by Teddy Hester
The breath catches in my throat. Other than being too quiet and sort of moody, I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary. What am I missing? “Whaddaya mean?”
“Well, the way he runs his crew, like I said. And hiring you—what’s up with that? He marches to a different drummer, I guess is the saying.”
I wave away his reasons like I’m swattin’ at a fly. “He sounds like a good leader, and as for hiring me, he was practically forced to take me on. Daddy talked to his friend Mr. Murphy, the refinery boss, about drumming up publicity and support for the project via my blog.”
“Okay, I’ll let you have that. But then there’s the job itself.”
“What about it?”
Felix turns in his seat toward me. “He’s come up with an approach for this s-CO2 chamber that’s not like what other contractors proposed. On paper it looks brilliant. But it’s challenging. Maybe more dangerous to build.”
“So, he’s innovative. He must think it’ll work.”
He nods. “And if it does, he’ll have pulled off quite a feat. Especially if he can bring it in on time.”
I can’t sort out what I’m feeling. The roiling in my stomach is part pride, part worry, and part late-night tacos. “And if it doesn’t work?”
“People will probably get hurt, an explosion could disable the refinery, the investors’ money lost. No telling what would happen to him or AmerItalia. One thing’s for sure. There’d be hell to pay.”
“What exactly are you saying?”
“He’s got a lot riding on his shoulders, Jilly.”
“And?”
“Can he handle it? Are we backing the right horse?”
“You don’t think so?”
“I don’t know. I want to believe him. He’s already done some things today that are going to make it easier for us to catch up on our deadline. But it means changing our usual procedures. Fast. You know how most people feel about changing what they’re used to.”
“But, Felix, if it’s showing promise—” I didn’t realize all this was going on around me. Shouldn’t people be happy that things are going well?
“There’s some grumbling about his age. About his coming in and taking over.”
“Is that what he’s done?” Politics and personalities. A man like Jack, who seems to have a clear vision, from what I’m hearing Felix say, must hate navigating the politics and personalities in order to bring his visions into fruition.
“Pretty much. He’s been given a lot of wiggle room, and he’s not shy about takin’ it.”
“How bad is the talk?”
“Not too bad. It’s only the first full day with them here on site. But all it’ll take is one visible mistake, Jilly, and he’ll be in trouble.”
If workers get restless, start balking or worse, undermining, it will jeopardize the project. People will get hurt in that case. And all sorts of negative consequences will be the result.
All the while, I’ve been pushing and gigging him, tying up his men with interviews, arguing about porta-potties. Contributing zero to the effort. Just making things harder for him.
My stomach decides what it’s feeling. “I’m going to be sick.” I pull into a side road and park the car. Pushing open the door, I lurch out, bent at the waist, hands braced on my knees. Then I concentrate on just breathing. Deep pulls through my nose expelled noisily out my mouth. I’m barely aware when Felix joins me. I repeat the deep breathing until the nausea passes.
Felix’s hands are on my shoulders, gently rubbing. “It’s all right, Jilly-bean. That’s right, breathe it out. Good. I didn’t mean to upset you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
The rubbing continues, moving over my arms and down my back, beginning to feel more like a whole-body massage than concerned support. Little prickles of weirdness make me uncomfortable.
One last inhale, and I straighten to standing. “Yes, you should have. I’m glad I know.” My hand’s shaky as it wipes sweat from my brow. I need to re-evaluate what I’m doing here, and how I can help him with this project. Maybe get my ear to the ground with the Roi-Tex workers instead of interviewing so many AI crew? What’s Nola think about all this stuff? “He is dealing with a lot for someone who’s only 27 years old.”
Felix flips my hair off my shoulder, then puts his hands back in his pocket. “Yeah. But I hear he was top in his class in some special college in London. Roi-Tex and Longhorn Petroleum wouldn’t have hired him for the job if they thought he couldn’t do it.”
“Still…”
“Yeah.”
