by Grey, R. S.
I eventually find Hudson when he walks through the center of camp with a backpack. He’s just returned and is probably heading to unload his stuff, but I can’t afford to lose track of him. We have important things to discuss.
“Hudson! Hi,” I say, leaping into his path.
His eyes widen as he takes me in.
Oh right, I’m not wearing the baseball hat, and the baggy flannel shirt is gone too. I’m wearing a light blue t-shirt and a pair of my own jeans. My hair hangs loose down my back. Apparently, it’s really throwing him off.
“I’m Taylor,” I offer, trying to alleviate the awkwardness. “Ethan’s assistant.”
I don’t embarrass either of us by pointing out that I am, indeed, a woman. If people were duped by my hilariously poor disguise, that’s on them.
He nods and quickly reins in his reaction. “Right. Of course. What do you need?”
I haven’t had much interaction with Hudson, but he seems like a loyal servant to Lockwood Construction. I have to play my cards just right.
A gentle smile spreads across my face. “I know you’re probably very busy and likely don’t want to be dealing with this right now, but I was wondering if there was any way for me to transfer to a different position on the crew?”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Just…I was wondering if there was anyone else looking for an assistant?” My eyes flick up to his face. “You! Maybe? Do you need an assistant?”
His cheeks redden and he tugs at the collar on his shirt. “I’m not authorized to shift personnel around like that.” He’s looking away, planning his escape.
My smile turns pleading. “Oh, I know I’m being a nuisance, and I would never want to get you into trouble. I’m just not sure this position with Ethan is the right fit for me. Maybe you and I would work better together?”
I need him on my side. I need him to want—no, need—me as his assistant. I wish I could prove my skills right here on the spot. Wait! Listen to how well I take a message! Watch how good I am with the copier!
As it is, he fidgets and shuffles his feet, angling to get around me. I’ve really put him on the spot. He can barely look me in the eye.
“It’s Ethan you need to discuss this with,” he says, sounding resolute.
“And if I can’t speak with Ethan…for reasons I’d rather not say…does he have a boss? Or a supervisor of some sort?”
That question elicits a hearty laugh from Hudson. “No, Ethan does not have a boss. He has three partners, but they won’t override a decision like this.”
“And what about an HR department? Do you guys have one of those?”
I didn’t see any HR-looking people around the camp last week.
“Not here on site. There are a few people back in Austin.” He narrows his eyes now, skeptical of me. “We’ve never had a crewmember request to meet with them. Are you looking to make a formal complaint about Ethan?”
A formal complaint? That sounds official and permanent. No, I don’t think I want to go down that path yet, not only because I’m not sure what chain of events that would set off, but because I don’t exactly have my hands clean in this situation. If I called HR, what would Ethan do? Call the police? At this point, it’s his word against mine.
With a tight smile, I step back and shake my head. “You know, maybe I’ll try to handle this by myself first. Who knows, maybe we just have a few growing pains we need to work through.”
He’s smiling again, happy to see I’m going to be a team player. This guy is Ethan’s loyal pet, through and through. Noted.
I scratch through that part of my plan and move on to the next important step: finding somewhere else to sleep. Obviously, I can’t stay in the cabin with Ethan.
So, before night falls, I set up a pallet on the floor in Jeremy’s bunkhouse. I even thought ahead and brought a spare blanket and pillow from back home. I have all sorts of fantasies about how well it will go, how soundly I’ll sleep until morning. Unfortunately, Jeremy’s spot is in the middle of the bunkhouse, therefore I have to set up my pallet in the middle of the bunkhouse. He caves and offers to let me have his bed, but I insist that’s not fair. I’m all for equality. He doesn’t have to sleep on the floor just because Ethan and I don’t get along. A few other nice guys offer their beds too—some try to insist upon it—but I turn them all down and continue setting up my pallet.
“It’s nice! Homey, even!” I say, pointing down to it.
