by Lisa Wells
“You were saying?” He handed a bottle of water to Richard.
“If things go well with the current project you’re working on for us, I’ll have Aggie set up a meeting between you two.”
Had his lateness to this meeting caused Richard to worry he wasn’t up for a bigger task? Or was he pulling back, handing him off to his partner, because he wanted to date Aggie and didn’t want to mix business with pleasure?
“Things are going to go better than well with this project. No sense in waiting.”
Richard opened his briefcase and pulled out a file. “As great as you are, it will probably be out of your league. In fact, I’m considering your father’s corporation for this project.”
Max grimaced. “Our styles are nothing alike.” Father hired out the diminutive details. Max, on the other hand, bought commercial property, designed a blueprint to best make it shine, and then flipped it.
“I’m well aware of that fact.”
“I can assure you, there’s nothing Father can do that I can’t.”
“That’s what Aggie told me when I floated the idea by her. She said you’re the most brilliant man she has ever known.” Richard smiled as if talking about her made him happy.
“She said that?”
“Among other things.”
He could only imagine. “Shall we get down to business?”
Their meeting lasted only fifteen minutes. As soon as Richard left, Max walked to his desk to grab a file. When he picked it up, a single sheet of paper lay underneath. The missing document.
Thank God he’d told Aggie to abort the mission.
Chapter Twenty
“Aggie?” a guy’s voice said.
Aggie stopped singing and jumped, as much as one can jump while in a sea of squishy plastic sacks, and lost her balance. This time she went backward, landing ass down in the array of bulging bags.
Swiping her hair out of her face, she glanced up into the bright sunlight. Toward the direction in which the voice came. When she saw who the voice belonged to, she was engulfed with true humiliation.
“What?” The word came out more a dog growl than a human sound. Which any sane person would deem appropriate, since it wasn’t the janitor whose eyes she met. That left only one other soul who knew where to find her.
Her horrible, horrible boss man stared, with what looked suspiciously like disgust, from over the safe edge of the bin.
“What in the hell are you doing in there?” he snapped. “Didn’t you get my text?”
“What text?” she bit out.
He leaned across and down a little and whispered, “To abort the mission.”
“Obviously not!”
“Well, I sent it. Get out of there.”
She tapped the fingers of her right hand on a discarded Captain Crunch cereal box. She’d eaten a lot of generic Captain Crunch growing up. “I haven’t found what you sent me to find.”
He cleared his throat. “Funny story. I found the page. I hadn’t actually thrown it away.” In what looked like an effort to not touch his body to the bin, he held out a helping hand.
A loud ringing filled her ears, and a red haze blurred her vision. “I’m ass-high in trash for no reason?” She struggled into a standing position. It was a damn good thing for him she hadn’t brought a gun with her to this trash party.
He wiggled his fingers at her, as if in a hurry to get her out of the trash and himself back into his office before someone saw them. “To be fair—”
“Fair.” Was he really about to try and justify his part in her current predicament? “If I were you, I’d choose my next words exceptionally carefully.” She reached out to grab his hand and got nothing but air. On purpose. The last thing she wanted was for him to try dead-lifting her ass out of this bin. He could give it his best shot, with all those muscles that bulged under his dress shirts, and she’d still not leave the ground.
“Come closer,” he ordered. “We can talk about the events leading up to this later.”
“Did you know there are five million trillion-trillion germs on our planet? That’s a five with thirty zeroes after it.”
“Can’t say I knew that.”
“Well, there are. And for every step I take forward, I’m introduced to at least a gazillion of those germs.”
He sighed. “Aggie, move closer. I can’t reach any farther and maintain my balance.”
“Call the fire department, then. Ask them to send a rescue unit. Preferably the one with the crew who modeled for this year’s sexy firemen calendar. I’m sure one of them would get dirty to save a damsel in distress.”
He shrugged off his suit jacket and removed his tie. “Damsel, huh?” He used his charming voice.
“Fuck you.”
“Fair enough.” He bent farther over the edge of the dumpster, allowing his white shirt to touch the green metal and, this time, reached out with both hands. “Why not a princess?”
“When you’re a princess, your options are limited. Not so when you’re a damsel. Any hunk can save a damsel. A princess has to wait for a prince.”
He wiggled his fingers as if enticing a one-year-old to waddle toward him. “This is your lucky day, damsel in distress. I’m the hunk who came to save you.”
She didn’t budge. “The hunk who puts a damsel in danger can’t be the same hunk who saves her.” Dick prick. Dick prick. Dick prick.
“Why not?”
“Fairytales don’t work that way.”
“Damn it, move closer. Grab my hands.” His boss man voice came out to play.
She shuffled a few steps and reached for his hands, but they still didn’t connect. Again, that was by design on her part. “What’s the hurry? Is Richard waiting for you to get back to your meeting? Did you tell him what you asked me to do?”
“He left about five minutes ago.”
“So you waited until your meeting ended and he’d cleared the building before checking to see if I received your text?”
