by Amelia Wilde
Well, thanks for finally throwing me a fucking bone. Three years at this place, and all I can see when I look into the future is three more years here. As long as Ward doesn’t catch me saving the day by risking my damn neck. Even then, even if I got fired, what the hell would change? Nothing. I’ll just go to another factory somewhere else, another plant.
“I’m glad to hear it.” This has got to be the most awkward fucking conversation in history.
“Of course, we hope you’ll consider applying for some of our management roles. It’s unusual with someone of your level of education to remain on the floor this long.” Then Greenfield winks at me. “Think about it. I know we’ve got some positions opening up in the next month, and your name would be highly regarded.”
“Great. I will.” When can I get the hell out of here? I force a smile onto my face and put the envelope into my pocket.
“Have a great weekend, Mr. Taylor.”
Then Greenfield, in his fancy-ass slacks and button-down, disappears into the hallway, leaving me standing there with Eva.
“Congratulations, Beck.”
I give her a look. “Three years working at a cement plant. A real achievement.”
She cocks her head to the side. “It is. It’s really good.”
Sam never would have been impressed with this kind of shit.
“All right. See you around.”
“Bye, Beck.”
I get out of there before she can say anything else.
I have to go back out through the administrative offices to get to the employee parking area located around the side of the complex, and my boots are loud on the industrial carpet. I want to get the fuck out of these work clothes and into the bar, and as fast as possible. The extra money in my pocket is a reward for wasting my goddamn life, but I don’t deserve anything more than that. I don’t fucking deserve recognition.
I’m almost to the entrance when a woman steps out of the office suite that the owner, Calley, stays in when he’s here, which isn’t often, according to people like Ward. I wouldn’t know. I’m not on that level. Thank God. She comes out right in front of me, so close that I almost run into her, and she’s saying something back through the open doorway.
“—I’ll be here on Monday to review what we’ve—oh!”
She whirls around as I step away, just avoiding a collision, and when her green eyes meet mine, my heart stops. Just stops, like I’ve been hit by a car.
I can’t believe I didn’t recognize her.
Because it’s Sam.
Chapter Five
Samantha
“I’ll be here on Monday to review what we’ve—oh!”
It’s been a long four hours, so I’m backing out of Mr. Calley’s offices with a huge smile and a desperate heart. There’s a movement in the air next to me, and someone steps out of the way, their footfalls loud on the carpet, and my body jerks me out of the way even though we didn’t actually collide.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, hating the words even as they come out of my mouth. I swore this would be the year when I stopped apologizing automatically, but the follow-up “excuse me” dies on my lips as my heart leaps into my throat.
The man in front of me doesn’t look like the Beck Taylor I used to know. This man has three days’ worth of stubble and muscles so firm they’re shaping the t-shirt he’s wearing with jeans running thin at the knees. The cut jaw belongs to a man, not a twenty-year-old kid, and so do the rough calloused hands.
It’s his eyes that I’d know anywhere. A light blue that’s hard like a winter sky but deep like the ocean.
Beck.
My stomach does a slow turn inside my gut. Every breath is a struggle, my throat tight and hot, but I can’t look away. I don’t ever want to look away. Heat cascades down from the back of my neck, and I’m thankful as hell that my hair is pulled up in a bun, because I’d have to lift it away and fan myself if it wasn’t.
Holy God, he looks good. He looks better than good, and there’s an electric hum between my legs that I can’t ignore. His gaze is an arrow piercing right beneath the professional cover I’ve put on for this meeting. The shield crumbles like it was made of dry sand. I can’t look away, but half of me wants to run.
He still hasn’t said anything.
And then he does.
“Sam.”
It’s one word, but the impact is like a boulder dropping into a pond. It’s his voice, a little rougher now, and with an edge to it that I only recognize from the bitter end of us.
“Hi, Beck.” My voice is barely above a whisper, and I can feel my cheeks flame. I never imagined that I would see Beck again, but I resolved a long time ago that if I ever ran into him, I would be confident as hell, so self-assured, so over what happened, even if it still kills me in the secret parts of my soul. And here I am, whispering like a shy kid, standing in front of this masterpiece of a human body.
