by K. C. Ale
Flinging the cover aside, I stumble out of bed and to the bathroom. A quick shower to wash off any remnants of Brad Hawkes is what I need. In a few days he’ll no longer be just the man who fired my dad. He’ll be my new boss. Actually, he’ll be my boss twice removed. Or maybe three times.
It’s a good thing we didn’t actually have sex, or I’d be the girl who slept with her boss’s boss’s boss.
Wait… was what we did considered sex?
Ugh! Whatevs.
Twenty minutes later I’m wandering down the stairs in a t-shirt and yoga pants with Bull darting ahead of me, taking in the immense estate with surprisingly sparse and unfussy furnishings. It feels weird, wandering around someone else’s home like it’s my own. Our trek my first night here was done in low ambient lighting, so I wasn’t able to adequately survey my questionable surroundings. The last few days I’d been mostly resting. Actually, I didn’t want to give anyone a chance to see the darkening bruises on my neck, so I stayed in the room. Either Brad or Carlson brought nourishments up to me, and I managed to hide them with clothing or a quick toss of the bedding. It’s taken some time, but they’re finally starting to fade.
Either Brad Hawkes just moved in recently and is still in the midst of renovations, or his contractor flaunted his longest finger and walked out.
Frayed and peeling wallpaper, exposed wires and dangling lighting, dull, scarred hardwood, and stained, cracked ceiling as far as the eye can see. Abused and paint-splattered tools and serious-looking equipment litter one side. Heavy ladders of various heights are perched against a high wall.
Didn’t Craig accuse me of hitting the jackpot with this dig? He must’ve been chugging at the bar tap again.
Tentatively I take a step, then another, studiously scanning the blemished floor for stray nails or a sinkhole. I vaguely remember the way to the kitchen. By the enticing aroma of coffee, I’m guessing that’s where I’ll find the squatter… ur, homeowner.
“Good morning,” Hawkes greets without looking up from filling a black mug. “Glad you’re finally up and about.”
My feet halt in astounded disbelief. It’s like entering a different house. Or world.
The kitchen gleams joyously where the rest of the house waits pitifully to be euthanized. White marble countertops, glass and polished dark wood cabinets, state of the art, stainless steel appliances, glossy wood flooring. A wide window frames the garden beyond, bringing the outdoor in. The open space is warm and inviting, with what looks to be a vast butler’s pantry across the way.
“Wow,” I breathe in awe, bluntly appraising the incredible space.
Beneath gorgeous pendant lights, Hawkes turns, offering the fresh cup to me. A corner of his mouth lifts. “Me or the kitchen?”
Both, I decide, my unruly heart kicking at the view of him in tailored black pants and a silver button shirt. The sleeves are rolled up to reveal his toned forearms. Like the first time I met him, the exquisite ensemble does not include the traditional tie.
“The kitchen is beautiful,” I respond, accepting the steaming cup. “I wouldn’t have figured from the rest of the house that it would be this fabulous.”
“Kitchen, bathrooms, certain bedrooms, then the rest. It took over two months just to get this room the way it is, so there’s still quite a bit to go, as you probably saw for yourself.”
“How long have you lived here?”
He shrugs. “About a year.”
“Are you renovating it yourself?” I can see it. He’s a roll up his sleeves kind of guy, literally and figuratively. “Is that why it’s taking so long?”
Retrieving a plate from the warmer, he sets down eggs and toasts on the island. “Some of it. I have some guys coming in most days. Carlson oversees the project when I’m at the office.” He nods at the food. “Eat. I’m sure you’re hungry.”
I sip at the coffee, wincing when the warm liquid scours my still tender throat, and take a stool. “Where is the president of your fan club?” The scrambled eggs have diced peppers. I’m not sure if that makes it good or highly suspect.
Maybe I can pass it to Bull when Hawkes isn’t looking.
“If you mean Carlson, he’s outside.” Deliberately, he cuts a look at my untouched plate. “Eat, Gemmy.”
“God, you’re bossy.” I go for the toast. “Speaking of which, since I’m going to be working for you soon, I don’t think I should stay here. You’re the head of the company, and I’ll be a new employee way down on the totem pole.”
