Rip didn’t immediately say anything; I managed to make it halfway around the car before he called out from somewhere outside the booth, “I’m done.”
I didn’t get why he didn’t just look up the order on the computer, but I wasn’t going to waste my time even wondering.
The petty part of me almost wanted to ignore him, but I didn’t. I wasn’t going to give him even that. So I called out in return, “Okay.”
When I headed back out to the main room and didn’t find him there, I was relieved.
I really was.
* * *
The next day, I was in the middle of waiting for our machine to finish agitating the paint I was about to start using on a late model Audi A4 when the door to my room opened. A big figure headed inside, letting the door close behind him.
I knew who it was.
I was going to be the bigger person, so I made myself ask, “What can I do for you?”
Rip waited until he’d taken a few more steps inside the room before saying, “I wanted to check the wheels that were on your list this morning.”
When had he looked at my schedule?
But I didn’t ask. Instead I made sure to meet his eyes briefly—really briefly. His face was that usual mask of tightness and control, and I sucked it in and spit it right back out, then gestured toward my right where I had moved the wheels an hour ago. Out of my peripheral vision, I watched him move to them, those long legs eating up the room that usually felt massive for me. Then I focused back on the machine, hoping it would hurry up and finish its cycle so I could move on with my next project before lunch.
Rip was quiet, and I purposely moved to give him my back.
The cycle finished before he got done inspecting my work, and I headed toward the booth to transfer the paint.
When I headed back into the main room to put on my protective suit, he was still there, this time looking through one of the paint catalogues I had sitting on the counter. If he looked over at me, I honestly had no idea. I kept my eyes straight forward, on the wall across the room. He didn’t say a word to me as I changed into my sneakers first, then stepped into my suit and zipped it up, and he didn’t reply as I headed into the booth and called out over my shoulder, “Knock if you need me.”
I closed myself in my room, and at some point later, when I glanced over at one of the only windows in the white room, I found Rip standing there, looking in.
I focused back on the panels that needed my attention.
When I took my lunch break later on, I went outside again. Just like the day before, when I headed back to the break room to drop off my bag and leftovers in the fridge, Rip was sitting there, eating something made with chicken and leafing through a magazine. We made eye contact, and I only broke it when I got too close and had to open the fridge.
Then I took myself back downstairs.
* * *
The next morning, well after nine in the morning, once all the shop guys were there, I made my way to the main floor to ask them to help me move what we called the rotisserie—an engine block was mounted to it—from the main floor into the booth. We had set it up the day before, but it was too heavy for me to move it by myself or with just one other person.
Was it on purpose that I headed straight toward Owen and Ashton to help me roll the rotisserie into the paint room? It sure was. But I kept my head held high and a smile on my face as I moved between the cars parked on the floor and made my way to the two men who were always really nice to me.
“Hey,” I said as I came up to them.
Ashton, who was the one standing, immediately tipped his chin up and flashed me a warm smile. “Hey, Luna.”
Beneath the car, Owen called out, “Need help with the rotisserie?”
There was a reason why Owen was one of my favorite guys at CCC. “Yes,” I answered, stopping right beside Ashton to take a peek at what he was looking at. There was a spot of something dark and liquid-like on the floor beside where Owen was lying, looking up with a wrench in his hand. “Would you guys help me roll it out when you get a chance, please?”
“Five minutes?” Owen asked.
I nodded at him from where I was standing looking down at him. “Thanks. I’ll meet you in my room then whenever you’re both ready,” I told them.
The new guy nodded.
Keeping my gaze locked on the cars on the floor as I made my path back to my room, I could see Rip turning down the same hallway I was heading to, but he ducked into the bathroom instead. Back inside my room, I went through the booth one more time to make sure everything was where it needed to be. Soon enough, I heard the door open and slam closed. Figuring it was them, I headed back out and almost completely stopped walking when I found Rip standing there with his hands on his hips.
“Need help moving something?” he asked as he wiped his hands on a rag, those intense eyes on me.
I couldn’t help but slide my gaze toward the door for a split second before aiming them back toward his face and saying, “I already asked the guys for help.”
A muscle in his cheek twitched.
I made myself stop looking at it. “They said they’d be about five minutes,” I finished, glancing toward the door one more time.
Rip’s nose wrinkled for a moment before he shoved his rag into one of the pockets of his coveralls and said carefully, “You didn’t ask me.”
I blinked. “Ask you?” For permission?
“For help,” he clarified, his voice tight.
Oh. “I figured you would tell them to help me.” I kept my voice even, calm, controlled. “It’s what you always do.” Then I couldn’t help it as I glanced toward the door one more time. “I didn’t want to waste your time when I can ask myself.”
His nose wrinkled again right around the time I said the middle sentence, and it didn’t go anywhere as I spoke. What I did notice was the way he crossed his arms over his chest, that gaze still locked on mine like he had no intention of moving it elsewhere. He tipped his chin back, giving me a good view of his long and strong neck. “What have I told you about wasting my time?” he asked in that same voice.
