Speaking of attractive women...Brett is incredibly sexy.
And smart.
And she even knows how to drive a tractor, and that sweet Blackwell accent of hers combined with that light voice has me hard just thinking about her.
I take a swig of my water and think for a moment, reminding myself how I can’t be having these sorts of thoughts about employees. Especially when it’s not even her first day. Sebastian Blackwell is one of the few rich men in the town who got that way by helping the town, not screwing people over.
And he definitely doesn’t screw his employees. That is some small town drama that I definitely don’t need.
I hear someone clear their throat, and a drink clunks on the wooden table. I turn to thank the bartender, and see if his drink-making skills are still up to par.
But when I look over, it’s not Mason at all.
It’s Brett Blue.
My adrenaline spikes like I’m a wild lion and an intruder has entered my kingdom. Her scent wafts into me, smelling like freshness and sunflowers and youth.
And she looks so smoking hot, that slight boner twitch I was joking about? Yeah, I’ve got to fight not to have a full-on salute going under the table right now.
She clears her throat and does what is quickly becoming her signature move, the slight head tilt. “The bartender wanted me to bring you this.” She smiles.
“So you’re moonlighting as a server now, too?” I remark. “You really are a sales personality by nature. You’re a hustler.”
“And you’re a dick. You don’t even say hello to me.”
“I didn’t even see you. I’ve got a lot on my mind right now. It’s nothing personal.”
She frowns. “Really. So I must not register very much on your radar. Even after you hired me.”
I take a big breath through my nose. “So you think I’m a big asshole.”
“Yeah,” she says. “Pretty much. And I don’t work for assholes.”
I tilt my head and exhale.
“Fair enough. How about this? I interviewed you, today. Now is your turn to interview me. Ask me whatever you want. I’ll respond honestly.”
“Seriously. Anything?”
I take a sip of my Old Fashioned, it’s delicious. The bartender arrives with another and sets it in front of Brett.
“I’ll give you one drink. You’re not even officially working for me yet, so nothing’s off-limits. Starting now. Cheers.”
We clink glasses, and each take a sip, keeping eye contact.
“Where were you born?” she asks.
“Blackwell.”
“Your parents. Together or divorced?”
“Together. You?”
“My father passed away this year.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say.
“Thanks. Where do yours live now?”
“They own a little small farm north of Blackwell.”
“You get out there much?”
“I don’t. Haven’t been there for years.”
“Why not?”
I shrug, and take another strong pull on my drink. “My father and I don’t speak much. He respects my work ethic, but that’s it. In a lot of ways, I think he blames me for the ruin of this town, and it’s my fault people are struggling. Says I’m a mean businessman.”
“What do you say to that?”
“I say he doesn’t understand me. If anything, I’ve kept this town going.”
She nods, and takes a sip of her drink. “So what doesn’t he understand? Please, enlighten me, Bossman.”
My fists clench on top of the table. She sees my tension. This isn’t a topic I spend a lot of time explaining, but right now I’ve got no other option.
“Ten years ago, you remember what happened?”
“I was thirteen,” she quips. “I don’t know…I decided that I wasn’t going to play softball in the summer because my parents said metal bats were too expensive?”
“No, but close. The Maytag…oh wait a second. Your mother, her name is Laura Blue, isn’t it?”
She looks surprised. “How did you know?”
“She used to work at the Maytag plant with my mother. Before it closed down. That is what happened ten years ago. The plant took almost ten thousand jobs with it. Addiction and desperation spiked, and this town was headed for disaster.”
“So what’s that got to do with anything?” she scoffs.
I purse my lips and shake my head ever so slightly. “You are young, aren’t you? You think you know about everything. But really, you’ve got a lot to learn. Do you know what I did with that first million?”
“Hookers? Bought a mansion? A yacht? I don’t know.”
My grip on my drink tightens. Funny, she’s asking me for my life’s story and though she’s angry, she’s riveted, her eyes wide as she leans forward on the table. I take a swallow of whisky, and fuck, her cleavage is in my peripheral vision now as she leans over. She’s licking her lips. Tempting me.
Luckily self-control is one of my best assets, so I’m able to keep my eyes laser focused on hers as I continue my story.
“I invested half in Cryptocurrencies. Bitcoin, ethereum, and a few others. I did a lot of research, and I had a hunch they were going to blow up, and they have. The other half, I poured into development in the city of Blackwell. If this place was going to go downhill, damned if I was going to sit by idly and watch it burn. I was born here, and I’ll damn well die here turning this place around. In my early twenties, I thought the restaurant business was how I was going to make my money. But then I learned that restaurant margins are paper thin. And also, a town that only has restaurants is doomed to fail. So I started looking for other places to invest and revitalize the town.”
She puts the glass to her lips, and I take pleasure in watching every slow, sensual movement she makes. She looks at the painting on the wall in our booth as she mentally processes the truth bomb I just dropped on her.
“But you’re an owner. You’re an asshole. That’s what everyone says. You’re just a rich dickhead who doesn’t give a crap about anyone’s feelings. Everyone knows that. Haven’t you seen the latest meme on Twitter about you?”