Max huffed out a sigh as if he stood in trash instead of her. “I don’t blame you for being mad. I’d be mad, too. But right now, we need to get you out of there.”
“Mad doesn’t even begin to describe what I’m feeling.” Humiliated. Hurt. Scared. Stupid.
“Be resourceful. Stack some of those larger bags on top of each other and then climb up on them.”
She screwed up her hands into balls, causing her nails to dig into her palms. “That’s a bloody brilliant idea.” The guy was practically begging for payback. She stacked four bags on top of one another and climbed her way up. Once she had her balance, she placed her hands in his.
If there was one thing Aggie Johansson was good at, it was payback.
When he relaxed and smiled, she yanked. Not a light yank. A yank of a woman trying to get her vibrator away from a Rottweiler.
She didn’t need a fucking hunk to come to her rescue. This damsel would save herself.
…
Max realized her intent at the same moment she yanked him down. The option to save himself from the fall didn’t exist. For such a slender thing, Aggie possessed the strength of a body-building demon.
Part of him, a small part, admired her tenacity. No wonder she hadn’t lasted longer than two weeks at any job until this point. She didn’t understand what to do with authority or an apology. He had apologized…right?
The majority of his parts—including the part that gagged at the sight of maggots—stared in horror at the rotting trash gleefully awaiting his magnificent belly flop.
“Agg—” Her name cut off at impact, which didn’t hurt. Unless you count the Alaska-sized bruise to his ego.
“Get off me.” She pushed at his shoulders, and in a late attempt not to hurt her with his weight, he rolled. They struggled to their feet, grabbing at each other’s arms for balance, resulting in sways and
wobbles.
Following their final wobble, their gazes crashed into each other like a high-speed car wreck. Hers held a mixture of revenge and, well…not fucking remorse. Oh, hell no. Aggie, who should have been preparing to grovel, apparently didn’t suffer from second-guessing regrets. Instead, she held her sides as if to hold back a laugh.
“You’re fired—”
Sure enough, laughter burst from her clenched lips, flooding the dumpster with its lyrical hysterics. “I know. I know. Oh. My. God.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she rubbed at them, leaving streaks of black mascara in their place.
Unbelievable. She really wasn’t sorry. Damn it. Even if he was an asshole, he was still her boss. Maybe his gaze wasn’t telling her how much trouble she’d landed herself into with this prank. He tried to summon self-righteous indignation. “If you were pissed, you could have just sued me for tasks unbecoming an assistant. I could have even recommended a good lawyer to you.” He was certainly not going to have to pay for drinks tonight.
“I prefer to leave the courts out of the matters of my anger when dealing with my colossally privileged boss.”
Without warning, laughter bubbled up inside of him and spilled from his lips. After a few seconds, she joined him.
For several minutes, raucous, childhood-like laughter, the kind you got when absolutely nothing was funny, but you and your best friend couldn’t stop laughing no matter how many warning frowns your teacher sent your way, bounced off the walls of the trash bin.
The kind of laughter between a guy and the girl who had stolen his heart. Son of a bitch.
She reached up and pulled a piece of lettuce out of his hair. “I’m pretty sure you will have to unfire me or face the wrath of Meemaw and Ms. Grace.”
A leftover chuckle slipped out of his lips. Unfiring her seemed to be what he did best. How many times did that make now? Twice? Three times? He imagined the scene with him explaining to the grandmothers why he’d fired her.
“Fine.” God help him. He’d bet his right nut this wouldn’t be the last time. “You’re unfired.”
“And you’ll double my salary?”
He nodded. It was the least he could do. “But only if—”
“You don’t get to add a but. I’m—”
“Hey, you two, I’ve got work that ain’t gonna do itself. If you want my help, shake a leg.”
They looked up.
The janitor, leaning over the edge, held out a gloved hand. “You know,” he said, his gaze on Max, “there are finer places to meet a woman.” And then he glanced at Aggie. “And you…you can do better.”
A sharp elbow to his ribs drew a grunt from Max. Aggie smirked at him and then shined a sweet-as-syrup smile up at the janitor. “Aren’t you a peach for noticing.”
Once again, Aggie Johansson had gotten the last word.
Chapter Twenty-One
Monday at five thirty p.m., Aggie stood at her desk and rubbed her eyes. It had been three nights and three dumpster nightmares since the trash incident. On the bright side, last night’s nightmare hadn’t been scary. Gross but not scary. She’d dreamt Maxwell Treadwell had kissed her while standing in all those germs.
What kind of girl dreamed of a guy kissing her in a heap of garbage?
A weird one, for sure. Probably suffered from the I’m-not-good-enough syndrome, damn it.
Then again, what kind of girl forgave a guy responsible for her searching through trash for something that’s not even in there? And forgive him she had.
A weird one, for sure. Probably suffered from I-can-fix-the-guy syndrome, damn it.
Lucky for Max, she was the revenge and forgive type. Why dwell on what’d been handled? Especially when you knew your own antics set the series of unfortunate incidents into blazing motion.