What is he doing here? Can he possibly work here? I can tell by the water droplets in his hair that he’s just showered recently, but there’s no soapy scent coming off of him. He’s not coming from a company gym, then, if they even have one. Is he actually working in the plant? The cement plant, with his college degree? I’ve got nothing against a job like that. My dad worked at another manufacturing company here for years. I just never thought that Beck would—
“I was on my way out.”
It’s a complete shutdown, and part of my heart dies another little death, but my mouth starts moving without permission from my brain. “Oh—me, too. Are you…were you here for work?”
“Yeah,” he says, and his mouth curls in a grin that doesn’t look happy at all. “Yeah, I work at the cement plant. I’m only here because I got a little bonus for being here so long.” The edge in his voice is clear now, obvious, present in the air between us, and it cuts like a knife. He’s angry, but I don’t know about what.
“Well, that’s—that’s nice.” I’m really trying. I really don’t know what to say. This is not playing out at all how I imagined it, and another flood of memories cascades down over me. Beck’s arms wrapped around me from behind, Beck’s hand tight on mine, driving through the dark to the hospital, the sharp clench of his jaw in the lights from the car stereo.
“I don’t know if I’d call it nice.” He delivers this commentary with a smirk, but his eyes never leave mine.
“Why not?”
“It’s a bonus for my third year of work in a row. Don’t play dumb.”
I don’t know why he’s being such a dick, but I can’t get myself together enough to do anything about it, and another wave of heat crashes into my face.
“I’m not playing dumb.” I hear the tension in the words, but I can’t brush this off. I can feel my own jaw clenching, getting ready for a fight.
Something changes in Beck’s face, a softening around his eyes. It’s not much. I should turn around, I should get the hell out of here and not come back, but I stand my ground.
Desire bolts through my chest, despite the embarrassed color in my cheeks, despite the fact that I feel like I’m withering away in front of him. It wasn’t my fault we broke up. It wasn’t even really his fault. There are some things that just happen. Beck doesn’t seem to realize that, still, or else he’s had a bad day. It’s possible every day here is a bad day. My dad had plenty of them.
“No, you’re right.” He runs a hand through his hair, and his eyes flicker down over my body, then back up to my face. “I’m sorry.”
The apology doesn’t come easy for him. I can see it. But it’s an opening, a crack in the door, and I can’t help but lunge for it. I know I shouldn’t. I know I should stay far, far away from Beck Taylor and everything he represents about my past. But I shove my foot into that crack anyway.
“It’s okay.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “Long day?”
“Long year.” It’s been long for me, too. And the year before that, and the year before that.
The silence crackles between us, a
nd I have to make a conscious effort to keep my hands to myself. I have never wanted to touch someone as badly as I want to touch Beck right now. I’ve never been so captivated by another person, not before him, and not since.
He breaks the silence, shaking his head. “This is not how I thought this would play out.”
Chapter Six
Beckett
I don’t know why the words come out of my mouth. It’s the last thing I want to admit—that I had ever thought about this possibility, that I’d ever spent any time imagining how things would go between us if our paths ever crossed again. And here I am, admitting it like a damn fool. What’s it going to do for me? What’s it going to do for her? Nothing.
It’s like the hallway is closing in, forcing us closer together, even though I know it’s not, and so I blurt out that asinine sentence. If she didn’t think I was a fucking idiot before, she does now.
My chest goes tight and hot.
This is all a fucking coincidence, a freak accident of time and space, and I’m crashing and burning, pissed off and quickly losing control.
Because the truth that I can’t ignore, the truth that’s hitting me over the head, over and over and over, is that I still want her.
The sight of her is like a drug I’ve been craving for months. I want to run my fingers through her blonde hair, twist it in my hands, tilt her head back. I want to put my lips against the pulse in her throat and lick downward to her collarbone. I want to push her up against the wall and kiss her like I’ve never kissed anyone in my life, hotter and harder than I’ve even kissed her, and I don’t give a damn who sees. I don’t give a damn who’s watching.
All of it roils in my gut.
“It’s not how I imagined it, either.”
Sam’s voice is soft, and her eyes are still blue pools of pain, but her words cut deep. It’s like a brick crashing through glass in the middle of downtown, the shards flying in every direction, onto the sidewalk, onto the road.
So I’m not the only one who’s thought about what might happen if we saw one another again.