It’s a bald-faced lie. It’s a thin blanket on top of dusty wooden floorboards. After I lie down, half of me is sticking out into the walkway. In the middle of the night, while I’m up listening to God-knows-what scuttling across the floor near my head, someone gets up to use the bathroom and steps on my foot. It feels as though they break all my bones and my barely muffled shriek wakes up half the bunkhouse.
“Sorry! Sorry,” the guy whispers, feeling bad for accidentally stepping on me.
“It’s my fault,” I whisper back, and then for the remainder of the night, I lie awake with my legs tucked up against my chest in the fetal position and my hand outstretched over my head, ready to swat away any creepy-crawly bugs that want to come near me.
Admittedly, it’s not the best night of sleep I’ve ever had, and I’m not my best self on Monday morning. Limping softly and yawning often, I’m wholly unprepared for round two with Ethan. But, I’m not quite ready to make nice either. So, I settle on being cordial as I step past the open door of the trailer.
He’s inside meeting with Robert and Hudson. Robert’s by far the oldest member of the crew with white-gray hair and tan, wrinkled skin. His face gives him the appearance of being open and honest, probably owing to his light blue eyes. Something about him makes me wish he could guide me through life. It’s probably the smile he’s aiming my way. The gentlemen flanking him have very different reactions.
Hudson stands there with wide eyes and mouth gaping, still not quite over the fact that I’m a full-fledged woman.
Ethan is doing some kind of unsmiling facial expression, I’m sure, but I’m too chicken to look his way.
“Oh sorry,” I say with a tip of my head, looking right at Robert. “I didn’t realize you guys were meeting in here.” I step back toward the door. “I’ll just wait outsi—”
“Take a seat,” Ethan says, tone hard as stone. He really lives up to that surname of his.
The seat he’s referring to is right beside the door, and I don’t wait for him to offer it up to me a second time. I leap into that chair and stay perfectly silent while the three of them finish up their meeting. They’re going over the schedule for the week, what equipment will be used on what day, which of the dumpsters are full and need to be replaced, what torture techniques Ethan will employ on me first. Okay, that last one is just in my head.
I listen to them carefully. Ethan is the highest ranked among them and yet he speaks the least. When he does, my body hums with energy like I’m hooked up to an electrical current.
“The site needs to be cleared by next Friday so we can start leveling,” he tells Robert. “I have concrete trucks scheduled in three weeks.”
“It’ll be cleared, easily. The crew worked quickly last week. Most of the guys have more experience in construction than we were anticipating.”
“Think we’ll need to bring in more fill than expected to level the pad?”
Hudson chimes in then, and I finally work up the courage to peer at Ethan from beneath my lashes. Either he somehow grew over the weekend or my fear of him has blown him up to epic proportions. He stands a foot taller than the other two men, his broad shoulders and chest covered in a gray Henley shirt with a plaid flannel on top, rolled up to his elbows, of course. His jaw is clean-shaven, and I study its sharp contour all the way down to his chin. Then my gaze flicks up to his lips without my consent—lips I’ve felt before, lips I’d kill to feel again if they weren’t attached to a man I despise.
“All right, that’s all for now.”
I jer
k my gaze back down to my lap.
The men file out quickly and Hudson thankfully leaves the door open. That way everyone will hear our fight to the death.
“I can assume by your presence here that you’d like to continue working for Lockwood Construction despite our conversation on Friday?” Ethan asks, cutting right to the chase.
How was your weekend, Taylor?
Oh, great! I imagined ten different ways to murder you with my bare hands.
“Taylor?” he prods impatiently.
“Yes,” I reply curtly, my gaze on the floor.
Papers rustle on his desk like he’s in a rush. “I have no position to offer you besides my personal assistant.”
So he’s really going to force this issue then? He’s really going to make me suffer? I square my shoulders. “That’s fine. What would you like me to do first?”
“First?” he says, and the word hangs for so long that I finally look up at him. Our gazes meet with a blaze. “I’d like you to admit you stole from me.”