To his credit, not once all day had he mentioned the incident. Or the pre-incident. Nor had he asked her to clarify if it was her number she’d given Richard. Which pointed to his being the I-deserved-that-and-forgive type.
Instead of rehashing their latest fiasco, he’d been on overdrive working out the details of his bid proposal.
Not that she was complaining about that part. Planning with him made her soul sing, and she didn’t use that phrase lightly.
Not only did he ask for her input, he listened to her responses and he incorporated her ideas into his proposal.
“Aggie,” he said.
She tensed. While she’d be okay with acting like Friday never happened, she knew realistically they would have to eventually talk about it. It was, after all, the adult thing to do. And taking the adult road meant she would admit she gave Richard Meemaw’s number so Max would stop thinking the worst of her.
“Yes?” She pretended to be busy with something at her desk because her stomach was suddenly feeling quite twisty and turny.
“Come look at this.”
She glided over to him while nonchalantly wiping her sweaty palms on her hips. She didn’t stop until she stood close to him. Surely, if he planned on handling this like an adult, as well, he was about to tell her she was worthy of so much more respect than he’d been showing her, and things would change and then he’d kiss her. Okay. The last part wouldn’t happen. But, due to last night’s dream, she had a fierce craving for his grumpy lips.
He pointed to the blueprint on his desk.
The guy really had nice hands. The kind of hands that enticed her to ruminate about things other than work. She peered at where he pointed. Okay. False alarm. They were not about to adult.
She forced her brain to engage in logic. “Wow.” He’d taken her idea and enhanced it like a master artist might a stick figure. “That’s perfect.” Did he even freaking remember Friday? “You’re going to win the bid for sure on this project.”
He stepped back and rubbed his neck. “Let’s call it a day.” His eyes didn’t meet hers despite her efforts to catch his gaze.
As a way of masking her disappointment, she yawned. To be fair, it might not have been a mask. Quality sleep didn’t occur when scary dreams had you by the throat. “Sounds good. I plan on getting up in the morning and running before work.” Get up early. Run. Where the hell had her mouth found those words? She didn’t run. Not even in her nightmares when being chased by evil and finding refuge in a trash can.
Max gave her a nod of approval. The kind most guys gave a girl when she’d walked out of the bedroom wearing nothing but a smile. “I didn’t know you ran.” Admiration hugged his words, squeezing them so tight they turned blue.
She silently groaned. She’d been Meemawed. The ornery thing had mentioned in passing this weekend that Aggie should take bagels to work on Monday, because Ms. Grace said Max ran every morning. And runners needed their carbs. And she knew how Aggie tended to take on a guy’s hobbies when she liked him.
When Aggie had laughed at Meemaw’s suggestion, Meemaw had then mentioned Max’s last lady-of-interest ran marathons.
The thing about lies, they’re hard to backtrack out of. Especially when they were rewarded with approval. “I love to run. It’s great for stress.”
He grinned.
Did he know? “What’s so funny?” It wasn’t like she couldn’t run. She probably could run. Probably super-fast. How fast did he run a mile? If she beat his time, he’d have to respect her. Then again, why did she have to be the one searching for respect? Too bad she didn’t have that thought before doubling down on her lie.
He shrugged. “I find it hard imagining you as a runner.”
“You should join me sometime. See for yourself.”
He reached out and slid a strand of hair out of her face. “How about tomorrow morning?”
His fingers touching her cheekbone stirred her desire to be kissed. “Tomorrow morning, what?” It called upon all of her willpower not to touch where he’d touched.
He cocked his head. There was so
mething in the way he looked at her that hadn’t been there before. She had absolutely no idea what it was, but it was new. And unnerving. And it wasn’t there before she mentioned her love of running. Was he, too, thinking about kissing?
“How about I join you on your run in the morning?” he asked.
No, no, no. That wasn’t going to happen. “Aren’t you a peach for trying to bond with your employee, but, to be honest, I don’t think running with my boss would relax me. You’d no doubt want to talk business.”
A devastating grin stretched his lips upward. “I much prefer when it’s me you’re calling a peach. How about I promise not to talk business?”
Not having another reason to say no and liking that he liked that she called him a peach, she said the one thing she most didn’t want to say. “You have a date. Say seven thirty. Sharpish.”
His face lit up. “Where?”
The guy genuinely wanted to run with her. Why? “You pick.”
He shut down his computer. “I could meet you at your place. We could run in your neighborhood.”
She moved to her desk and turned off her computer. That may not be their safest bet. When people ran in her neighborhood, it was often away from the cops. “I’m tired of running in my hood. Why don’t I meet you at your condo, and we can run in yours?”
He nodded. “I’m looking forward to it. And Aggie?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry about Friday. I don’t know what got into me asking you to do that. It’s like…”
“Like what?” she urged.
“Nothing. I just want you to know, despite our differences, I’m impressed with your knowledge and vision. When our contract is over, you should find a job drawing upon those strengths. I’ll be happy to write you a reference.”
Differences? They were both educated. They were both manipulated by grandmothers.