“I pulled him out of a meeting to whine about using a Porta-Potty.”
Felix smothers a laugh. “You might want to lay off that sort of thing.”
It’s a good thing it’s too dark out here for him to see my face. “No shit, Sherlock.”
I am so disgusted with myself right now, I can barely stand it.
At 9:05 AM, I’ve met with Frank and set the day’s agenda. We’re on track to catch up the work by Friday night, and with any luck, by then we’ll have the basic structures down for the new build, too. It’s been a long day’s work, and I’m ready for sleep. All I need to do is drop off some paperwork.
When I open my office door, I stop and do a double-take. There’s my chair, so I must be in the right place. But what’s the rest of this?
“Hi.”
I pivot on my heel at the soft voice. “Jilly. Your shift ended at six. You should be home, asleep by now.”
She’s set up a small desk in the corner opposite mine and is sitting at it. “I wanted to see you before I left.”
There’s a stillness about her I don’t associate with my wildcat. “Has something happened?”
She shakes her head. “I owe you an apology.”
Uh-oh. What’s up? I drop the papers on my desk. “Jilly—”
A hand goes up to block my speaking. “No, let me say it. I had a bad first day. I wasn’t a good employee.”
“Jilly—”
“Instead of trying to help you, I added to your headaches and wasted valuable time. I was insubordinate. And to my everlasting shame, I disrespected you. Sometimes even in front of your crew.”
“Jillian, stop. Where’s this coming from?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just accept my apology, please. I’ll do better tomorrow. Uh, today. Tonight.”
“You’re worrying me.”
At that, she grins, and the tightness in my chest releases. “I’m done now.”
I hold out my hand for her. “Thank goodness. Let’s go get some breakfast.”
She lets me help her up and guide her toward the exit. “No way. Bath and bed, in that order, DePaul.”
“No ‘Mr.’ this time? What happened to that respect?”
Her shrug is sheer impudence. “We’re off-duty.”
We clear security, walk the other half-mile to the parking lot, and I check my watch. Record time. She’s a helluva power walker, my wildcat. “Where are you parked?”
She nods several rows ahead. “I’m over there. Where are you?”
I scan the lot to my pickup. A black Mercedes sits beside it in the unpaved dirt. “Next to yours, I think.”
She does a double-take before her eyes go wide. “That old pickup got you here from North Carolina?”
If I had a nickel for every time somebody’s said that to me. “Ol’ Blue? You got something against pickup trucks?”
She grins and pulls out her keys. “This Texas girl? Not at all. I was just surprised. Not exactly the newest model on the highway.”
I reach for her keys to unlock and open her door. She climbs inside and holds out her hand for them. Closing them in my palm, I lean on her open door. “Let’s have breakfast. We both need a full, nourishing meal. Neither of us got that at dinner.”
“I don’t know--”
“How long a drive home do you have?”
“I’m staying at the Lone Star like the rest of your crew.”
“Perfect. There’s a diner nearby. Follo
w me.” I hand back her keys and close the door, not giving her an opportunity to reply.
We have another nice meal together. But not before we engage in another battle.
“But I’m really hungry, DePaul. I have a mad craving for the Spanish omelet and the down-home cottage fries.”
“That’s too heavy for the night shift. You’ll do better with scrambled eggs and toast.”
Her sigh is as deep as a wind tunnel. “Fine.” She looks up at the waitress with a smile. “Scrambled eggs and raisin toast. With apple butter.” She scowls over at me. I’m sure if Crystal weren’t standing there, she’d be sticking her pink wildcat tongue at me.
Even worn out as I am right now, I can think of better uses for that tongue.
“And a cup of coffee, please.” She plops down the menu and sits back.
Crystal looks to me, and I shake my head. “Bring us both some tomato juice.”
Jilly’s brows pull together, and her lips thin. “Make mine grapefruit juice.”
Crystal smirks, writes it down, and heads to drop off the order.
