Coldhearted Boss

by Grey, R. S.

  “Name’s Carl,” he volunteers in a heavy Southern drawl.

  I nod and turn back, pretending to look for something in my duffle bag. Oh right, it’s called hope and I find none among the oversized clothes and toilet paper rolls. “I’m Taylor.”

  “You don’t look like you’ve done much construction work before.” I can feel his eyes drag over my body, assessing me.

  “I haven’t,” I reply honestly.

  He nods. “Well I’m around if you need anythin’. I’ve been workin’ construction since I was old enough to hold a hammer.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that,” I say, surprised by his kindness, just before someone casts a heavy shadow over me.

  “Can I see your card?”

  I glance up, and up some more, until I reach the face of a young bald guy frowning at me.

  “My card?”

  He holds up a card with a name—his name, I presume—and a number written on it.

  “Yeah, does your card say bunkhouse 2? Because I already asked around and—”

  “I don’t have a card,” I say, suddenly panicked. “I assumed the bunks were first come, first served.”

  Carl and the new guy groan.

  Apparently, even though we aren’t twelve-year-olds on a middle school field trip, Lockwood Construction deemed it necessary to post bunkhouse assignments for the crew. That way they’ll know where everyone is located in the event of an emergency. I know this because I asked the employee passing out the cards for the room assignments.

  “Insurance wanted it that way too,” he says as he finds the one with my name on it. I recognize him from the hiring event, the stout guy with a beard so thick it makes him look like an extra for Game of Thrones.

  “What’d you get?” Jeremy asks, leaning toward me to read my card. “Rose Cabin? No shit? I guess you lucked out. I’m in bunkhouse 3.”

  “Why’d I luck out?” I ask, confused.

  “The cabins have been reserved for the higher-ups, but there were a few vacancies,” the employee answers for him. “You’ll be filling one.”

  I nod, not quite sure what to make of this turn of events. On one hand, I’m glad I won’t have to share a bunkhouse with twenty Carls. On the other hand, there is a sort of security in numbers. I don’t want to be stuck in a tiny cabin with someone I hate. At least before, I knew Jeremy was in the same building. Now, he could be half a camp away.

  Jeremy senses my hesitation and holds out his card. “Want to switch?”

  The employee clears his throat loudly. “Unfortunately, that’s not allowed.”

  This guy. I turn and smirk. “What did you say your name was?”

  He sits up, squares his shoulders, and holds out his hand. “Hudson Rivers, assistant project manager.”

  So, he’s Dwight. I want to ask if he’s the assistant to the project manager.

  I shake his hand instead. “Where exactly is Rose Cabin, Hudson?”

  * * *

  After I’m armed with directions for how to get to my cabin, Jeremy and I split off since he still needs to go claim his bunk.

  “You good?” he asks, walking backward in the direction we just came from.

  “Yup.” I wave my card in the air. “Have fun in the bunkhouse. I’ll be thinking of you as I’m living it up in Rose Cabin, enjoying my life with the ‘higher-ups’. I bet they serve breakfast in bed!” I say, voice rising with mock hope. “I bet we have a butler!”

  He shakes his head as if he isn’t sure what to do with me and then turns to head off.

  For the first time since we arrived, I’m alone in the forest.

  Well, kind of.

  Where I stand, the forest surrounds me on all sides, but at a distance. A large swath of land was cleared for the original campgrounds, and it looks like Lockwood Construction spent some time clearing out any regrowth in the weeks leading up to our arrival.

  The old camp is set up based on the four cardinal directions. The old parking lot where Jeremy left his truck is on the northmost side, which gives way to a main walking path. Due south of the faded sign we passed under, there’s the center of camp composed of an old infirmary, a large mess hall, and a main office, all of which look like they’ve been cleaned up recently to accommodate our crew. It’s where I currently stand. South of these buildings, deeper in the forest, there’s apparently a large lake and the site where the future hotel will be built. I squint and try to spot the body of water, but it must be pretty far away. East of the central camp buildings is where the row of bunkhouses are located, where Jeremy is headed now, and to the west is where I’m supposed to go to find my cabin. It sounds easy enough, but the camp is sprawling and encompasses untold acres of forest. The farther away from the central buildings I walk, the more dense the forest becomes and the less people I encounter.

