Big City Little Rebel

Her presence shouldn’t have come as a surprise—in fact, she had warned him with her, see you soon—but he didn’t expect her this soon.

“Are you in charge here, Bobbie?” He wanted it to be someone else, but he knew it was her. She was like a burr chafing his skin. She rubbed him the wrong way, but he still had an unexplainable attraction to her. She was going to turn out to be a burn on his ass. “Close in your line and talk to me.” He wasn’t asking. His tone demanded. She was blocking his project, and he needed this resolved and fast. There was too much riding on it.

Bobbie said something to the men beside her, and they closed the gap when she stepped from the line. She walked up to him, lifted on her tiptoes, and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Good morning, Big City.”

He stepped back and eyed her with suspicion. She’d nicknamed him like they were friends. In any other situation, he would have pinned her against the wall and shown her what an actual kiss would feel like, but she was pandering to the press. There was no doubt the cameraman had gotten that shot. This was getting messier by the moment.

“What’s your place in this, Bobbie?”

“It’s my mission to bury Aspen Construction, Beau.”

“Why?”

“My mother, Catherine.” She looked down at the sign in her hands. Pain flashed across her face. “They made her suffer; eventually, the illness they caused took her life.” Tears pooled in the corner of her eyes. “The least I can do is make it painful for them.”

After glancing at the press, he moved in front of Bobbie to shield them from prying eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss, but you understand I had nothing to do with that. The former project manager was at fault. He’s in jail. I’m not that guy.” He pleaded with her. “This is my site, and you’re creating a financial burden for me. I need this job, too. It helps take care of my mother.” He hoped to tug at her heartstrings, but her eyes turned glacier cold.

Bobbie swiped at the tears running down her cheeks. “This isn’t a personal vendetta against you, but it’s a personal fight for me, and I don’t plan on giving up.”

“You have a right to protest. No one can stop you, but you know you can’t block the entrance to the building.”

“I’m well aware of my rights.” She turned around and looked at the people who were dwindling in numbers. Holes in the line were becoming visible.

“Looks like your line is falling apart, beautiful.”

She shrugged. “Fifty bucks doesn’t buy much. I’ll have to remember that for next time.”

“You paid each one of those people fifty bucks to protest for you?” He quickly calculated the cost of her demonstration. There had been at least a hundred people present. She had shelled out over five grand to make a point. There were better ways to spend her money, but he had to give her credit for her commitment.

“My costs are a pittance compared to the cost of public opinion. I hope you don’t like Colorado too much.” She lifted her shoulders. “This may be your only job here.”

“Don’t count me out, sweetheart. I’ve got more staying power than you can imagine. Besides,”—he leaned in and whispered in her ear — “I just ate your pie, and I’m pretty sure I’d like to explore another piece.” He brushed his lips across hers as he pulled away and left her standing with her mouth hanging open.

After yelling at his crew to get to work, he entered the building. He could only imagine what the press would do with that kiss, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Behind him, a female reporter called, “Excuse me.” The click of her heels echoed through the gutted building.

Frustrated with the intrusion, he kept walking, but then he remembered his mother saying something about getting more flies with honey than vinegar, or something like that. It wouldn’t do him any good to piss off the press, so he stopped and let her catch up.

“Yes. Can I help you?” He turned on his fluorescent smile and attempted to ooze personality instead of appearing furiously angry. Already behind schedule, each hour he lost was costing thousands of dollars.

“Your name, please.” She pulled out a notepad and pen.

“Beau. B-E-A-U. The last name is Westhaven. Do you need me to spell it?” He leaned against the wall and settled in. This was going to take a few minutes. “I need to get to work, and you shouldn’t be on a construction site without safety equipment.” He removed his hard hat and pressed it on her head. After today, she’d think twice about running into a site in heels and just-styled hair. “I can answer a few questions, but I don’t have time for much more.”

She ignored his comment and pressed on with her interrogation. “What is your position here?”

“Project manager.”

“Do you possess the proper licensure to run a project this size?” She looked at him like she possessed a bullshit meter, and he would activate it.

Bobbie’s words about doing his homework echoed in his head. As a reporter, she knew little about state building code. “Although I’m an architect, I’m not required to hold a license to manage this project. That’s reserved for plumbers and electricians. Licensing requirements are available on the Internet.” His voice was polite, but his words had the underlying message of piss off, loud and clear.

“You must understand the public concern, considering the reputation of the owners of this company.” She jotted down notes like her paper was on fire, and the pen would douse the flames.

“The reputation of the company should not be questioned. The builder’s reputation matters, and I promise you, my reputation is impeccable.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and pretended to rummage through emails, hoping she’d get the message to leave him to his business.

“I’ll be looking into your reputation, Mr. Westhaven. New York builders are known for greasing palms and bribing officials.”

“You got the wrong guy.” He wanted to toss her ass to the curb for insinuating he wasn’t on the up and up. He’d never taken a bribe, cut a corner, or done anything that would tarnish his reputation. His goal had always been to make his father proud.

She pulled a business card from her pocket and handed it to him. Macy Delaney was her name. “I’d be happy to meet with you again. Call me and let me know when you’re free.” Her words, although sweet, were fake like saccharin. He felt she’d enjoy nothing more than castrating him and boiling his balls for pleasure.

She handed him his hard hat and fluffed her hair before she turned to walk away, but she stopped, spun around, and spoke again. “I almost forgot—your approach to breaking up the line was unorthodox, but obviously, it was effective. Do you know Ms. Cruise?”

“Ms. Cruise?” He tilted his head in confusion. Who the hell was Ms. Cruise? ”Oh, you mean Bobbie. Not really. By sheer coincidence, she was my waitress last night.”

“Spurs. Yes, they have the best blue-plate specials in town.” She brought her finger to her chin in a questioning pose. “It always baffled me why she would continue to work at the diner when she’s a multimillionaire.” Macy gave him a didn’t-know-that-did-you smile and walked away.

Macy Delaney’s last statement stunned him. The girl he met yesterday with the torn jeans and the just-bedded look was a multimillionaire? No wonder tossing out five grand was a pittance.