Turquoise eyes blaze. “I’m dying for a hot, strong cup of coffee loaded with cream and sugar. I don’t need to ask your permission. Crystal, either. What’s with that anyway? Why’d she keep looking at you before she wrote anything I said down?”
“This is the only place I’ve eaten since I got here. Sometimes Crystal and I were the only ones in the place. We got friendly.”
“Friendly.” Jilly’s gaze narrows, and I can almost hear what she’s thinking about Crystal and me. “Well, she was no friend to me just now. Sisters before misters.”
It startles a laugh out of me, and I get a funny glow in my belly at the idea she might be battling a little green-eyed monster. “Thought you were learning to trust me. Go ahead and get your coffee. But you’ll sleep better without it. Have it when you wake up instead.”
Another sigh, this time with a pout. “You sure are a bossy boss.”
I chuckle. “I don’t mean to be. The night shift is hard enough on a person’s body as it is. Watching your diet helps.”
“Well, I’m too tired to fight you, so I’ll just give in.”
My eyebrows scale up my forehead.
“Don’t get used to it,” she adds.
“Yeah, I figured.” This woman will argue with the grim reaper when the time comes, I have no doubt.
She smiles, and her twinkle is brighter than the morning sun filtering into the drab diner. The tingle of the attraction between us skitters through me. Only the delivery of our meal keeps me from crawling over the table and into the booth beside her.
“So, no trouble with the run to Corpus? Thanks for the new gloves, by the way.”
“No, no trouble. Felix went with me.”
I don’t like the frown that slides across her face as she says that. “Something about Felix upset you?”
She polishes off her juice before answering. “Not exactly.”
The middle of the night, alone with the man who pursued her all night at the party. I’m not liking the images in my head. “Did he try something?”
Her eyes go wide. “No! I told you, he’s a friend. We don’t think of each other that way.”
I decide to keep my thoughts on that subject to myself. But I’ll be keeping an eye on him. “Then what?”
“Nothing, nothing. Let me eat my breakfast.”
There’s more, but I won’t push it. If it’s something about the project, though, something that will affect my getting it done on time, I need to know. Maybe she’ll tell me later, when we’ve spent more than a day learning about each other. Learning what kind of person each other is.
So we talk about the changes she made to my office, what to stock in the little fridge, and some of the things she’d gotten for her article. Simple things, winding down her day, so she can sleep when there’s sun rather than moon high up in the sky.
She fades so fast, I’m worried about her driving over to the hotel. I pay our breakfast bill, watching her, assessing. She sort of wobbles when we step outside.
“Jilly, why don’t you let me drive?”
“Nonsense,” she protests out of sheer force of habit, clicks to unlock the door, and climbs in her car. “I’m fine. I’m just a little fuzzy about my directions. Where is the hotel from here?”
I laugh under my breath. “Move over.”
“No,” she says sleepily, sliding into the passenger seat.
I chuckle again. Damn, she’s cute. Wonder if she argues in her sleep?
“The hotel’s right over there,” I say, nodding at a building less than a block away. It’s the only multi-story building in town.
Jilly yawns. “What about your truck?”
“I’ll walk back and get it.”
The great thing about coming home at 10:00 AM is that everyone else has already gone to work, which leaves all the best parking places open. I pull up and park near the lobby door.
When I switch off the motor and glance over at Jilly, she’s sound asleep.
Silly, adorable girl. My hungry eyes follow the aristocratic profile of her face. She’s as still and smooth and beautiful as a polished piece of marble. The childish navy bow has slid down almost to the ends of her ponytail. I pull it the rest of the way off so I can wrap a warm auburn curl around my fingers. The fragrance of expensive shampoo fills my head, causing an immediate and powerful physical reaction, low in my gut. I swallow, damming off a rising flood of desire.
I want Jilly Vickers.
Bad.
Like a sonuvabitch.
She’s a walking stick of dynamite ready to blow up all my plans for this project, but still I want her.