You know what, Hudson? Maybe I would like to file that formal complaint with HR after all.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible because I didn’t steal from you. As I told you on Friday, I—”
He shakes his head then, cutting me off with a look of pure disdain. “Forget it. I don’t really care to hear you lie your way through an explanation. The fact is, I don’t have a spot for you on the crew—you’d be a hindrance more than an asset—and I don’t need a personal assistant.”
“Please.”
There’s no hint of tears in my voice, no sniffling or whining. It’s a word spoken with a steel spine at a meeting of enemies, a word he surely knows I would never utter in his vicinity unless I was truly desperate.
“I’ll spare you the details, but the fact is, I need this job. I need it badly enough to work for a man I can barely tolerate.”
I probably would have done better to leave out that last part, but he’s thrown out so many barbs this morning, he deserves to feel the sting of one as well.
His brown eyes are still on me, hot as flames. I wonder if it would have been wiser to keep my hat on. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me, like he can see things I haven’t consented to showing him.
There’s no easing of his scowl, no gentle smile unfolding across those lips. He really intends to dig in his heels, and I can’t allow it. For my mom and for McKenna and for my own future, I need this job.
“I’m asking you nicely to please find something for me to do here.”
Chapter 13
Ethan
I want her out of my hair and away from my construction site. In short, I have no idea what to do with her. I should tell her to march out into the forest and start counting trees. Don’t come back until you reach 10,000.
I could send her on a pointless errand, but then I’d have to lend her my truck. I happen to like the way it looks without her digging a key into the side of it.
“I need you to wash my laundry.”
Laundry? Really? Jesus, why don’t you ask her to get in the kitchen and make you a sandwich while you’re at it?
I know I sound like a sexist pig, but the fact is, I actually do need my laundry done. I didn’t leave the camp over the weekend. I stayed and worked, appreciating the quiet.
Not to mention, laundry is just about the only thing I trust her with. I don’t think she’s going to try to steal my briefs.
“Laundry?” she confirms.
Her tone is disbelieving. She thinks this is a trick.
I raise one brow.
She shoots to her feet. “Right, laundry. Fine. Any specifications? Cold water only? Hand-wash delicates?”
I resist the urge to ask if I look like the type of man who owns delicates.
“There’s an old washer and dryer in the back of the mess hall. If they don’t work, use a sink.”
Then she’s gone, flying out the door of my trailer like her feet are on fire.
I watch her go. I watch the sway of her hips. I watch her high ponytail swishing back and forth. I watch her walk in those new boots that actually fit her. I’m glad for that. Wait—I’m happy she has new boots? Jesus. I jerk my attention back to work and don’t look up again until lunch.
The mess hall is noisy when I walk in. I had Hudson stagger lunch breaks for the crew so there wouldn’t be a line out the door, but even still, these guys like to eat. The catering team hustles to fill plates with burgers and fries. The smell has my mouth watering, but I bypass it all and keep moving through the kitchen back into the adjoining washroom. I figure the camp used to use the washing machine in here for towels and dish rags used by the kitchen staff. Whatever the reason, I’m glad it’s here.
I hear voices before I get to the hallway, a feminine laugh followed by a deep chuckle, and my hackles go up instantaneously. What I expected to find: Taylor hunched over a washing machine, toiling away with sweat dripping down her brow, more grateful than ever that I’ve kept her on as an employee even though I should have fired her. What I actually find: Taylor taking advantage of my goodwill. She isn’t alone, which explains why a task that should have taken her an hour to complete has filled up her entire morning.
“I can’t believe you thought I was into Mark Granger.” Taylor groans with mock disgust. “He’s not my type at all.”
“Well what else would explain why you broke up with me right before the homecoming dance—”
My presence in the doorway cuts off the guy’s sentence. I don’t know his name, but I recognize him as part of the new crew. He looks like he should be on a beach with his surfer-length hair and easy smile. That’s right, he’s smiling at me.
“Get back to work,” I say, pointing him out the back door of the washroom.
