Coldhearted Boss(26)

I leave the sentence dangling so he can pick it up.

“Ethan.”

“Mr. Ethan?”

Odd, but okay.

His brows soften and I think there’s a shadow of a smile hidden on his rugged face. I lean forward on my toes just a smidge, waiting…wanting to see it. But then his mask is back and he shakes his head sharply.

“Ethan Stone.”

So there it is, the name I can hang over this face in my naughty dreams—and there will be dreams now that I know the nightmares can recede. Everything is going to be okay. He doesn’t remember me from last month. He knows I’m a woman. We can move forward now. I can prove to be the best employee he’s ever had and maybe by the end of the week, I’ll be walking away with a nice little raise.

“So what exactly will I be doing for you, Mr. Stone?”





Chapter 11





Ethan





“Just call me Ethan,” I say, picking up my phone and putting it in my pocket, annoyed she touched it in the first place. Had I not been watching her, would she have taken it? A sharp bite from my conscience tells me I’m wrong to think so little of her, but I can’t seem to help it.

She had the opportunity to tell me the truth just now, to fess up to her deeds, but she didn’t. Of the two lies she’s carrying around—her theft and her gender—she only admitted to one, and declaring she’s a woman isn’t exactly all that earth-shattering. Anyone with a pair of eyes already knew. To go on pretending would have only made her look stupid.

She really committed to the role, though. Those jeans are hanging off her frame, and that shirt looks like it’s my size. She’s still suffering in those work boots—they’re so ridiculous, they nearly look like clown shoes on her.

Still, her beauty is so obvious that hat does nothing to diminish it. Her tempting curves are still visible beneath the baggy clothes, her pouty lips just as alluring as they were a month ago.

She tips back on her heels. “Right. Well, Ethan, what exactly would you like me to do?”

In truth, I don’t actually need an assistant. I’ve never used one in the past. I can answer my phone and reply to my emails myself. I’m pretty good at pouring coffee into a mug and picking up my lunch from the mess hall. I don’t really want someone in my space, but I don’t know what else to do with her. I should fire her and be done with it, but I won’t. I saw her moment of despair earlier when she thought I was letting her go. It almost looked like she was about to cry, which makes sense. If she’s forced to leave, all her plans go up in smoke—plans I’m still curious about.

Still, if I’m going to keep her around, I can’t have her out at the jobsite. It’s a safety issue. Everyone else we hired has had some experience in construction, but not her.

So, she’ll work directly for me.

Just…elsewhere.

“I’d like you to take this note to Robert. When you’re done, see if he has anything he needs you to do.”

She frowns, confused. I’ve just told her she’ll be working for me and now I’m sending her away.

Even still, she accepts the note without another word and is quick with her task. Unfortunately, Robert doesn’t need her assistance at the moment, so in less than ten minutes, she’s back in the trailer, staring up at me with those big brown eyes.

“What would you like me to do next?” she asks with an eager-to-please tone.

I’d like her to leave me alone, but I guess that’s not an option.

“Have you ever been an assistant before?”

“No.” She shakes her head before offering up a small smile. “But to be fair…I was hired to be a construction worker.” When it’s clear I won’t be joining in her teasing banter, she changes her tone. “Mr. Stone, I’m a quick learner and I’d like to be useful, so maybe if you took some time to train me or gave me a list of tasks you’d like me to complete…”

Tasks? I have plenty of them. I want her to stop calling me Mr. Stone. I want her to stop wearing those ridiculous clothes. I want her to tell me why she’s here.

Beyond that, I have nothing for her to do, and I see no reason to train her to be useful because she won’t be around long enough to make it worth it.

So, I keep her busy with menial tasks, things that keep her away from me. I snap at her to refill my coffee, run notes to the site, clean a pair of my boots that got muddy yesterday, check on lunch, take out my trash.

Each time I tell her to do something slightly more degrading, I expect her to respond to my command with a look of disdain or at least a subtle complaint, but instead, she’s quick and eager, always looking for more work when she’s finished.

Annoyed, I finally tell her to take the rest of the afternoon off, and that night, I stay away from the cabin until dark, working in the trailer, keeping myself busy, beating back thoughts of her. When I finally walk into the cabin, well past dark, her floral scent slams into me. I pause on the threshold, wondering if it’s a good idea to go inside. Then I see she’s asleep in her bunk, her feminine features so sweet and docile in her slumber, her dark lashes fanned across her cheeks.

An owl hoots, jarring me out of my careful study of her, and I’m angrier than ever as I storm into the bathroom to take a shower.