  I’m also aware that early evening has given way to dusk, and the sun is starting to fade behind the tall trees, casting the path in front of me into shallow darkness. I’m kicking myself for not forcing Jeremy to leave Oak Dale earlier. I sure hope he enjoyed that dinner with Khloe because I’m going to get lost in the woods as a result of it. I just know it. In fact, I take a mental note of what’s in my duffle just in case I need to survive on the contents alone. I have the clothes Jeremy lent me, toiletries, and the granola bar McKenna stuffed in my bag on my way out the door.

  “In case you get hungry on the drive!” she said.

  I’m more grateful than ever that I forgot about that granola bar until just now. It will likely be my only sustenance for the next week as I play out a real-life version of Naked and Afraid—except I’ll be fully clothed, so I guess just Afraid.

  An owl hoots in a tree nearby and oh my god is that my shadow or a mountain lion? I remind myself I’m not in the mountains and then proceed forward, having successfully talked myself down from panicking. Then I remember that just because I’m not in the mountains doesn’t mean there aren’t other forest creatures roaming near me, licking their chops. I pick up the pace and am nearly hysterical with joy when I spot a log cabin up ahead. Finally!

  I run toward it like it’s my salvation and don’t realize until I’m right upon it that it has a wooden sign dangling from the porch roof that says Daisy. Or rather, D-A-I…half-falling-off-S-Y. Not only that, it’s in quite a state of disrepair. One windowpane is shattered. The other is completely gone. It’s missing a nice chunk of its metal roof, and the front door is only attached by one hinge, leaving it to sway ominously in the wind, creaking at just the right interval to send a tingle of terror down my spine.

  HELLO, LOCATION OF MY NIGHTMARES.

  My heart is a speeding bullet as I run back to the path and force myself to continue in the direction Hudson’s scrawled map is leading me. I walk/run/skip (anything to get me away from Nightmare Cabin) down the path for what feels like 45,000 yards and still have not come across another structure, and then I reach a curve in the path and decide if I don’t see a cabin once I turn the corner, I’m bolting. I’ll find Jeremy, steal his keys, and sleep in his truck. That actually sounds lovely, right up until I make it around the bend and there she is: Rose Cabin.

  Chapter 8

  Taylor

  My expectations after seeing the first cabin are at an all-time low, but this one is the exact opposite of its predecessor. It’s actually…adorable.

  Small and square with a metal roof and two symmetrical windows framing the front door, the log cabin sits surrounded by wildflowers on all sides. Sure, some might call the unruly things weeds, but I’m not cultured enough to tell the difference. To me, they’re lovely, and I think that’s the first time I’ve used that word in my adult life without a single note of sarcasm.

  The setting sun leaves just enough light to illuminate my path to the front porch. I know this is the right cabin because of the sign that proclaims it to be and also because the door is painted a dusky pink hue. Rose. Sure, there’s dust caked around the doorframe now, but I can tell that at one point, this cabin was well-lo
ved. It’s the stuff of fairytales. In fact, I half expect Snow White to poke her head out one of the windows and invite me in for tea. “Yoo-hoo, scruffy young lad! Do come inside!”

  I hold on to the wooden railing as I walk up the stairs that lead to the porch, just in case one of the steps decides it’s had enough and wants to disintegrate beneath my feet. The wooden boards do groan under my weight as if they’re waking from a long slumber, but they hold steady.

  I’m about to reach out to open the front door when I stop short and decide to knock first. I won’t be living here alone. I’ll have at least one or two roommates, and I’d rather not barge in on one of them in a compromising position. I don’t know. I’ve never lived with a guy, but I feel like 9 times out of 10 when left alone, they’re up to no good.

  “Knock knock,” I say, while knocking. I roll my eyes at myself and am actually grateful when no one answers. Maybe my roommate hasn’t arrived yet—or better yet, maybe he doesn’t exist.