I lean into the table, and a smile broaches my face. “And did you just say Twitter? Fuck Twitter. And fuck Facebook too. I don’t have time for that.”
“That’s a really dick-ish thing to say,” she adds.
“Yeah? Well it’s the truth.”
Brett tosses her hair over her shoulder, and the corners of her mouth curve upward, ever so slightly. “So Mr. Blackwell,” she says, finally a hint of sympathy in her voice. “You didn’t even go to college, did you?”
“No,” I growl. “Parents couldn’t afford it. And after I’d already started making my own money, I saw no reason to go to college or any formal schooling for that matter.”
“Wow,” she says, nodding blankly. “I didn’t...I wouldn’t have expected that.”
“Not a lot of people do. Most figure I was born with the silver spoon.”
I finish the last of my drink, and we sit there in silence a moment. There’s something about this girl that really gets me going. It’s her fire. It’s her curiosity. It’s how she won’t take anything at face value, and has to find out for herself.
It’s the fact that she’s hot as hell. She’s got a black tank top and tight jeans on, and her breasts are busting out of her top. But moreover, her smile and her facial features are to die for. And inside, she’s got this wonderful brain. She may be young, but she’s very intelligent.
“Now I’m not saying I’m not a total asshole in individual dealings. But when it comes to the well-being of this town, if you ever question me again, I will not be very happy. I was born in Blackwell. I’ll make my bread in Blackwell. And I’ll die here.”
A smile crosses her face. “Did you just paraphrase the lyrics to “Small Town” by John Mellencamp?”
“Nah.” I wink. “I’d never do that. I’m more of a John Prine guy anyway.”
/>
She gasps. “You...know who John Prine is?”
“Peaches are the key to happiness,” I say, and I don’t show it, but I’m more surprised that she knows who my favorite obscure folk artist is. “So do we have a deal?”
She hesitates just as the song changes, and all the people in the bar come into focus. Finally, “Summer of 69” by Bryan Adams starts up on the jukebox, taking everyone off edge.
“Fine,” she says, returning my shake. “I’m excited about the job. But not for the reasons you think.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”
“Oh, uhh…I just mean, I-I,” she stutters. “I’m going to learn a lot. About sales. What are you working on right now, for example?”
She turns her head sideways to attempt to view what I’m working on.
“Have you heard about the Shallowater Distillery development?”
“I read the local newspaper. How could I miss it? It’s supposed to bring in over three hundred new jobs to the area.”
“Right. But the problem is, we can’t move forward with it. I don’t have enough room for the design we planned since part of our master plan falls on a dry county. The architects are scrambling to figure out how to make it happen. I needed to have this development operating by next summer. Lost plans mean time, and lost time means lost money.”
“So why don’t you just make it smaller?”
I rub my thumb and forefinger on my forehead. “I guess I could make it smaller, but then when it comes to production we’re going to be hamstrung. There’s a ton of demand in the area, and I need to make sure we can handle it.”
“Can I see the design?”
“Uh, have you ever designed anything?”
She shrugs. “When I was younger, I helped my father build our barn. I had to measure out the sizes of the partitions for the chicken coops and the pigs, and the rest of the storage.” She jingles the ice in her glass and flips her hair. “He called me his ‘little designer assistant.’”
“Aww, well that’s sweet,” I say, spinning my tablet around so she can see the screen. “It’s a professionally drafted design. It’s probably a little hard to understand.”
The words come out a little condescending, even though I don’t mean them like that. But there’s a big difference between an architectural draft and a barn on the farm.
She stares at the screen for a few moments. “Huh,” she exclaims, nodding thoughtfully.
“Huh, what?”
She looks back at me, her blue eyes intense against mine. “This is just one floor?”
“Well, yeah. It’s a one floor design almost all the way around. That’s pretty standard for a distillery.”
“Well why can’t you make it two floors?”
I look at her, and for a moment it’s like she’s one of those little kids, asking “Why” a thousand times.
But she’s got a point.
“I, I don’t know. I just go with the design that my architects give me. I’m an entrepreneur, not a building expert. You’ve got a damn good point though. I’ll check on that.”
“I’ll take my first commission in the form of fifty percent of the money you’ve saved from using my idea.” She winks.
“How about I just buy a drink to celebrate?”
“What are we celebrating?”
“The fact that you just solved the problem I was going to be working on for the rest of the night. Oh, and you starting work tomorrow at Blackwell Industries, of course.”
I order one more, and I can’t take my eyes off her. Though I’m wondering what’s behind those pretty blues. It’s obvious to me she’s much more than just a pretty face.
And I intend to find out what makes Brett Blue tick.
6
Brett
“Thanks for the ride today,” I say to Crystal as I get into her car. Luckily, she lives even farther away from Blackwell than I do, and starts work earlier than me, so she’s the perfect candidate to give me a ride to work today, since my Mom needed the car this morning.
And I’ll be early to work by a solid hour, since I’m only normally supposed to be there by eight.
As I close the door, she turns the music down.
“Blasting Thomas Rhett already, eh?”
“Aw, it’s never too early for a little bit of Tommy boy,” she says. “But I never got the chance to ask you how the rest of the night went.”