His brows crinkle in confusion. I half expect him to reply with a stoned, Aw, c’mon man, we were just havin’ some fun. Instead, he hops to it and walk-runs right out the door, leaving Taylor to fend for herself. Nice guy.
She keeps her back to me and continues to pull clothes out of the dryer.
“Why was he in here?”
“You’ll have to ask him,” she replies with a cold, even tone.
“I’m asking you.”
She shrugs. “It was his lunch break. He saw me through the window and came in to say hi.”
“Friend of yours?”
The edge of her mouth tips up in a private smirk. “You could say that.”
I don’t like the jealousy creeping through me like an invasive vine.
“How many guys on this crew are ‘friends’ of yours?”
My meaning is clear, and finally, I’ve got her full attention. Her eyes cut to me and there’s so much resentment and fury there, I know she’s right on the cusp of losing her temper. Her cheeks are flooded with color. Her lips are parted. I can feel her anger. She takes a step toward me, about to say something, but then she reaches for my laundry, which is stacked neatly on the dryer, and with one clean sweep, tosses it all onto the floor.
“Your laundry is done.”
Then she does an about-face and marches right out the door.
So you could say things are mellowing out nicely between us.
I know this is mostly my fault. I know I’m behaving like an ass. I know it and yet here I am, unable to help myself. To say she gets under my skin is an understatement. It’s as if every bad character trait I possess—jealousy, anger, cruelty—is controlled by one button, and she’s not only found that button, she’s pressing down on it with her full weight and then some.
* * *
She doesn’t come back by the trailer the rest of the afternoon, and I’m grateful for the reprieve. That’s what I tell myself. I throw myself back into work and then around 4 PM, Hudson comes to get me so we can walk the site and check on progress. The stable has been completely demolished and the debris has been hauled to the dumpster. He needs me to check on the few trees that might need to be cleared before we can level the ground.
As I wa
lk out of the trailer, I spot Taylor moving toward the construction site with a water bottle in hand. She looks determined to get somewhere fast, and I watch as she finds Robert and hands him the bottle. He nods in thanks and they start talking. I can’t hear them from where I am, but he’s pointing his hand out as if explaining something to her. They’re still together after we walk the site. Now, they’re hunched over the plans.
“What’re they doing?” I ask Hudson, nodding over to Robert and Taylor.
“Uh…shouldn’t you know? She’s your assistant.”
The glare I aim his way withers half the forest.
“I mean,” he amends quickly, changing his tone, “let me check on that right away.”
Ten minutes later, he walks into the trailer and shrugs. “Apparently she was curious about how the site runs. Now, she’s headed to clean your cabin.”
“She is?”
He narrows his eyes. “Should I tell her you want to see her?”
“No.”
Absolutely not. The laundry was enough for one day.
Chapter 14
Taylor
Well, okay, tossing laundry onto the floor was admittedly not my proudest moment. I’d rank it right after…oh, stealing Ethan’s wallet, I suppose. So, he’s had the privilege of seeing me not only at my worst, but also at my second worst. I keep coaching myself to stay calm, to put up an impenetrable force field where he’s concerned and just let everything he says go in one ear and out the other. Unfortunately, when push comes to shove, that’s easier said than done.
He deserved that little outburst. He’d be eating crow if he knew what I was up to all morning. I wasn’t just twiddling my thumbs and flirting with his crew. First of all, I spent a solid hour trying to get that ancient washing machine up and running. I even had Jeremy take a quick look at it, but it was no use. The thing was toast. Even if it wasn’t, we didn’t have the necessary parts to fix it. I ended up having to hand-wash every piece of Ethan’s clothing by hand in the sink, which shouldn’t have taken too long, but there was mud caked on his jeans and some of his workout clothes were extra dirty. I didn’t want to leave a single speck behind. No way was I going to give him ammunition against me. After I was done washing everything, I threw the stuff in the dryer, which thankfully still worked, but not well enough. It took twice as long to dry the clothes as it should have and by the time I started to fold, it was lunchtime, which was when Max came strolling by.