Coldhearted Boss(35)

“It was uncalled for.”

I’m slack-jawed from shock. “Oh, okay. Well, thank you, and…” My right hand catches my left elbow and I realize I’m shuffling my feet. I immediately stop. “I’m sorry for throwing your laundry on the ground. In hindsight, it was pretty childish of me.”

He nods, turns, and walks away.

I stand there watching until he disappears inside with Robert.

Huh. That went…well?

Jeremy and Max hound me about the encounter for ten minutes. To them, it seemed like an odd exchange, definitely not a casual employer-employee conversation.

“You looked petrified,” Jeremy points out. “Like Bambi in headlights.”

Max agrees.

Seriously?! I thought I looked like a badass. I even met his gaze. My chin was raised!

“He didn’t exactly look happy either,” Max adds. “Though maybe that’s just how he is? He was a total dick when he found me talking to you earlier.”

Thankfully, Jeremy doesn’t ask him to elaborate, and we all go right back to eating our lasagna. After, we sit out in front of the mess hall talking until the sun starts to set. Some of the guys wander off to shower and attempt to call home. A few of them start up a poker game. We stay right where we are, though, listening to the cicadas and the soft strumming of Mike’s guitar. That’s his name—I know because we invited him to join us. There’s a big group sitting in a circle while he strums. Someone starts telling a story and we all listen, heads tipped back, staring up at the trees and the moon starting to overtake the sky. Most of us were born and raised around here. Even if we didn’t go to the same schools and live in the same small towns, we all had similar upbringings. No one puts on airs. No one gets offended by the sound of someone spitting chewing tobacco or the smell of a cigarette burning beside them. Even if it’s not my thing, it’s still oddly comforting. We’re all trailer trash, everyone one of us, and the thought makes me smile.





An hour later, I’m inside my new bedroom, AKA Jeremy’s truck. It would work if he had a normal bench seat that stretched from one door to the other. If that were the case, I’d be catching so many z’s right now, I’d have some to spare.

Unfortunately, Jeremy’s truck is older than dirt and there’s a massive gear shift in the center of the floor that breaks up the two seats, therefore preventing me from lying across it like a bed. My only option is to sleep upright in the passenger seat with my head angled against the window. Even with my pillow wedged between my ear and the door, it’s no use. I’m a sleep-walking zombie in the morning.

I tell myself sleep is overrated. New parents don’t sleep. Insomniacs don’t sleep. People avoiding their bosses by sleeping in trucks don’t sleep either. I greet the morning with enthusiasm, ignore the crick in my neck, and go into the day with a new attitude. Yesterday, I messed up. I let my guard down where Ethan is concerned. Even after his abrupt apology at dinner, it’s still clear he’s a coldhearted jerk. That’s fine. I know that now, and I’ll be better prepared going into today. I have to be. Ethan might not have any reason to be nice to me and help smooth over our rocky relationship, but I do. I need this job badly enough to swallow my pride, keep my temper in check, and get to work.

After I take a quick shower in the communal bathroom while Jeremy stands guard at the door, I throw on a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt then frown at my reflection in the mirror. The V-neck isn’t necessarily encroaching on dangerous territory, but when you’re top-heavy, if you give your boobs an inch, they’ll take a mile. I adjust the neckline so it sits a little higher and then spray my hair so it’ll air-dry with beachy waves, and that’s that. I’m ready to tackle the day!

I think ahead and bring two hot coffees out to where Ethan’s finishing up a meeting with some of the subcontractors. They’re standing in front of the demolished meeting hall. All the lumber has been hauled off and the dirt that’s left is uneven and rocky. Still, now that the building is gone, there’s a straight shot all the way from here to the lake, and the view is breathtaking. Much better than staring at a truck dashboard at 3:30 in the morning.

The meeting breaks up a few minutes after I arrive and I rush forward, seizing the opportunity. I look like the aide to a president on a sitcom. Ethan starts walking and I have no choice but to match his pace if I want to keep up.

“Do you like coffee?” I ask genially.

“Who doesn’t like coffee?”

“Some people.”

Our conversation dies a quick death. I have no choice but to revive it.

“Well, would you like some?” I hold both coffees out to him, which—due to the fact that I’m having to take five steps for every one of his—makes it so there’s spillage over the sides and onto my hand.

He reaches over and takes a cup, and afterward I realize he’s left me the one without cream and sugar. There’s no way he did that intentionally. There’s no way he likes sugar in his coffee. He’s got no-frills straight-black-coffee-drinker written all over his perfectly honed features. He must not have been paying attention.

A small nod is the only thanks I get, but I eat it up and continuing walking.

“Should we discuss what happened last week—”

He cuts me off. “I don’t have time.”