“Oh, it went fine. Sorry for ditching you. I…didn’t know I was going to be talking to him for so long. But he brought me in and once he did, I felt like I was…under his spell or something.”
“Yeah, I thought you were just going to tell him off.”
“Well, I gave him some space to explain himself. And I don’t know, maybe he’s not as big of an asshole as some people say he is.”
“No. Brett, just no. He’s a big, giant villain. Everyone knows that. He’s heartless. I heard he once fired someone just because they were five minutes late to their shift. He’s horrible.”
I recoil a little bit. “I haven’t heard that.”
“Just…be careful, okay? Although, just because he’s not an asshole doesn’t mean he’s not hot.” Her eyes get a little glazed over as she looks into the distance down my road, County Road D. “Speaking of hot, did you make any progress in finding inspiration for your book yet? Or are you still going to stick with...you know. Your potential boss?”
Pangs of nervous sweat begin to overtake me. “I think I’m going to stick with him. I wrote a chapter when I got home last night.”
Her jaw hangs open. “A whole chapter! What’s it about?”
“Uh,” I stumble. I can’t tell her who I was really fantasizing about last night. Can I? “It’s really silly. But…What you said about Sebastian got me thinking. He is really hot. And he is a pretty big asshole. But I think that’s a combination I want to write about. So I didn’t think of him, exactly. Just someone who is like him. Like a prototype.”
She nods, eyes still forward as she eats up the country road in front of us.
“I’m thinking of calling it…” I pause dramatically and move my hands across the window like I’m spelling out the words on a sign “My Hot Restaurant Boss.”
With her lips parted, she looks over at me with crazy eyes. “Are you sure? That sounds like, really specific.”
“Watch out!” I yell, and help her swerve at the last second to barely miss a cow drifting into the middle of the road.
She shrieks, but luckily since there are no other cars in the road, it’s fine when we veer off into the oncoming traffic lane.
“Phew,” she says as she slows and steadies the car. “You’re distracting me with this ridiculous title! My Hot Boss at the Restaurant? Really? It sounds like the restaurant is hot, not the boss. And it’s also just...I don’t know. I think you can do better than that.”
We pull past the city limits of Blackwell, and the tallest building comes into view.
Finally we pull up in front of the Blackwell Industries building. I pop out the door.
“Have a good first day at school, honey.” Crystal waves. “Pick you up at four?”
“Yes, I think so. I’ll text you.”
I check my phone for the time. It’s still early, not even seven a.m. yet. My father, rest his heart in peace, was the one who taught me that if you’re early, you’re on time, if you’re on time, you’re late, and if you’re late, don’t bother showing up.
And especially on a day like today, I’m excited I’m early. I go to Daily Grind, Blackwell’s local coffee shop, and pick up a latté.
When I get to the Blackwell building, I realize it’s been awhile since I woke up with adrenaline pumping through my veins as I enter the lobby.
“Hi,” I say to the gentleman at the front desk. “My name is Brett. It’s my first day.”
“Ah, Brett Blue.” He smiles. “I have your temporary ID right here. For now, take the elevator on the west wing on up to the seventeenth floor. Mr. Blackwell
himself said he’s going to be going through your orientation today. Just head on up.”
As I step into the elevator and press the button for the seventeenth floor, I can feel my heart rate elevating.
I can say it’s because it’s the first day of a new job.
Or because I’m in the biggest building in Blackwell.
I’m stepping into Sebastian’s lair.
I’m not attracted to him.
I swear.
But as I ride up in the elevator, I think I can detect that manly, woodsy scent of his. It probably permeates the whole place twenty-four hours a day seven days a week.
The elevator doors open, but floor seventeen is basically bare. I see a janitor walking around, but other than that, there’s no one.
I walk past the opening to Sebastian’s office, the door is closed and the lights are dark. I wonder if he gets here early, too. The guy does seem like the workaholic type.
I turn right and pass through the archway to the main cubicles. The lights are dimly lit, though the morning sun is shining in and visibility is no problem.
Weird. When I cleared everything with Fiona yesterday, she said someone would be here to meet me between seven and eight, but there’s not a peep.
I head back to Sebastian’s office, and figure I’ll wait for him there. But now the door is cracked open just a smidge, and I can hear a strange noise coming from inside. It sounds like forced grunting.
“Oh yeah,” I hear the voice say, unmistakably his. “Just like that,” he says in a low murmur.
Holy shit.
Is someone...is he...having sex?
It’s the first day on the job, and I’m already about to catch my boss hooking up with someone.
I know I probably should just mind my own business based on the noise, and that there are some things the mind can’t unsee. But I don’t care. Like Tom Petty, I need to know.
After all the things Sebastian said yesterday to me, I was starting to think maybe he wasn’t so bad of a guy. But if he’s hooking up with like, one of the interns? Ew. Just no.
I set my latté on the secretary’s desk, and get on my hands and knees so I’m low to the ground. I push the door open ever so slightly, just enough so that I’m able to get my tiny head halfway into the doorframe into an angle that makes me able to see the source of the noise.
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