“You don’t even know the question,” he threw back, his tone dripping with amusement.
“I don’t need to know. I told you last time you called, lose my fucking number.”
Regan and I went way back.
Far too far if you asked me.
There were times when the only voice I would hear for a week would be his, through a little fucking earpiece smushed into my ear. His bad jokes and constant commentary making me, at times, almost want to hand myself over to the bad guys I was hunting.
Though, I couldn’t discount the times he’d kept me sane and kept me alive. For that, I owed him.
The problem was, I hated that he fucking knew it.
“Trust me, this time you’ll be glad I called.”
“I’ll reserve my judgment.”
“I’ve got thirty trainees doing drills in a camp in the desert not far from you,” Regan continued, not for a second put off by my sharp retort. “They’re not quite up to scratch yet, and not to mention the handful of them who think they know fucking better.”
My lip curled, and I shook my head.
Ego was always a problem when it came to young recruits, especially in this case. Regan was in charge of recruiting soldiers for special teams. Teams for branches of the government that couldn’t be spoken about, teams that technically on paper did not exist. They were picked from thousands, hundreds of thousands, so you can imagine they were under the impression they were some kind of fucking special, and they thought they were pretty hot shit.
It was up to Regan to bring them back down to earth, and I did love to be the one to send them hurtling back toward the ground.
“Send me the details,” I answered, ignoring the light chuckle that came from the other end of the phone. “I’ll grab the boys and come out tomorrow night.”
3
Zoey
Even as I drove over to the construction site of the apartment building, my hands shook, but I continued to swallow back the vomit that sat at the back of my throat, threatening every few minutes to spew out over the steering wheel and dashboard.
You’d think at this stage in my life, at fucking thirty-two years of age, that this kind of shit would become easier or that I would somehow become more confident. But nope, not a damn hope in hell.
Outside the construction site, I pulled my car to the curb and took a deep breath before reaching for my pink hard hat that I kept in the backseat. I climbed out and grabbed my design folder before heading for what I assumed was the on-site makeshift office.
“Excuse me,” I called and cleared my throat when two men turned toward me. “I’m looking for Drake?”
The temperature out here was horrendous. My black jeans and button-up blouse was clinging to my body as I tried to fight the urge to hold my folder in front of me and use it to fan myself. It couldn’t be helped, though. I’d learned early on that coming to a construction site meant wearing a certain type of clothing. Not just for safety, but for respect.
This was undoubtedly a men’s zone, and while I wasn’t wielding a hammer or a saw, I needed them to see me as a colleague if I was going to get through my time here without having to defend my capabilities.
It wasn’t ideal, no. But I was willing to do whatever I needed in order to prove I was worthy of this job and many more. I’d come too far to let my anxiety, or a bunch of men, get the best of me now.
I could already feel sweat beginning to pool under my breasts, arms and down the center of my back, not helped whatsoever by the two men who stood staring at me, examining me.
I walked closer, the younger-looking of the two standing a little taller and handing off the large design sheets to the other man whose eyes drifted the length of my body before he nodded and turned to walk away.
“I’m Drake.” He gestured with his hand for me to come forward. “Come in.”
I swallowed against the hard lump in my throat and forced a bright smile as I followed him into the small trailer, thinking the whole time that he must have been almost fucking melting in his full suit when half the men I’d already spotted on site were stripped down to at least a tank top, if not much less.
There was a small table at the end of the trailer. He took a seat on one side and gestured with me to take the other. I slipped into the bench seat and placed my things on the table before pushing my shoulders back while fighting to keep the knot in my throat from choking me.
“It’s nice to see you dressed appropriately,” Drake commented, his voice a little gravelly. “Thanks for that.”
I nodded. “Sounds like you’ve had problems before.”
He scoffed and leaned back into the seat. “Don’t even get me started. I have enough trouble keeping these assholes on track as it is without some floozy wandering around a worksite wearing a skirt, six-inch heels, and no fucking hard hat.” His brow pulled into a deep frown.
I looked down at my denim jeans and heavy worn work boots before returning my gaze to Drake with a shrug and a smile. “I’ve fought way too hard to get to where I am today. I’m not looking to waste all the crap I’ve been through.”
The corner of his mouth pulled up, and he reached for my folder, slipping it toward him before spinning it around and flipping open the front page. On the phone, he’d asked me to bring some designs—places of my own creation along with images of styles and floor plans I liked.
I’d gone through three years of school for this shit.
A lot of people thought interior designing was simply picking pretty fabrics and accent pillows, but it was so much more. I could draw plans, I could remove walls, I could completely redesign the walls in a house if I wanted to.
I understood spaces. How they worked together. How they flowed.
“These are good.”
“Thank you.”
“Probably better than the designs we have, to be honest,” he mumbled under his breath, his fingers pinching at his brow. That was the first time I noticed the tattoos peeking out from beneath the cuffs of his business shirt. They were bright, colorful, and quickly snapped away the second he noticed my gaze linger a little too long. “The woman who did up these designs, she was the daughter of the company. Barely a year into her training but forced to work when Daddy threatened to cut her off financially.”
My entire body visibly cringed. “Can I see the plans?”
Reluctantly, he pulled the floor plans from a briefcase next to him and slipped them across the table. This was going to be a large apartment building. Not only was the designer expected to design and decorate the lobby and conference areas on the first floor, but there were also going to be at least six levels with a range of different sized and shaped apartments above it.
The second I looked at the apartment plans, I knew I was about to face a challenge.
“These have already been approved by the engineer,” I noted out loud, flicking through one after another.
“Did you see the construction site outside?” he growled before sucking in a sharp breath and easing his tone. “This is what we have. Is it that fucking bad?”
They weren’t bad, but they were nowhere near good.
“I can work with them.”
“Drake?” a young man poked his head through the door. “The foreman is here. He wants to finalize plans before they start doing things that can’t be changed later.”