  I push the door open and step inside tentatively, and once again, I’m impressed by what I find.

  The place is larger than it looked from the outside. On the right, just past the door, there’s a bunk bed. Beyond that sits an outdated wooden dresser that looks to be heavier than I am. Across from the bed, there’s a small wooden desk and chair. Then in the corner, near the desk, there’s an empty aluminum trough large enough for someone to sit back and recline in. My eyes widen. Oh god, is that where I’ll have to bathe? Out in the open?

  Then my eyes belatedly fall on a half-open door and I realize there’s a bathroom directly across from where I stand. Inside, I spot a small wall-mounted sink, a toilet, and a shower. There’s no curtain rod for the shower, but the floor is graded toward a drain in the corner so water won’t get everywhere

  I give the place an approving nod. This is shaping up to be quite a luxurious little abode. As far as I know, the guys in the bunkhouse have to share communal bathrooms. I get one all to myself. Well…kind of.

  I do have a roommate, and he’s already been here. I know this because there are personal effects neatly stowed around the cabin. On the sink, there’s a toothbrush and some toothpaste sitting in a cup. A towel hangs on a hook by the shower. Behind me, on the bottom bunk, I spy an open paperback halfway tucked beneath a pillow. On the dresser, there’s a worn baseball hat. When I gently tug open the top drawer, I’m greeted by a stack of black boxer briefs. My cheeks burn and I immediately shove it closed again, embarrassed. I am apparently a ten-year-old. They’re just underwear! I chide myself. Then the child in me shouts back, Yes, but a stranger’s underwear!

  I have no idea how long he’s been here, but it seems like he didn’t just arrive today if he’s already been showering and reading.

  Maybe he’s the one who cleaned the place up. Compared to the bunkhouses, this cabin is practically sterile, in a good way. The dark wood floors are shiny as if they’ve been mopped recently. The beds have linens on them that seem relatively new. There’s no mold or ambiguous green sludge collecting in the bathroom.

  Overall, I decide this cabin will do just fine as I start to empty my duffle bag into the empty bottom drawer of the dresser. It takes me all of two seconds and then I sit back on my heels wondering what I’m supposed to do now. It’s nearly 8:30 PM. There’s no point in wandering back out into the woods. The guys are probably all settling into their bunks, and Jeremy’s probably on the phone with Khloe swearing he misses her already. My roommate will probably be here soon and then we can meet and I’ll have to look him in the eye knowing what color underwear he’s wearing.

  My neck grows warm.

  I’m being ridiculous.

  Still, maybe an early-morning introduction is best, rather than a late-night one. I decide to get ready for bed, but it’s proving kind of difficult now that the sun has fully set. My eyes have adjusted slowly, but it’s too dark now and I fumble around quite a bit until I manage to turn on the electric lantern I spotted on the desk earlier. It produces the same amount of light a small lamp would and makes it easy to navigate around the cabin as I quickly brush my teeth and change into my sweatpants and t-shirt.

  I wouldn’t mind a quick shower, but I don’t want to chance it. What if my roommate arrives while I’m bathing? What if he assumes I’m a dude and waltzes right into the bathroom to go pee without even knocking first? No. Nope. I’ll have to wait until the morning.

  As it is, without A/C, the cabin is a little stuffy. I pry open the windows to let in some air, but Texas is Texas, even in spring, and there isn’t a breeze cool enough to bring this cabin down to a temperature conducive to heavy sweatpants. Unfortunately, they were the only thing I could find to sleep in that would cover my legs. I couldn’t exactly pack a pair of tiny sleeping shorts. My main objective is to fly under my roommate’s radar, not flash him my butt cheeks.

  After I wash my face with cool water, I turn the lantern off, drop my baseball hat on the dresser beside my roommate’s, shake out my hair (Ah! Freedom!), and climb the ladder up to the top bunk. There’s a wave of relief as I lie down on top of the cool sheet and stare up at the ceiling.

  I did it.

  I survived the first day.

  Kind of.

  Tomorrow is the real first day.

  This was nothing, really.

