Rich Soldier (The Dirty Thirty Pledge 2)

5

Tia

Present

My coffee spills over my hand as I lose my balance getting out of the truck, and I curse under my breath. I’ve been off-kilter all morning, so it’s not exactly a surprise. Now I’m late and heading straight to the roof replacement site. It’s way behind and it needs to be finished. Today is definitely a fucking Monday.

I fully blame Wallace Monroe for me being late. Because of him and his stupid, delicious body, I barely got any sleep last night. Scratch that. I barely got any sleep this weekend. Last night’s dream was filled with him and me. Both flashbacks and new material, fucking on the floor of the warehouse covered in brick dust, and in my bed, and anywhere else we decided it would be good. So now I’m restless and aroused, I overslept, and there’s coffee on my boots.

Work is already underway I see, with a few men stripping away the last bits of old roof, and a few more starting on the other end with the replacement. How we got so far behind is a mystery to me, but if we have this many guys on it today, we should be able to finish it. I could even push through some overtime if there’s anyone who wants it.

Suddenly I feel like I’m having déjà vu and that my eyes are once again tricking me, because Wallace is here. He’s climbing up a ladder with a pile of shingles in one hand, and I can’t help but notice the way the muscles in his arms are bulging. It’s early, but the sun is already high and he’s sweating. His shirt is tight, and the fact that he’s built isn’t hidden. If anything, that shirt is celebrating the fact that he’s ripped. Fuck, it might as well be painted on. God, this isn’t going to make those dreams disappear.

But why the fuck is he here? Didn’t I tell him to go away yesterday?

I stomp across the yard, throwing what’s left of my coffee into the dumpster. “Wallace Monroe,” I call, and he turns, looking down from the roof.

When he sees me, there’s a goofy grin on his face. “Yeah, boss?”

I take a deep breath. “Can I see you down here for a second?”

He swings down the ladder with an ease that’s breathtaking, doing that sliding thing all the way down that I’ve never been able to manage even though I’ve tried. “What’s up?”

“What are you doing here?” I ask, tilting my head to look at him. Damn it, he’s too fucking hot for his own good, and I hate how very, very aware my body is of his. How very much I want to pull him into this empty house and recreate some of those dreams that I had last night.

“Your father told me that you were short on hands to get all your projects done. He offered me a job and I took it.”

Of course he did. “My father offered you a job.”

“He did.”

“And you thought it was a good idea?”

“I did.”

I glare at him. “Why?” He doesn’t answer for a second, and I ask him again. “Why on earth do you need a job? It’s not like you need the money.”

Wallace sighs. “No, I don’t. I actually told your father that he didn’t have to pay me, but he refused. I’m here because I want to work. Just because I have money now doesn’t change who I am. Who I’ve always been. And that’s a person who needs to work.” He searches my face. “I didn’t do it to make you angry.”

It shouldn’t startle me, the earnestness in his tone, but it does. For some reason, I didn’t consider the fact that he might actually want a job. In my head, people who are successful in the way he is don’t need to work. It doesn’t make sense to me why he’s here when he could do whatever the hell he wants: travel, buy anything, relocate to someplace exotic and tropical. So why is he really here? In Green Hills? Working for me?

“You need to work?”

“I like having something to occupy my time and I still enjoy construction,” he says, referencing his past work when we were younger. “And besides, the company is good.” He smiles, and I know he means me. This is not what I need today. I don’t need him coming into my life and confusing me. For the past decade I’ve had a very solid, very clear stance on Wallace Monroe. Clearly after those dreams my body and brain need a refresher.

That doesn’t include him standing in front of me like he could be in a magazine editorial. I straighten and try to think rationally.

Wallace has always been one of the most capable people I know. I’m sure that if my father offered him a job he’s perfectly capable of getting a job somewhere else. Somewhere where I won’t have to look at his stupidly perfect face or the body that seems to light mine on fire, even if I don’t want it to.