“It’s nobody’s business where you live.”
“I don’t live here. I’m just staying here for a few days.” Gingerly, I nibble at the toast, only to plunk it back in disgust. My throat isn’t taking to the crunchy food. “Besides, my few days here should be up by the end of the weekend.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You just got here.”
“I know, but I’ll be fine,” I reassure him. “Nothing will happen to me. I won’t even be alone. Craig and Jamie… we take care of each other.”
The striking face hardens. “I made a promise. I intend to keep it.”
“Your promise to my dad has been fulfilled.” I hold out my arms. “I’m here, but this wasn’t supposed to be indefinite. I’m sure my dad wouldn’t want me to burden you anymore than it’s necessary.”
“You’re hardly a burden.” He quiets for a beat, using it as an opportunity to refill his mug. “I promised your father I would take care of you while he’s gone. His stay in Arizona – his commitment - is expected to be for at least a month.”
I’m shaking my head. “I cannot possibly stay here for a month.” Not with the way my body is reacting to him. I might as well tie a giant bow on my v-card before I hand it to him. “A few days would be pushing it, much less several weeks.”
He opens his mouth to say something just as Carlson marches in. Face unreadable, the driver nods once at me in passing. “Mr. Hawkes, if you want to make your ten-thirty meeting, we’d have to leave now.”
With a frown at the stoic Carlson, Hawkes says, “I’ll be out in a minute.” He closes our distance as soon as we’re alone again. His big hand is on the side of my neck, his thumb, featherlight, skimming over the bruises. “We’ll pick this up later. In the meantime, eat your breakfast.”
“I can’t.” God, he’s too close again. Smells so good. So good and close I can’t even think straight. “My throat hurts when I eat.”
A flash of contrition, then his lips are on mine. It’s swift and purposeful, a man’s goodbye before he runs off for the day.
“Carlson can make you some soup.”
Sixteen
Brad
“I hired Peter Warton’s daughter. She’ll be joining us on Monday as the new procurement specialist. Part-time to start. Full-time in June. Make sure HR is aware and that she’s welcomed into the team.”
Martin Perez’s expression doesn’t change. If not for the suddenly irritated tapping of his fingers on the arm of the chair, one would think he hadn’t heard me.
“I wasn’t aware we had an opening in procurement other than Peter’s old position,” he says mildly. Too mildly. “When did this happen?”
“A few days ago.” It was a fair question, but I don’t appreciate my COO questioning me. “She recently accepted and is excited to be a part of HC.” That last part I threw in, but I’m sure it’s not too far from the truth.
Pudgy fingers go to town on the chair. “I see. What’s her background?”
I have to remind myself operations, and therefore, procurement, falls under Mart’s responsibilities. He has a right to ask, as much as I find it a waste of time. Gemma is working for HC. Period.
So maybe I’m in a piss poor mood today. It doesn’t help that with Gemma flipping and kicking half the night, I probably got about two hours of sleep and a banged-up leg. “She’ll be graduating in June with a degree in business administration. She’s smart, hardworking, and a fast learner.”
My COO is also shrewd, that’s why he’s my right han
d, and it’s obvious he’s not buying what I’m selling.
“Is this the same daughter that stopped by the office last month?”
“We both know Peter has only one daughter. One kid, in fact.”
“That’s right.” Tap tap tap. “The pretty young thing in the short skirt who came to beg for her daddy’s job back.”
My gaze slashes to his and slice. “Be careful, Mart,” I warn in a low voice. “I’ve got two ears. While I might lend you one, I still have another, and it works just fine without needing to hear you.”
He holds up a hand, but his reddening face remains flinty. “Didn’t mean any disrespect. I’m sure her skills are impressive.”
The scornful innuendo wasn’t subtle by any stretch of the imagination.
Letting the chair take the bulk of my weight, I lean back, eyeing the other man perched tightly in his seat across from my desk. Deliberately, I keep my contemptuous thoughts to myself. Mart has a right to be suspicious. Hell, if the roles were reversed, I’d jump to that conclusion as well.