The skin along my spine instantly prickled, and I couldn’t help but feel this tiny stab of pain right in my heart. Indignation. That would have been the perfect word to describe how I felt right then.
That and betrayal.
And anger.
But mostly indignation.
I didn’t let myself get riled up as I said, “I don’t want to assume anything, Mr. Ripley.”
Okay, maybe the Mr. Ripley part was a little petty, but I wasn’t going to beat myself up over it.
When I glanced at Ripley’s face as I said the words, and watched the way the entire length of his jawline went tight, it didn’t make me feel any better. It made me feel like crap. I wasn’t trying to make him feel bad. I didn’t want that from him.
I didn’t want anything from him.
So I got myself back on track. “You have better things to do with your time. You have enough going on right now with Mr. Cooper being gone.” His dad. Not just Mr. Cooper. His dad.
He didn’t say a word. This massive man just stood there, watching me.
I kept going, my voice even… maybe a little monotone. “If there’s an issue, I’ll let you know, of course.”
Rip still didn’t respond.
Sliding my gaze toward the door, I willed it to open and Ashton and Owen to be there, ready to help.
But nothing happened. The story of my life.
“I appreciate you checking though, but we can move it on our own, I think,” I finished, keeping my voice the same businesslike way I would have used on any other boss I would have, except Mr. Cooper—and Rip if this had been months ago.
But this was what he wanted, and this was what I would give him.
So when he took four long steps toward me, stopping the exact moment the tips of his boots met mine, his hand nudging my chin upward, I held my breath. Because Rip was right there. In my space. Forcing m
e to look at him.
And look at him I did.
I looked at the tattoos peeking out from just above the hem of the slight turtleneck coverage his compression shirt gave him. Took in the tiny dark shapes just above the hem. I took in the very faint stubble across the underside of his chin and over the lower half of his face. I took in that almost thin pink mouth pulled into a line at the angry expression he was shooting my way.
And I took in the way his eyes seemed to be blazing down at me.
Like he either wanted to yell at me or something else.
I didn’t know what that “something else” was, but from the line of his jaw, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
Rip’s chin tipped down lower, drawing his face even closer to mine. “Can we be done with this?” he asked, his voice rough and so low I could barely hear him.
I held my breath. “With what?”
That incredibly handsome face stayed remote, but those eyes… “With the Mister Ripley shit. With that tone. With you not wanting to talk to me or ask me for fucking help.” That chin dipped, and I’d swear I could feel his breath on my face in tiny puffs. “With you freezing me out.”
I wanted to raise my eyebrows, but I didn’t. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I only partially lied. Because it couldn’t be a complete lie when I didn’t understand why he would be saying these things to me when he was the one who had asked for them.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Luna,” Rip replied, his voice still this low hum I almost had to strain my ears to hear.
The tips of his boots edged over mine even more.
It didn’t matter. It didn’t freaking matter.
“You are Mister Ripley,” I said, still wound tight. “I’m talking to you like I would anyone that was my boss, with professionalism, because that’s what I should have been showing you from the very beginning.”
This hoarse sound escaped his throat, sounding almost like a… grumble? A growl?
“I’m not going to bother you when I can handle things myself.”
His boots tapped into mine so roughly, it scooted my own boots back a half inch.
“I’m just treating you the way I always should have,” I cut myself off before adding another “Mister Ripley” to the end. Something inside of me said it would be a terrible idea, like baiting a starving lion or something. “You’re my boss, and I shouldn’t have forgotten that.”
I could have sworn his neck swelled bigger and bigger with each word that came out of my mouth. His face might have gotten redder too.
But when had his face gotten red in the first place?
The hand on my chin drew my face up even higher, until I almost strained with the pressure, with the stretch. Then I could definitely feel his soft breathing on my face. On my mouth. I could feel the heat of his body along the front of mine. A month ago, this would have made my freaking year. A week ago, it would have made me want to swoon.
But now…
Now I forced all that crap down and away. I buried it with a shovel and a half ton of dirt. Gone. Gone, gone, gone.
He had asked for it, and I had given everything I’d been willing to part with for too long.
Only an idiot kept giving after a certain point, and I was no one’s fool. No one’s punching bag. No one’s temporary entertainment.
I had given him more than I had another person ever, and he’d burned that bridge between us once and for all. He had told me the same thing that other people had: leave me alone.
“I’m only doing what you asked,” I told him slowly, each word drawn out, syllable by syllable. I kept my gaze on his for a heartbeat, and then two, and then drew it back down to his chin as I let myself take a breath through my nose.
Then I took a step back. Then another.
“I appreciate you coming to check and see if I need help, but I don’t. Ashton and Owen are coming,” I explained to him. “Anything I can handle on my own, I’ll do. But thank you, Mr. Ripley.”
Mr. Ripley didn’t move an inch.
