Coldhearted Boss

At this time of day, there’s usually still a flurry of activity. Right now, though, the place is deserted. I spot a guy from the crew heading back from the site.

“Hey! Where is everyone?”

He nods toward the entrance to the camp. “Ethan let everyone knock off a little early. They were anxious to get home for the long weekend.”

WHAT?!

I panic and start to hurry away before I realize how rude I’m being and throw a “Thanks! Have a good weekend!” over my shoulder.

The bunkhouses are all but empty. A few stragglers are left, packing up last-minute belongings. I search for Max among them, asking if anyone’s seen him. One guy finally has an answer.

“Nolan was in a rush to leave. They all set off about an hour ago.”

My heart plummets. Max is already gone? He left without seeing if I had a ride or not? I guess I did insist I’d figure it out, but still…

I glance around, taking in the three stragglers I don’t know all that well. I couldn’t even tell you their names if push came to shove. Still, at the moment, they’re my only option.

“Is there any chance you guys are heading west toward Oak Dale?”

The guy closest to me, the one who told me Nolan already left, shakes his head. “We’re going to Louisiana.”

In other words, they’ll be going in the exact opposite direction.

It’s for the best. I probably shouldn’t get into a car with near strangers anyway, even if they are part of Ethan’s crew. But for the record, I would have! I would have gone wherever the hell these guys were going—Oh, wow, what a charming murder shack!—if it meant escaping from here.

I thank them for the information and tell them to have a good weekend, and then I walk with slumped shoulders out of the cabin. I’m defeated. Squashed. It’s the same way I felt that night at the bar—the night I first met Ethan. I’m so close to crying, one wrong glance could push me toward a complete meltdown.

Then voices and laughter carry over the sounds of chirping and humming from the surrounding forest. I glance up just in time to watch a group of people walk past the mess hall with backpacks and luggage. Ethan is among them.

His friends!

I watch them pause for a second and Ethan starts pointing out a few things, directing their attention down to the construction site and the lake, though neither is visible from where we are. He points to the trail that leads toward the cabins and then just before he turns toward the bunkhouses, I jump back inside and try to hide. It’s poor timing, though, because the guys are finished packing and trying to leave. I bump into one of them, my elbow colliding with his stomach, and he grunts. I cringe, praying Ethan and his group haven’t spotted us.

“Sorry! I’m sorry.”

He shakes off my apology, unbothered, and then they’re gone, leaving me there alone in the bunkhouse with my back pressed against the wall, my breathing completely erratic.

I’d just stay here all weekend if I could, but I have nothing with me: no clothes, no food, nothing to do to distract me for three long days. It’s the food that would really end up forcing me out of hibernation. I could scavenge for berries behind the bunkhouses, but I don’t know the first thing about which ones are edible or not. Chances are I’d end up poisoning myself. I’d hate to give Ethan the satisfaction.

I know I’ll have to cave and show my face eventually, so I decide it’s better to get it over with now.

I’ll introduce myself and explain that the cabin is all theirs after I gather my things. On my way back to the bunkhouse, I’ll grab some food then strip one of these beds, wash the linens, and hide out here all weekend.

It’s fine.

It will be fine.

Just as soon as I get this awkward introduction over with.Chapter 23TaylorWalking out of that bunkhouse is on par with pulling myself up out of the trenches on a battlefield and walking toward enemy fire with no protection, no shield, nada. Ethan and his friends notice me walking toward them right away and I’m left to close the last several yards with eight pairs of eyes aimed straight at me.

I try to imagine what I look like to them: dusty and dirty from a long day of work. I’m wearing a Lockwood Construction t-shirt Hudson gave me a few weeks ago. I thought he was just being nice. Now, I realize it might have been his way of flirting. My jeans are ill-fitting. My work boots are scuffed and muddy. My hair is up in a high ponytail, and I haven’t looked in a mirror all day so there’s no telling how many wispy pieces have snuck out to curl at my temples, making me look childish. It’s a shame because I want so badly to appear half as intimidating as they do.