by Green, Megan
I roll to a stop, turning my left indicator on to follow suit. Ash and I aren’t neighbors exactly, but we live close enough that we might as well be. We really should just carpool to the office, but with how often he burns the midnight oil, it’s really better this way.
I watch as Ash’s taillights fade into the distance, realizing I’ve been sitting at this stop sign far longer than is necessary. There’s a niggling feeling deep down in my gut, and before I think too much, I flip my blinker on and make the turn.
Left is home.
Right is City Hall.
I tell myself I’m only going to drive by, ensure that the place didn’t go up in flames because the men we hired were too distracted by Monroe’s ass to actually get any work done.
But the truth is, even though I know she won’t be there at this hour, I want to feel closer to her.
Monroe Daniels had completely rocked my world last night. I’d left that bar desperate to know more about the woman who’d so brazenly propositioned me, using my body to take what she needed. Normally, I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of dodge after one of my little trysts. But last night...last night I’d run out of there before I could do something completely insane, like inviting my new little vixen back to my place. Or even worse, gone back to hers.
Going to a woman’s house was just asking for trouble. Going home with someone you just slept with implied there would be more.
And I didn’t do more.
So, color me surprised when I’d been unable to sleep last night, replaying the moment Monroe’s tight heat had clamped down around me over and over again.
Maybe it was the fact that she had been so elusive.
Maybe it was because she was the first woman to not even hint at a follow-up — she’d straight up vetoed the idea, actually.
But whatever it was, Monroe Daniels was different from any other woman I’d met.
And fuck me if it didn’t suck that I could never touch her again.
I slow the car to a crawl as I reach City Hall, flipping my brights on to better see the area.
It’s completely unrecognizable from the place I’d seen this afternoon.
The building itself is much the same — I mean, it was only a few hours, and despite what Benton says, there’s no way Monroe is that much of a miracle worker.
But the complete disarray of the yard has been cleaned up. Instead of piles and piles of supplies and material strewn about, each and every item has been organized and assigned to a designated spot, the flow and order making sense to even a design guy like myself.
For the first time in months, I feel the faint flutterings of hope that maybe this isn’t going to turn out to be a complete shit show after all.
All thanks to a woman I treated like absolute shit this afternoon because I couldn’t keep my dick in control long enough to be civil.
First thing in the morning, I’m going to drive out here and apologize. Maybe I’ll throw in some coffee and doughnuts just to help convince her I’m not the complete asshole I made myself out to be.
I’m about to pull away from the site when a light inside catches my attention. It’s not bright, probably just a work lamp that was left on when the guys called it quits, but the last thing we need is for a city worker to drive by and spot it, leaving us with a fine for wasting power.
Earlier this year, Winchester had officially decided to go green, something that was great for the town, but a pain in the ass.
Pulling my car against the curb, I kill the engine and climb out. I’m pleased to find the gate to the fence around the perimeter securely locked—looters are a bitch, even in a small town like Winchester—and fiddle through the keys on my ring until I find the one I’m looking for.
Benton and Ash had never really understood why I’d insisted on having a key to every job site we’ve done, considering I don’t really do any of the manual labor. But at times like this, it sure comes in handy.
Snapping the lock back into place behind me, I slip my phone out of my jacket pocket and turn on the flashlight app.
I hadn’t come inside earlier, but I was certain it had been in much the same state as the outside had been.
And just like the outside, everything had been organized and cleaned—well, as clean as anything can be on an active construction site.
Might need to make that a latte and a bear claw, I think as my eyes scan the room before me.
Monroe had managed to get more done in four hours than I’d seen on this project in weeks. And I was damn impressed.
I give a low whistle as I make my way down the hall, my awe only increasing with each and every step. Craning my neck, I shine my flashlight up toward the ceiling, a wide smile spreading across my face when I see the crown molding I’d ordered already starting to be installed.
I’m so taken with what I’m seeing, I’m not even paying attention to where I’m walking, and a loud crash sounds from behind me as I stumble into a small table set up with various tools and measuring tapes across the top.
All the items go crashing to the floor, causing me to cringe as I lift my hands up to cover my ears.
I’m just pulling them away, ready to get to work righting the mess I’ve created when loud footsteps come thundering down the hall.
I whirl around, feeling in my pockets for anything that can be used as a weapon as the sound gets closer. When I come up empty, I decide the best thing I can hope for is to blind them with my flashlight while I make my getaway.
I hold my phone out in front of me, ramping up the brightness all the way as I prepare to make a run for it.
Turns out, I hadn’t needed to bother.
“Who’s there?” Monroe shouts as she skids into the room. “I have—gah!” she cuts off as her forearm comes up to shield her eyes. I see a can of spray paint in her hand, held out like it’s a can of mace before her, her forefinger on the nozzle, prepared to zap whoever was trespassing.
I drop my light from her face, killing the app as I breathe out a sigh of relief.
“Geez, Mon—ack!”