Sam hasn’t looked away from me, and her eyes are still locked on mine, still covered with a sheen that she couldn’t hide from me even if she tried. God fucking help me if this goes any further, if she bites her lip, if her chin quivers, if even one tear spills out of those beautiful eyes and onto the smooth surface of her cheek. If that happens, I won’t be able to keep my hands off her.
I don’t know how long we’ve been talking, but I finally register what she’s wearing—professional slacks that hug the curves of her legs and a blue shirt with buttons down the front, the collar ironed to sharp points.
She didn’t come here to see me.
Did she?
“What are you doing here?”
It comes out with a sharp edge, but there’s nothing I can do to smooth it. Being this close to her, breathing in the subtle scent of her shampoo, is lighting my entire body on fire. My cock strains against the fabric of my jeans, pulses with the heat that’s ricocheting through every nerve ending.
A smile flickers across Sam’s face, then disappears. “I have a job here.” Her forehead wrinkles and she shakes her head a little bit, like they weren’t the right words.
My stomach drops right into my damn feet. This cannot be happening. I can’t come to work every day knowing that she’s somewhere inside this building. I can’t live in Lockton if I know she could be waiting in every store, every bar, the sight of her enough to shred my heart into a thousand pieces.
“You’re kidding.”
Sam takes in a deep breath. “That was—that’s not really what I meant.”
“What did you mean? Tell me fast, Sam.” I hate this. I hate how much she’s making me lose control. I hate how much power the memories still have over me. I hate the fact that I can’t kiss her right now, and that’s the thing that makes me the most furious I’ve ever been.
“I’m here for a job with my landscape architecture company,” she says, the words tumbling out one after another. “We—we got a contract. For the entrance and the front parking lot. We’re redesigning it, and I—” The breath she lets out hitches just a little, and it slams me with the memory of making her breath hitch like that years ago, when we were wrapped around each other in bed, and she was riding me like there was no tomorrow.
“So you don’t work here.”
“Not—technically. Just for the next week.”
The knot in my stomach releases, but a more fucking unsettling feeling rises in my chest, a pinprick of light, a hope that has no business being there, but one that I can’t stamp out. Not now. Not when I’m looking her in the eye.
I can handle her being here for a week.
I can’t let myself think about what might happen if we run into each other again, if this feeling is as powerful for her as it is for me. It’s pathetic as fuck, being swept away like this, and every cell in my body is fighting it and giving in at the same time.
“That’s great.”
Sam flinches a little, like she can’t read my tone, and if I’m being totally fucking honest, I don’t know what I mean by it, either.
“Yeah.” Disappointment drips off the words, but she forces a smile onto her face. It kills me. It kills me and I’m still standing, still having to live with it. “It’s a really big deal for the company.” The last few words come with a small series of nods, totally unconvincing. A company. She’s with a company, with a real job, representing them here, and I’m the asshole in the hallway who just got off his shift on the factory floor.
It’s exactly what I fucking deserve, even if I can see the confusion behind the blue of her eyes. Yeah, I graduated from college. But after what I did, there was no way in hell I was going to go off and make some cushy life for myself.
At least Sam hasn’t let it hold her back.
My heart punches against my ribs, the whole thing a painful bruise. I could be with her now, except—
“I have to get going.”
Sam blinks up at me, her gorgeous lips parting, and then she presses them together again. “Yeah, of course.” She tries again with that smile. “It was good to see you, Beck.”
“You—” My throat is threatening to close up. I can’t fucking take it. So I step around her and start to walk away. “You, too,” I call over my shoulder, as I leave her behind for the second time.
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About Amelia Wilde
Amelia Wilde has always been in love with stories. After a foray into the world of sexy short fiction she succumbed to the siren song of full-length romance and is currently in the midst of producing more than one novel.
Dirty Rich was her debut title, and more smoldering bad boy stories are already in the works. Connect with her on Facebook at her personal page or like her fan page here. To join her mailing list and receive a free copy of her book Hate Loving You, which features two familiar characters from Dirty Rich, let her know where to send it at this link. Finally, visit her website at www.awilderomance.com.
Amelia loves summer sunshine, the scent of a new book, and her husband.
© 2016 Amelia Wilde, All Rights Reserved
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