Coldhearted Boss

I truly thought he’d comply with my wish for a cabin change. He cannot want me sleeping above him every night, but then of course he does. He obviously finds happiness in tormenting me, and it makes sense. He thinks I stole money from him, and this is his way of punishing me.

I want to text this Isla person and tell her to run for the hills. I want to ask her what she possibly wants with Ethan and also…yes, fine, I would also like to know more about her. What she looks like, what kind of personality she has, what her hobbies are. Purely for curiosity’s sake, I need to know what sort of woman Ethan finds attractive. Who could possibly thaw that frozen heart of his?

Truthfully, I’m not sure it’s possible.

The following week is proof of that. I wake up and get to work bright and early. I do my job insanely well—bringing Ethan his breakfast and lunch, tidying up around the cabin and the trailer, faxing, scanning, filing, taking messages, running notes to Robert and the subcontractors. After this, there’s only two more weeks of preparation before the concrete trucks arrive, so the crew works tirelessly to level the ground and prepare the site for foundation work. Robert walks me through all the steps and I’m grateful. If it weren’t for him, I’d have no idea that Ethan will be extra stressed this week and next. Concrete pours are time sensitive and extremely tricky, especially in a location like this. Concrete can’t sit in trucks more than a few hours or it won’t pour right and they’ll have to tear everything out and start over. The concrete also can’t be poured if it’s raining outside or if it’s too hot or too cold. The list goes on…

Fortunately, that shouldn’t be a problem. Outside, it’s still a perfect 70 degrees most days and the crew works happily, soaking in the sun that breaks through the canopy of pine trees. I soak it up myself as I run from one task to another, building a killer tan and also a thin sheen of sweat. Not that it matters—everyone’s sweaty here. Compared to the guys, I smell like a rose.

It’s weird without Jeremy, especially when lunch rolls around. Normally, we’d meet in line and share anecdotes about our morning (read: I’d complain about Ethan and things pertaining to Ethan) but now that he’s gone, it’s just me, in line, nodding hello at people, hoping I don’t stick out like a sore thumb.

Max saves me when I run into him at lunch on Tuesday and he insists I sit with him even though Jeremy’s gone. I have reservations considering Max hasn’t exactly been shy about flirting with me and I don’t want him to get the wrong idea. I’m not looking to pick up where we left off all those years ago. Fortunately, he addresses that.

“I know without Jeremy here, you need a friend now more than ever. No strings, I swear.”

So, I give in, and we eat lunch together the rest of the week. He and his friends are who I sit with at dinner too, and it’s nice, a little family of sweaty construction workers chowing down.

I even work up the courage to ask Max how he’s been getting to and from the jobsite.

“Oh, I ride out with Nolan. He’s got a truck, so there are like five of us who pile in.”

Ah, that was the answer I was afraid of. Squeezing myself in as a sixth passenger doesn’t sound all that appealing, but I need to find a solution soon because Ethan made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want me staying here on the weekends. More than that, I’d like to go home and see my mom and McKenna sometime soon.Though I thought he would, Ethan doesn’t avoid the cabin all week. Neither do I—on principle. If he can survive in that tiny room, I can too. It’s a game we’ve unknowingly agreed to: Who Can Seem Less Affected. To hide out at the camp and slink in at midnight would be on par with admitting you have an issue with the other person. Not happening. We both return to the cabin right after dinner, when the sun is still up and there’s plenty of time left for annoying, passive aggressive behavior.

He likes to take his sweet time putting on his workout clothes so I’m forced to avert my eyes for as long as possible. Because no, he never goes into the bathroom to change. He wants me to ask him to go into the bathroom. He wants me to admit I’m bothered by his naked torso. BUT I AM NOT.

I take extra-long showers and steam up the whole cabin, ensuring my body wash is a lingering scent that clogs his nose for hours afterward.