A cloud of paint hits me square in the face. My eyes and mouth snap shut before too much can get inside, and my arms come up to protect the rest of my face as I drop to my knees to try and shield myself from her onslaught.
“Who are you?” she shouts, and I can hear the sound of her arm lowering the can.
Wiping away as much paint as possible with my fingers, I attempt to open my eyes. I hear her gasp when my hands leave my face.
I guess even with paint splattered skin, I’m still pretty recognizable.
“Oh, fuck. Barrett, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t see you.”
I scoff. “Your aim suggests otherwise.” I finally manage to crack open my eyelids, just in time to see Monroe’s eyes drop to the floor.
She looks…embarrassed.
“I’m so sorry,” she repeats. “I meant I couldn’t see you. The light you’d been shining in my eye’s left spots in my vision. I couldn’t make out a damn thing. Just the form of a man who was not supposed to be in here.” Her fingers start to fidget with a bracelet on her arm, spinning the round metal around and around her wrist before she finally blurts out, “Am I fired?”
I chuckle, enjoying this less self-assured version of Monroe. The woman I’d met last night and this afternoon was tough as nails. It was nice seeing she wasn’t always so damn strong willed.
I shake my head as I untuck my dress shirt from my slacks, using the clean tails of the shirt to wipe the rest of the paint away from my eyes and mouth. The front of my shirt and jacket are covered in…green paint?
“Why is this green? I don’t recall approving anything green in the color scheme.”
Even in the dim room, I can make out the deep flush of her cheeks.
“Oh, I, um…” she starts, clearing her throat and coming back with a more resolute tone. “I was going over the plans with Benton after you left this afternoon and mentioned that I thought the mayor’s office would look even better i
f we added some green accents to it. He agreed and cleared me to buy the materials.”
All the amazement and gratitude I’d been feeling at her progress immediately flies out the window.
I’m the designer. Any and all changes to the design plan must go through me first.
“Oh, did he?” I say, my anger not at all hidden in my pissed off tone.
Monroe finally lifts her gaze to mine. “It’s just the one change, Mr. Brooks. Benton said you likely wouldn’t be on board, but that if we could just get it done before you saw it, you wouldn’t be able to argue once you saw the finished product.”
I don’t miss the fact that she called me Mr. Brooks, not Barrett as she had earlier. Five minutes ago, it would’ve bothered me, her acting so formal after the night we’d spent together. But now…
“All design changes must be signed off on. By me.”
“I know, but we just thought—”
“All design changes must be signed off on,” I repeat. “You’ll do the mayor’s office as originally planned.”
“But if you’ll just—”
“You’ll do the office as it was originally designed. If not, we’ll find someone who will.”
My threat hits the mark, her jaw set in a hard line as her eyes rake over me.
Last night they’d done the same thing, but instead of fury, there’d been lust. Instead of anger, there’d been desire.
“Yes, sir,” she finally acquiesces. “I’ll return the green paint in the morning.”
I give her a curt nod. “See you tomorrow, Ms. Daniels.”
Without another word, I exit the building, realizing as I slide in behind the wheel of the car I’d never once bothered to ask why she was there so late.
And as my eyes find the rearview mirror and I take in my appearance, I can’t help the spurt of laughter that bubbles up past my lips, despite the anger I’d been feeling only moments before.
Paint covers every inch of my face and my hair. My thousand-dollar suit is ruined.
But I hadn’t even been mad. Seeing Monroe looking shy and embarrassed had sucked the anger right out of me before it had even had a chance to build.
Until she’d changed my design without so much as a word.
There are certain things you didn’t mess with when it comes to Barrett Brooks.
And my career is the very first thing on that list.
Monroe had come into town, rocked my world, then turned it on its axis when I’d seen her again today.
But I’ll be damned if I let her get away with taking my job out from under me, just because she happens to be hot as fuck.
If Monroe Daniels wants to play games, then I’ll show her why I’m always named MVP.
Chapter Five
Monroe
“Son of a biscuit eating bulldog!”
The wall in front of me explodes with a mist of forest green, looking like an unfortunate Christmas bomb went off. I’m just missing a splash of red glitter to add to the festivities. My hand flies to my mouth as a laugh almost slips out. I’ve really screwed the pooch with this one, that’s for sure.
Shit, I didn’t think that through at all. A puddle grows on the floor with each drip that slides down the wall. If Mr. Brooks didn’t like my idea after I told him about it, then I wouldn’t care so much. But the fact that he acted like I’m some dumb girl and he’s the only one who is allowed to have design ideas, it really—
“Ugh!”
With my legs spread apart and my feet planted on the ground, I scream the loudest and longest yell of my life. I release anything and everything without a care in the world. Finally, the dam breaks free and I bring my hands up to the side of my head and shake it from side to side.
After a short five-minute tantrum of screaming and jumping up and down, I finally blow out everything I was feeling while Barrett was here. It’s infuriating, to say the least, but what can I do? If he doesn’t like me, he has the power to fire me even if Benton wants to keep me around. And I will walk away. I won’t get in the middle of a family like that. If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s the importance of family, especially now that all of mine is gone.
