Shattered Trust (Colorado Trust 4)

If Nate ever came home, that was. She hadn’t seen him since the morning she’d fired him, and he wouldn’t answer his cell phone or return her messages. It wasn’t like him, no matter how mad he was.

She paused and acknowledged it wasn’t like the old Nate. The new Nate was a whole other story. He made no sense to her. Worry tried to push forward, but she held it at bay. He’d left for a few days at a time before and been fine. He’d be fine this time, too, once he worked through his anger.

His deliberate distancing of himself made her heart ache. He was the only family she had left. They should be supporting each other now, not growing further apart. Why had he pushed her? Surely he could understand that she’d only done what her job demanded?

Apparently not.

The thing was, if she’d been a man in the same position, he never would’ve pulled the shit he had done. He wouldn’t have dared to try it with Dad. Which went to show how much she had to prove herself. If her own brother couldn’t give her the respect she deserved, why was she so surprised when other men didn’t? Mr. Blake would’ve talked face to face with a man, not sent a letter.

Marley straightened. She couldn’t do anything about Nate at the moment, but she could make sure Blake didn’t get away with his sexist discrimination. She deserved an explanation in person and, dammit, he would give her one!

Caffeine and renewed indignation propelled her from her chair straight to her truck. It wasn’t until she’d parked in the lot of Hunter Construction’s main offices that she realized she’d forgotten to pull her hair back. Glancing in the mirror, she decided it would have to do.

Your hair looks sexy like that.

Recalling Justin Blackman’s words made her pause. She peered back into the mirror and decided he’d been pulling her leg. It was just hair for God’s sake. Wavy, messy, in-her-face hair.

Flipping it back over her shoulders, she slammed the truck door and marched into the lobby, ready to do battle. The receptionist looked up with surprise, gave her the once over, then asked in a bored voice, “May I help you?”

“I’m looking for Justin Blake,” Marley stated with haughty confidence, despite being acutely aware of her old jeans and plain tee shirt. She should’ve thought this through better.

“His office is on the third floor, but—”

Marley hurried to the elevators to catch the empty one waiting just for her. She jabbed the number three, then waited impatiently for the car to rise.

“Excuse me,” the receptionist called as the doors began to slide closed. “You can’t go up—”

Settle down, Marley. No sense going in there all fired-up. A few calming breaths did nothing to help. Her heart pounded and her hands shook. As the elevator eased to a stop and the doors slid open, she tried one more deep breath before stepping out.

The receptionist’s desk on this floor was empty. Good. Surprise was a key element in the art of negotiations, so even though she was on his turf, she’d still have that advantage.

She paused in her search for the Blake coward’s office. Negotiations? Where did that come from? It wasn’t as if she were going to ask for her job back.

She stopped abruptly. Yeah, she was. Or the internship at least. And why not? Depending on the reason he gave for letting her go, she might even be justified.

Then you really need to calm down. Show him you aren’t going to go off half-cocked just because someone throws you a curve ball.

She could do this. Her father had taught her how to negotiate. Confidence swept through her and she resumed her search. There it was, right in the corner, with a name sign and everything. She knocked twice, then opened the door and stepped inside with determination.

“Mr. Blake, I insist—”

Whatever else she’d planned to say was lost the moment her gaze locked on the occupant behind the desk.

Justin Blackman in a suit and tie?

No. Justin Blake.

So many things suddenly made sense. Fury and humiliation swept everything else away, then doubled when he smiled at her.

“Hello, come in.”

She slammed the door. The pictures on the wall bounced against the drywall. His eyebrows shot up as she stalked toward the desk.

“You lying son-of-a-bitch. Justin Blackman? If you wanted to fire me that bad you didn’t have to spy—”

Again she lost her words, now close enough to see his dark brown eyes.

“You could only be Marley Wade,” the man guessed in the silence.