Coldhearted Boss

Admittedly, it’s not the best night of sleep I’ve ever had, and I’m not my best self on Monday morning. Limping softly and yawning often, I’m wholly unprepared for round two with Ethan. But, I’m not quite ready to make nice either. So, I settle on being cordial as I step past the open door of the trailer.

He’s inside meeting with Robert and Hudson. Robert’s by far the oldest member of the crew with white-gray hair and tan, wrinkled skin. His face gives him the appearance of being open and honest, probably owing to his light blue eyes. Something about him makes me wish he could guide me through life. It’s probably the smile he’s aiming my way. The gentlemen flanking him have very different reactions.

Hudson stands there with wide eyes and mouth gaping, still not quite over the fact that I’m a full-fledged woman.

Ethan is doing some kind of unsmiling facial expression, I’m sure, but I’m too chicken to look his way.

“Oh sorry,” I say with a tip of my head, looking right at Robert. “I didn’t realize you guys were meeting in here.” I step back toward the door. “I’ll just wait outsi—”

“Take a seat,” Ethan says, tone hard as stone. He really lives up to that surname of his.

The seat he’s referring to is right beside the door, and I don’t wait for him to offer it up to me a second time. I leap into that chair and stay perfectly silent while the three of them finish up their meeting. They’re going over the schedule for the week, what equipment will be used on what day, which of the dumpsters are full and need to be replaced, what torture techniques Ethan will employ on me first. Okay, that last one is just in my head.

I listen to them carefully. Ethan is the highest ranked among them and yet he speaks the least. When he does, my body hums with energy like I’m hooked up to an electrical current.

“The site needs to be cleared by next Friday so we can start leveling,” he tells Robert. “I have concrete trucks scheduled in three weeks.”

“It’ll be cleared, easily. The crew worked quickly last week. Most of the guys have more experience in construction than we were anticipating.”

“Think we’ll need to bring in more fill than expected to level the pad?”

Hudson chimes in then, and I finally work up the courage to peer at Ethan from beneath my lashes. Either he somehow grew over the weekend or my fear of him has blown him up to epic proportions. He stands a foot taller than the other two men, his broad shoulders and chest covered in a gray Henley shirt with a plaid flannel on top, rolled up to his elbows, of course. His jaw is clean-shaven, and I study its sharp contour all the way down to his chin. Then my gaze flicks up to his lips without my consent—lips I’ve felt before, lips I’d kill to feel again if they weren’t attached to a man I despise.

“All right, that’s all for now.”

I jerk my gaze back down to my lap.

The men file out quickly and Hudson thankfully leaves the door open. That way everyone will hear our fight to the death.

“I can assume by your presence here that you’d like to continue working for Lockwood Construction despite our conversation on Friday?” Ethan asks, cutting right to the chase.

How was your weekend, Taylor?

Oh, great! I imagined ten different ways to murder you with my bare hands.

“Taylor?” he prods impatiently.

“Yes,” I reply curtly, my gaze on the floor.

Papers rustle on his desk like he’s in a rush. “I have no position to offer you besides my personal assistant.”

So he’s really going to force this issue then? He’s really going to make me suffer? I square my shoulders. “That’s fine. What would you like me to do first?”

“First?” he says, and the word hangs for so long that I finally look up at him. Our gazes meet with a blaze. “I’d like you to admit you stole from me.”

You know what, Hudson? Maybe I would like to file that formal complaint with HR after all.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible because I didn’t steal from you. As I told you on Friday, I—”

He shakes his head then, cutting me off with a look of pure disdain. “Forget it. I don’t really care to hear you lie your way through an explanation. The fact is, I don’t have a spot for you on the crew—you’d be a hindrance more than an asset—and I don’t need a personal assistant.”

“Please.”

There’s no hint of tears in my voice, no sniffling or whining. It’s a word spoken with a steel spine at a meeting of enemies, a word he surely knows I would never utter in his vicinity unless I was truly desperate.