“Peter was not only a long-standing employee. He’d been with the firm since its precarious beginning, and he was loyal. He was also a friend.”
Mart’s head jerks down in acknowledgment. This isn’t news to him. “You’ve been good to him, giving him chances after chances. No one faulted you when we finally had to let him go, but we all knew the decision wasn’t easy.”
I nod as well, swiveling around. Suddenly twitchy, I push off. Clouds waver in and out, but the sun is stronger, more determined. Jamming my antsy hands in my pockets, I stare out at the bustling city below.
“I’ve known him for a long time. In a way, he was almost like a father figure to me.”
There’s stunned silence behind me.
“I did what I had to do, terminating him. You’re right in that it wasn’t easy. It was also a long time coming, but that doesn’t mean I want to see his only family suffer for it. Gemma is young, doesn’t have a lot of qualified experience under her belt. She’s a waitress at a fucking bar and grill, for crying out loud.”
“You can’t help everyone, Brad.”
The borderline confrontation tone has calmed, more exasperation than umbrage. With others around, Mart makes it a point to be formal, always addressing me by Mr. Hawkes. When it’s just the two of us holed up in my office, I’m simply Brad.
“It’s not a management position, Mart. You know me. I don’t do free rides. It might be entry-level, but I expect her to earn her salary like everyone else. If she doesn’t…” I turn to him then, allowing him to see the conviction behind my words. “You will tell me.”
He digests that, his chest deflating in a sigh. “I support whatever decision you make. If you think she’ll be an asset, then we will make sure she has everything she needs to succeed.”
That’s what I want to hear. “Excellent. Mart,” I stall him as he starts to extricate himself, readying to leave. “She’ll be reporting to Todd Jansky for now until we can replace Peter, but I want you to keep an eye on her.” Though I wish I can, there’s no way I can possibly keep tabs on Gemma all day myself. The severe demands of the company and my position wouldn’t allow it.
“How do you mean?”
“Todd is a hard ass. He might not take too kindly to the fact her last name is Warton. I know he and Peter had their differences. I don’t want him shifting that to his daughter.”
The older man frowns. “My operations manager knows better than to pull that kind of petty crap.”
I snag his dubious gaze. “I count on you to ensure it.” My cell goes off as Mart is leaving my office. Seeing that it’s Carlson, I snatch it on the second ring. “What is it?”
“Miss Warton is packing her things,” Carlson starts dispassionately as though reporting on possible inclement weather. “She’s in her room now, getting her stuff together. She’s insisting she needs to return home.”
I sigh. I kind of expected this from Gemma, my royal pain in the ass. “And you’re calling me because you can’t handle a girl half your size?”
There’s a smirk. “I can restrain her,” he offers cheekily. “Tie her to a chair… or your bed, if you’re so inclined.”
Fucking Carlson, always giving me shit. “You do that,” I rebuke. “Touch her and see what happens.”
“Okay, no rope.” His agreement is easy and nonchalant. “You want me to lock her in her room and throw away the key, boss?” he asks with perked up hope.
I can see that going over well. I’d likely go home to broken bedroom furniture and a busted window.
Taking in a deep breath, I tell him, “Let me talk to her.”
Light shuffling accompanies Carlson grumbling under his breath. My guard is getting cranky in his old age. I steal a second to skim through my calendar, only vaguely recalling there’s a board meeting tonight. As per her norm, Linda had spent fifteen minutes this morning going over my schedule for today, but I was only half listening.
The sound of an oversized fist thumping against wood permeates through the phone. “Miss Warton?” Carlson booms in his rich voice. “Mr. Hawkes is on the phone, and he wants to speak to you.”
If Gemma is responding, I can’t make it out.
Then, “Yes, Mr. Hawkes?”
Yes, Mr. Hawkes? She fucking kills me. “Gemmy, what is this about you whining to leave?” If my manner is a bit condescending, adult to child, well then, she needs to stop acting like one.
She takes offense as I knew she would. “I don’t whine, Hawkes. Your rat is acting like an overbearing ass.”