  Still, I’m here, and it’s an accomplishment for a girl who’s never spent a night outside of Oak Dale in her entire life. I’m embarrassed to admit there’s a tight ball of tension in my stomach I’ve been trying to ignore: homesickness. Ridiculous, I know. I’m too old to feel homesick. Besides, there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t call home—there’s no cell reception out here. I’ve been trying to pick up a signal since I first arrived, and now, as I try to call my mom’s phone yet again, it won’t go through.

  I wish I could distract myself, but I didn’t bring a book and the light is off anyway. I try to close my eyes and tell myself to go to sleep, but I’m too hot and I’m not tired and I’m still on pins and needles waiting for my roommate to arrive. Surely he won’t stay out much later.

  That’s when I hear the cabin door creak and my heart leaps into my throat.

  He’s here!

  Or a bear is sneaking in.

  Either way, I play dead, eyes closed and everything.

  In an ideal world, he’d dive straight into his bunk and start to snore.

  No such luck.

  Light suddenly filters past my closed eyelids and I realize he’s turned the lantern back on, though it must be on a different setting than I used because it’s a softer glow, barely enough to let him see what he’s doing.

  I hear him over by the dresser and I peel one eye open just enough to see the top two inches of his dark brown hair as he reaches into the drawer for something. BRIEFS. BLACK BRIEFS.

  The drawer closes and he steps back and I jerk toward the wall, using some of my pillow to conceal my face and hair. I know he notices because I hear a faint chuckle before the bathroom door closes, taking the lantern light with it. Water cuts on and the sound drowns out the loud hum of the cicadas outside.

  He’s showering and I have to listen, which feels oddly intimate: the sound of the stream as it hits different parts of his body. He could be a monster with two heads and five hands for all I know, but that’s not the way I imagine him in there. Mr. Black Briefs.

  The water cuts off a few minutes later and I’m under the sheet now with it tugged right up to my nose so I can peer over the top without my whole face showing. It’s absolutely absurd, this game I’m playing, but it seems too late to turn back now. Besides, I’ve already decided I’ll introduce myself in the morning. Right now, I just want to get a quick peek at him and put a face to the man who will be sleeping directly underneath me for the foreseeable future.

  And I do get a peek at him. All of him.

  Well, save for the low-slung shorts he apparently sleeps in. The rest of him, though? Bare. His broad, tanned chest. The smooth, rigid muscles composing his shoulders and
arms. The impossibly sexy rows of abs and the sprinkle of hair leading down. Dark hair, enough to confirm he’s a man but not so much that I’m worried he’s part werewolf. He’s tall and trim and I’m so hung up on that body—the sharp difference between my curves and his seemingly endless firmness—that it takes me a moment to drag my gaze up to his face.

  When I do, the earth falls out from underneath me.

  He can’t be here.

  In this cabin.

  My eyes are playing a trick on me.

  There’s no other explanation.

  Because it looks like him.

  The man from the bar, the man I took into the bathroom and seduced…

  The man I stole from.

  No.

  Technically, I did take his wallet, but then I gave it back. No harm, no foul.

  Except, that can’t be right. There must have been a foul because I’m here now and there’s no way it’s a coincidence. My body whirs to life as if preparing for fight or flight. I have a panicked urge to kick off my sheet, jump down from the top bunk, and bolt right out the cabin door. I spiral through a list of possibilities so quickly: he found me, and he brought me out here on purpose, and now he’s going to—

  What?

  Kill me?

  For some reason, finishing the thought actually forces me to stifle a laugh. It’s totally crazy.

  The fact is, coincidences do happen. Actually, now that I think about it, it’s not really all that much of a coincidence at all. He was probably at the motel in Oak Dale a month ago because it was the only place to stay within two hours of this jobsite. He and the other suits must all work for Lockwood Construction and they were in town that weekend working on some aspect of this project. There, that feels better. Talking myself out of paranoid hysteria is the right thing to do.

  The alternative just doesn’t make sense.

  It’s not feasible that he set this whole thing up to exact some kind of revenge.

  It’s just not.