It took me years to establish Vivian’s confidence in business situations. I used to be an asshole, but, very recent sledgehammer incident notwithstanding, I’ve learned some finesse.
I try that next.
Smiling, I spread my arms and try to look affable. Not easy for a guy of my size but sometimes it works. “Come on. You don’t want to shut us down. How can we fix this issue succinctly? Quietly.”
She chokes on a laugh. “Does that smooth-as-a-fox move work on most inspectors? Is that how you wooed Gary into falsifying your paperwork?”
“It wasn’t falsified.” I grit my teeth.
She shrugs as she flips a few strands of silky, dark hair sticking out from under her hardhat.
What a beautiful, stubborn pain in my ass.
“You can’t shut us down. I have friends in high places, Ms. Vandemark.” My smile vanishes. I’m not fucking around here, and she needs to know that. Gary was a pushover. Most men are when you meet their price, and they all have one. I didn’t want to deal directly with Vivian’s boss on a trivial matter, but she’s not giving me much choice.
“Watch me,” she says breezily and then marches away from me again. What happens next happens so fast, I don’t have time to think. I just react.
The chunk of rock she steps on tips, her right high heel snapping. Off balance, she flails, arms out, heading straight for the dumpster. I bolt into action and close the gap between us in record time, catching her in my arms. I slam my shoulder into the metal bin in the process—where her forehead would have hit if I hadn’t been there.
Chest heaving, she’s looking up at me like I’m a sorcerer, her eyes the same whiskey essence as her voice. She blinks long lashes as I take inventory of her face. Fine cheekbones, the barest dusting of pale freckles, and a parted mouth that tempts me to bend in for a taste.
Her hands are clawing my forearm and as slowly as it takes for her cheeks to tinge rose with embarrassment, the pain in my shoulder intensifies.
“Are you okay?” I ask instead of what I’m thinking, which is something to the effect of, Motherfucker, that hurt!
I have an old rotator cuff injury, and as much as I’m loath to admit it, it’s easy to re-injure. Once it’s back, I’m reduced to a whiny, unmanly specimen who can’t point across the room without a whimper emitting from my throat.
Very unsexy.
“I’m fine.” She jerks her gaze away as I help her to her feet. She straightens the hardhat, still perched on her head. I can tell she’s embarrassed. I can also tell she doesn’t know how to handle being embarrassed.
“Stupid goddamned shoes.” She removes the broken one, tenderly setting her foot on the rubble. When she arcs one arm toward the dumpster I catch her wrist.
“Don’t. You walk to your car barefoot, you’re going to need a tetanus shot.”
She considers my grip, and then her shoe, and for half a second I wonder if she’ll stomp to her car barefoot to spite me. Maybe.
In the end, she slides the broken not-high-any-longer heel on and limps to her car.
I watch her go.
Her gait is uneven from the varying height of her shoes. She should look silly, but I can’t take my eyes off her. And not only because her ass is wiggling in an enticing way. The long hair spilling down her back is rich and dark against her lighter colored shirt. I recall that smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose. Those clear, brown eyes.
I couldn’t be more intrigued by her if I tried. My shoulder throbs in sync with my heartbeat.
Before she shuts herself into her car—an older Hyundai with a dented fender—she tosses both shoes onto my construction site. “Throw those out for me, will you?”
I smile. I can’t fucking help it.
“Viv!” I shout, and her head pops over the roof of her car. “Call Gary!”
Her lips form a thin line of consideration. “Call him yourself!”
Okay, so that wasn’t consideration.
She shuts herself into her car and drives off, pulling into traffic and blending in with the rest of the cars on the road. My forehead is itchy; I’m guessing because there’s drywall dust in my hair.
When I turn around my crew is watching me, some smiling, some not. I ignore them and retrieve Vivian’s discarded shoes, taking note of the size before I chuck them into the trash.
We’ll see if she can be bribed yet.
Chapter Four
Vivian
Daniel came into the office whistling, which seemed like a bad omen. I didn’t acknowledge it just to be safe. One can never trust a good mood on that man. A few hours later, I realize my paranoia was spot-on.
“Vandemark,” he growls from the opening of my cubicle.
“Yes?” I don’t turn around, focused on the email I’m typing.
“Nathaniel Owen is here to see you.”
“Me?” I spin in my chair and find my boss’s expression as rough as his voice.
“Yeah. You.”
“I suspect my raise is forthcoming,” I say with a smile. “I nailed his ass to the wall yesterday and left him speechless. It was pretty awesome.”
Aside from my windmilling arms and the breaking of my shoe, that is. Both ruined my exit. However, that graceless tumble gave me a chance to be close to Owen, which wouldn’t have happened otherwise. So, it sort of evened itself out.
I stand and smooth the skirt of my black dress. I bought it at a thrift store, but it used to be expensive. The hem was torn. I mended it with my passable sewing skills. Given I left my best shoes at Grand Marin, I had to resort to a pair of flats. They’re my only other black dress shoes.
“It’s been worked out,” Daniel says. He’s no longer happy, but he’s not unhappy. His neutral reaction is as rare as a winged unicorn. “I’ll send him back.”
“Did he say Nathaniel Owen?” Amber asks from her cube. I peek past my wall to find her leaning out of her own cubicle.
“Yep.”
“Did you really nail his ass to the wall?” Her eyes widen, impressed.
“Not quite,” answers a low voice. I clock the moment Amber sees him for the first time, somewhat justified she hasn’t shut her mouth all the way yet.
Apparently, I’m not the only one gobsmacked by Owen’s looks.
“Nate, good to see you again.” I purposely toss out his shortened name since he corrected me on it yesterday. I do so enjoy irritating him. “Step into my office.”
I welcome him into the gray square I call home. He indulges me and steps inside. There’s a petite plastic chair in the corner for guests. My desk is a wraparound with my office chair under it. His bulk and his ocean-scented cologne engulf me when he enters the tiny space.
I clear my throat and lean on the edge of my desktop, trying for casual as I cross my arms over my chest. “What brings you here, Mr. Owen?”
I find it hard to address him as Nate when he’s standing over me with those piercing blue eyes and attractive bumped nose. He’s authority personified. He’s also disarmingly masculine, and I can’t afford to be disarmed. I haven’t been very, erm, active with the opposite sex in the years since my father’s sentencing. Dating is too awkward, and casual sex unfulfilling. Besides, I can take care of my own needs. There are no strings attached to my vibrator.