Then he opened that mouth and said, “We need to—”
And I would thank a God I wasn’t sure I believed in for the fact that the door opened in that exact same moment and Owen said, “Sorry about that, Luna. Let’s move the rotisserie—Oh.” He stopped there. He looked from one of us to the other, eyes widening as the new guy came in right behind him.
I smiled at my coworkers and took a step toward them. “I’m ready if you two are.”
* * *
Determined as hell to keep my distance from my boss, I grabbed my lunch for the third day in a row and headed to the chairs and table in the parking lot of CCC.
It was another hot day, not that it wasn’t a hot day every freaking day in Houston, but under the shade, it wasn’t too unbearable. Since there weren’t any bugs either, it was about as good as I was going to get. Fresh air. Some open space.
I should have been coming out here years ago.
Which reminded me…
I picked up my phone and dialed the same number I had every day for a week now.
It rang.
Rolling up my pant legs and the sleeves of my T-shirt up to my shoulders, I held the phone between my ear and shoulder, taking in the continued rings. I stretched my legs out to get some sun and slouched in the chair as I pulled my lunch out of my bag. I’d barely opened my container of three-day-old casserole disaster, when the door leading outside opened and a familiar figure in a long-sleeved shirt that clung to every single muscle on his chest and dark jeans made his way over.
I didn’t narrow my eyes, but I did watch him a little too carefully.
What did he want now? I wondered as Thea’s voice mail picked up.
“Thea, it’s Luna again. I hope you’re okay and you’ll call me back, all right?” I said, trying not to sound mad or sad before ending the call.
Picking up my fork from inside my bag, I stabbed at the mush of rice and ground beef, making sure to focus on it and not the man making his way toward me. I managed to poke my fork through something that looked a little too brown and even got it into my mouth before the big man walked in front of me.
He didn’t say a word, and neither did I as he went to the chair on the other side of the table and pulled it forward until it lined up with the one I was in.
I watched him as he set his glass container on the table between us and took a seat.
Just as I was about to ask if there was something I could do for him, I stopped myself. I was on my lunch break. I didn’t have to do anything then.
And he had his lunch, same as me.
So…
I just didn’t understand why he was out here too all of a sudden.
I kept my curiosity to myself and made sure to look away from him as I chewed my food and brought my phone onto my thigh.
Whatever he was doing out here… it was none of my business.
The light pop of the lid coming off his food filled the air between us, punctuated by the occasional sound of him chewing or taking sips of whatever he was drinking.
Me on the other hand, I sat there and sucked back my can of Sprite and ate my casserole while I started looking up prices for television screens.
When my lunch hour was almost up, when there was sweat at the base of my neck and lower back from the heat, and when the skin on my legs was tight from too much sun, then I got up.
Neither one of us said anything as I walked away.
Chapter 27
My lunch break the next day was a repeat of the one before it, and I honestly didn’t know what to think of it.
Or even if I should waste my time thinking it over.
I went outside, had all of my food out, my clothes were rolled up the way I liked them, and I had my legs stretched out in the sun when the door opened and out came the same man I had just seen hours ago when he’d come into my room and peeked through the window of the booth while I sprayed. That day, he had on a gray compression shirt and another pair of jeans
that were somehow dirty even with the coveralls he wore over them.
Everything on him was covered like usual.
From his neck down over his wrist bones, everything accentuated that big, muscular figure I had checked out every chance I could without getting caught for years.
But this time, it wasn’t so hard to look away. It really wasn’t hard at all.
I’d had another dream about my dad the previous night, the same one as before that left my head uncomfortable and tight and left me in bed sweaty and out of breath. It had only taken me a couple hours to shake it off. All it did was remind me of why it wasn’t hard to look away from Rip right then.
The thing was, I didn’t need to use my eyes to know what he was doing.
Rip did the same thing he’d done the day before. He came over and sat beside me, and neither one of us said a word. Not while we ate. Not in the sparse minutes I had after I’d forced down my food. Not while I looked at my phone and scrolled through reviews of couches that were on sale.
When the time came to get back to work, I didn’t even do more than glance at him as I collected my stuff and headed back to my room more than half an hour after he’d appeared.
* * *
The very next day went a lot like every other day before it, at least since Mr. Cooper’s heart attack.
I showed up to work. Ripley was already there. I pretended not to see him as I headed into my room, and then pretended not to see him some more when I went upstairs to prepare my coffee or when I went back downstairs with it in my hand. Just mine. Not his. Like it was our new thing, because it was. I shouldn’t have to go out of my way to be nice to my boss when he didn’t want it, and when it wasn’t like he was doing me a favor by employing me.
He couldn’t fire me without going through Mr. Cooper. Because even if chances were very, very high they were related, I knew that when it came down to it, I had a better relationship with him than Rip did. I had gone to see Mr. C the night before, had dinner with him and Lydia, and stayed to watch a movie. I knew my place in the older man’s life.
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