I force myself out of the car and around to her side. I wake her enough to get her out the passenger door, lock the car, and walk her into the hotel.
She’d put her room key on her car’s ring, so I help her up to the third floor and open the door to her room. There, her head rests against my shoulder while I pull back the bedcovers. I lower my precious burden to the mattress and take off her shoes. Then I carefully tuck the blankets in around her fully-clothed body, press my lips lingeringly against her cool forehead. Summoning the last of my willpower, I back away and leave.
As luck would have it, my own room’s directly across from hers.
How the hell am I supposed to sleep, knowing she’s within reach?
On a sigh, my weary body tromps over to the diner to get ol’ Blue. Maybe a long drive will widen that damn hallway.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Eight Days to Deadline
“Knock, knock.”
Papers fisted in both hands, I’m elated to see Nola at the office door. “Hey, girl!”
“You look confused.”
“You have no idea. What language do y’all speak on this construction site?”
She laughs and crosses over to take a gander at what I’m sifting and sorting through. “Oh, yes, I recognize it. A cross between ancient Greek and Texas jackass.”
I drop the pages and slap a hand to my forehead. “That explains it! I’m fluent in Texas jackass—I have two older brothers, after all—but that other stuff! It doesn’t even look human…and then there’s the numbers.”
“Oh, the numbers. Don’t get me started.” She scrunches up her nose like a skunk just wandered in and took up residence. “No civilized person speaks Number anymore. Let the machines do it.”
I hadn’t realized how stressed I am about inputting data for Jack’s reports. It feels normal to laugh with a girlfriend for a change. “It’s good to see you.”
Her olive complexion rosies up. “How about a break? Have you had dinner yet?”
I hesitate, because I’ve been waiting for Jack to come back and conduct the daily meeting. But it’s already a half hour past midnight, and I’m hungry. “Sure. Sounds good.”
Coaxing the mess into piles I can dig into when we get back, I leave the desk, grab my sack from the fridge, and we walk outside. My tired shoulders a
nd neck thank me with every step away from the computer.
She power walks me over to the building where I make copies. Turns out there’s a cafeteria in there. It doesn’t dole out hot food during the night, but we can use the tables and chairs, and the vending machines work just fine. Best of all, we can use the bathroom.
“How’s it been going?” she asks, emptying her lunch pail onto the table.
I swallow the mouthful of hoagie I’d bitten off and chewed. Not bad-tasting for a deli sandwich picked up at the grocery store on the way to work. Gotta remember to grab mustard packets when I buy tomorrow’s sandwich. “Yesterday had me questioning the will to live, but today’s been fine.”
“Damn! Don’t say things like that when I’m taking a drink—I almost snorted soda out my nose.” Nola dabs with a paper napkin. “So, they’re keeping ya busy?”
“Oh, yeah. Between all that Mr. DePaul has me doing, and the interviews I manage to grab whenever there’s a workman around, the time passes pretty quickly.”
“That’s good. The night shift can drag if you don’t have enough to do.”
“And I guess putting your head down for some shuteye isn’t allowed, huh.”
She chuckles. “I kinda doubt it. Hear you made a run into Corpus last night?”
“Yeah. Felix and I drove over to replace some stuff that’s gone missing. Have you had any trouble with that in your area?”
“Some. A couple of the tarps are ripped where they weren’t before, and one has gone missing. Plus, more of our brushes are torn up. A couple of Scrunchies I use to hold my hair back are gone, too. Nothing serious, but irritating. And it slows things down as people stop and look for stuff. They’ve started arguing about the missing things, too.”
“Arguing? What do you mean?” The stress of the upcoming deadline must be riding people hard if they’re arguing over work gloves and paint brushes.
“Like maybe there’s sabotage going on. Rio-Tex day shift screwing with AI crew, trying to make them look bad.”
My hand halts on its way to my mouth with a pretzel. “Why in the world would they want to do that?”