I ask, my voice wobbly.
His eyes scan me quickly, halt at the hard hat and safety vest I’m clutching in my arms, and then he nods toward the chair at my right. “You can drop that gear. You won’t be needing it.”
So this is it.
He’s finally connected the dots and is going to send me on my way—or worse. Maybe there’s a police squadron hovering in the bushes outside waiting to leap out and haul me to jail. Ten-four, we’ve got the wallet thief. How many years in the clink do you get for taking someone’s wallet but not actually stealing anything out of it?
I set my gear down then stand back up and catch my elbow behind my back to conceal the fact that my hands are shaking.
His attention has already fallen back to his work. To me, his desk looks like a chaotic mess. Blueprints curling at the edges. A laptop obscuring the paperwork underneath it. A cell phone precariously positioned at one corner, millimeters away from toppling to the ground. I want to step forward and nudge it to safety, but I stay right where I am.
It comes to my attention then that we’ve both been quiet longer than is socially acceptable. It almost feels like he’s forgotten I exist. Isn’t he going to come right out with it? Tell me he recognizes me as the woman from the bar? Fire me? Imprison me?
“You won’t be working on the jobsite,” he finally says as he continues to write something on a construction drawing.
“Are you…are you firing me?” I blurt out, sounding almost panicked. I immediately think of my phone call with my mom last night, how desperate I am to keep this job.
“No,” he says with a tight shake of his head. “But you’ll have a different position than the rest of the crew. You’ll be working here. With me.”
When he says “me”, his brown eyes flick up and lock with mine. My stomach dips and wait, wait, wait, this makes no sense. Does he really not recognize me? My disguise has proven to be terrible. I’m like Hilary Duff wearing that tiny mask in A Cinderella Story, acting like no one could possibly recognize her. Spoiler: we know it’s you, Hilary. Your mask is one inch wide.
“I need a personal lackey,” he continues with a wave of his hand. “An errand boy.”
I swear he emphasizes the word boy.
“You know…right?”
His eyes narrow and there’s the flip of that coin. This is the shrewd businessman again, the man who should be poured into a black suit and sipping a fine scotch. The jeans give me a false sense of ease. “Know? What should I know?”
Yes, what should he know?! If he doesn’t recognize me then I’d be an absolute fool to bring it to his attention. If the lion has decided not to eat the gazelle, the gazelle doesn’t need to lie down on a bed of lettuce and put an apple in its mouth, just to make sure. Take the gift for what it is, you silly gazelle!
“That I’m a woman,” I say, rushing the words out quickly. “So I can’t be your errand ‘boy’, but I’m happy to fill the role of your personal lackey.”
I’m even attempting to smile now, really putting in an effort with my new boss.
So what if he doesn’t recognize me? That’s a good thing! I shouldn’t be offended that our steamy encounter meant so little to him that he can’t even seem to recall it. For all I know maybe he has bathroom trysts all the time. Maybe he gets his wallet stolen biweekly.
This is the first time his face has been anything but an impenetrable mask of indifference. I swear, swear he’s very nearly smirking as he glances back down at his desk. Then he nods once.
“Yes, I know you’re a woman.”
Those words seem to be dripping with so much meaning that I have to fight the urge to squirm with pleasure.
In this moment, I want him to remember me. I want him to be so consumed with remembering me that those blueprints tumble to the ground and that phone goes with it. It’s just begging to fall, and I’ve had enough. I step forward and push it farther onto the desk then glance up and find his icy gaze frozen on my hand. I jerk it away and laugh self-deprecatingly. “Sorry. It was bothering me.” I step back to give us both a healthy distance from one another. With that scowl in place, it looks like he’d appreciate it. “Anyway, what exactly would my duties be if I were to be working for you, Mr…ah…”