The wall brightens up, showcasing my “wonderful” paint job, as I drag one of the construction lamps over. Rolling up my sleeves I make quick work of my disaster with a rag and a can of paint thinner I found. Maybe next time I’ll tamper down my anger and think before throwing an obviously explosive can of spray paint against the wall.
My fingers are cramped when I finally finish the job and I decide to call it a night. I curl in each digit one by one and slowly release them. I do that a few times trying to relieve some of the pain, but if anything, they just hurt even more. There was a lot more that I wanted to get done before leaving, but my paint job ruined that.
I don’t know why, but it’s a shock when I step outside into the darkness of the night. It was hours ago that everyone went home for the day, but it didn’t really feel like that when I was so focused on each task.
The cool metal of the car door against my back soothes my aching muscles. With the dissolving of my uncle’s business, it’s been a good four months since the last time I did a day of hard labor. Mostly my days revolved around cooking, cleaning, and taking him to his chemo appointments. As much as I know that was what he needed at the time, a housewife I am not. It feels good being back at it again. Before I chicken out, I whip out my phone and shoot off a text message that I’m crossing my fingers won’t be returned.
Me: I owe you $2.69...you can take it out of my paycheck.
Way to really impress the boss on your first day on the job, Monroe.
I drop my head and bring my hand up to my face as I cringe and wait for whatever response he’s going to send my way. The three gray dots at the bottom of the screen light up like he’s texting me back and disappear about five times before he finally sends me a message back.
Benton: Do I even want to ask?
I outwardly groan at that response. There are so many directions I can take this conversation. I could flat out tell Benton what happened, but even though he’s a good friend a rage attack is probably not the best thing to reveal on the first day on the job. I just got here and finding a new job is not something I want to add to my agenda. And the why of it doesn’t really matter since I cleaned up my disaster of a mess anyway.
Me: Probably not. There was an unfortunate accident with one of the paint cans. I tried my hardest, but it was a losing battle and we lost her.
Benton: Her?
Me: She was a woman scorned and couldn’t deal with the others in the group. She died a horrible death, but don’t worry, she went quickly.
Benton: As long as there isn’t a mess, I don’t care about the $2.69...well isn’t that a fun price? I’m sure we can find another way for you to pay me back *winking emoji*
Me: Pervert.
Benton: I meant you could buy me a coffee. Geez, what did you think I was talking about? Obviously, your mind is in the gutter.
Me: Like a twelve-year-old boy *winking emoji* And you know exactly how that sounded.
Benton: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.
I send him the winking face emoji with its tongue sticking out. And then I decide to send him another text ending this conversation so I can get out of here. If we start down the immature route of messaging, I’ll be here all night.
Me: But hey, I’m heading home now. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Benton: Wait, you’re still there? It’s almost eight o’clock. Go home weirdo. You’re making your boss look bad.
I’m the weirdo? I’m not even going to say anything to him about what I’ve been doing the past two hours since he left. I’ve been busting my ass organizing this place, but that’ll be the first thing he notices tomorrow morning. I had no idea what I was walking into this morning but seeing scrap wood and new materials decorating the front lawn of City Hall was not something I was expecting. I know this job is a huge deal and there’s some serious pressure
attached to it, but that does not excuse letting simple tasks fall to the wayside in order to work faster...which wasn’t happening anyway.
I start to type out...Which one?...but then I immediately delete it. The last thing I want is for Benton to know there’s something going on between Barrett and me. Not that we’re ever going to hop into bed together, but I’d rather not let it slip that his brother is the real reason why I murdered a can of spray paint. That would lead to a whole conversation I’d rather not have.
Me: Yes, and each text you send me keeps me here even longer. Don’t worry, I’m sure my boss won’t mind if I come in late tomorrow. *winking emoji*
When the three gray dots at the bottom of my screen don’t pop up, I know that was enough to shut him up. My entire body aches as I tumble into my small beater car. The metal from the seat stabs my butt cheeks and all of the excess duct tape doesn’t help in creating extra padding. It takes a few minutes for the engine to catch and the familiar squealing starts up. I really need a new car, but finding a place to live is more of a priority at this point. Not to mention a few paychecks to cover first, last, and a security deposit. Man, being an adult is rough.
It’s been so long since I’ve been back to Winchester that I forgot how small the town is. The streets are deserted with all of the shops on Main Street locked up tight for the evening. Caldwell isn’t a major metropolis, but it had more than one stoplight and about ten times the population of my current home.
Home.
It’s been a long time since I felt like I could say that and even now I don’t want to let myself think it and jinx the situation. As much as I loved living with my uncle, that was his home. I’ve always had a roof over my head, but nothing that was really and truly mine. As the gravel kicks up underneath my car, I’m reminded that I still don’t have that as I come to a stop in front of my motel room door. It’s not the worst place I’ve ever stayed in, but it’s definitely nothing to brag about.