There’s a deep chuckle in the background. “Just doing my job, Hawkes.”
“You were not.” she immediately disputes Carlson. “Your job is not to micromanage me. You’re his guard, not mine.”
“It was homemade chicken soup,” Carlson counters. “I slaved over the hot stove for over an hour. The least you can do is try it.”
“And I told you I wasn’t hungry.”
It’s like having two kids home alone. “Gemmy,” I interrupt, my voice a cement wall between their juvenile bickering. “Listen to Carlson. You need to eat.”
She huffs crossly. “I don’t want to.”
“Why not?” I press.
“Because my throat hurts,” she snaps defensively. “Hot things irritate it more.”
“Well, you could’ve told me,” retorts Carlson. “I would’ve put some—"
“What do you want to eat?” Again, I cut off the squabbling. “Do you want yogurt or something?”
There’s a pause before she grudgingly responds. “Okay.”
I know for a fact there’s not a single ounce of that fluff food in the house. “Good,” I say anyway. “Eat, then rest. No packing. No leaving. No arguments.”
“Whatevs, bossy boss.”
I’m battling back a smile as I say, “Be a good girl, Gemmy. I’ll see you tonight. Put Carlson back on.”
“She just stuck her tongue out at me,” Carlson reports as soon as he has his phone back. “Real mature!... And she just slammed the door in my face.”
“Carlson. What the fuck are you doing?”
“My job as you instructed, Mr. Hawkes”
“I didn’t ask you to fight with Gemma.”
“That was not fighting. It was an expression of our mutual mistrust.”
“Why is it that you don’t trust her?” I want to know, losing what remains of my patience fast. “You don’t even know her.”
“I question anyone who has this much influence over you, Hawkes, that’s just the way of it.”
My dense exhale escapes audibly. “Gemma is a permanent fixture in my life, Carlson, and I swear I don’t need this shit right now. Do us both a favor and don’t start in on her, alright? Gemma doesn’t like to be told what to do. She’s been that way since she was a kid.”
“Except with you.”
I blink in surprise. “What?”
“She doesn’t seem to have any issues with you telling her what to do.”
<
br /> Huh… doesn’t she?
Rubbing the stiffness at the back of my neck, I ignore Carlson’s snarky observation and say instead, “Get some yogurt for Gemma, would you? Best to stick with the smooth kind. Nothing with bits of fruits in it. They might not go down well.”
Seventeen
Gemma
I’m not used to sitting around with not much to do. Being a student with two part-time jobs, having a father who often forgets to take care of himself, and living with two roommates who have household chores way, way down on the priority list, I don’t have a lot of spare time. I tried calling my dad’s cell phone earlier today, but it went straight to voicemail. I ended up studying for a few hours, but I was restless, like something was missing.
Not long after I left Carlson scowling after me in the hallway outside of the bedroom, he brought back a dozen different blended yogurts. A brisk knock at my door and a muttered yogurt in his absurd baritone was the last I heard from him. I don’t know about that guy, don’t like the way he looks at me, as if he fully anticipates I’ll try to run off with the precious silver and the Mercedes.
When my empty stomach couldn’t take it anymore and I ventured below stairs, it was to discover a team of sweaty workers busy sanding down a section of the hardwood. Thick clear plastic hung from the ceiling to the floor, insulating the drifting dust from the rest of the house.
Outside of the warped cocoon, Carlson was gesturing to one of them, yammering and pointing a colossal finger along a peeling wall. The contractor had his fists planted on his hips decorated in a serious-looking leather toolbelt when he sighted me on my way to the kitchen. I hadn’t thought anything of it, more curious about their progress than their discussion, until Carlson barked at the poor guy to stop ogling the boss’s girl. Even I flinched at the abrupt harsh blast.
The day dragged longer than I could stand.
It took less than five minutes to quit Conyers. Manny was used to people abandoning the job, just poof and not show for a few days, so he actually thanked me for letting him know. I considered and discarded the thought of leaving my post at the library. I don’t get a lot of hours there as it is, so it shouldn’t be too bad to manage HC and work study. Some nights and weekends. I can really use the money.