by Grey, R. S.
I aimed a grateful smile his way. “I appreciate it.” Then the idea sparked. “Wait, where are you rooming?”
He nodded his head in the direction of the bunkhouses. “The last one there at the end.”
“Is there a spare bed?”
He smirked. “No, and the guy next to me snores so loudly I had to throw a pillow at his head last night. Besides, Jeremy told me you’re over in one of the cabins. That’s probably the best place for you, away from all this.”
I frowned, disheartened.
I’d managed one night in that cabin with Ethan; there was no way I’d survive another unscathed. I’d be better off just quitting and going home, and I was tempted to, really tempted, up until that night when my phone finally picked up a signal in the center of camp and I called my mom. The place was cleared out. Most of the guys were showering or back in the bunks, getting ready for bed. I’d been delaying my return to the cabin, trying to think my way out of this mess I’d found myself in when the call connected.
It felt so good to hear her voice, tears burned the edges of my eyes.
“I’ve been thinking about you so much since you left,” my mom said, a smile clear as day in her voice. “How are things going? Have they put you to work yet?”
My throat squeezed tight and words were hard to come by. I dragged my toe along the dirt, drawing a line. “Not yet. Tomorrow.”
“HI SIS!” McKenna shouted in the background.
My mom laughed. “Your sister says hi.”
I chuckled and wiped my eyes. “Yeah, I heard. Tell her I said hi.”
“You sound off. Are things all right?”
I heaved a big, clearing breath. “Just a little homesick, that’s all. How are things with you guys?”
I was planning to introduce the idea of quitting and coming back, of returning to my job at the motel, but I didn’t get the chance. The grocery store had apparently cut my mom’s hours. “Just not enough work to go around, and I’m the last one added to the schedule since they have to work around my classes on the weekends,” she explained.
My heart sank as I squeezed my eyes closed, knowing I was truly stuck here. There was no way for me to quit. How would we make ends meet without this job?
“That’s okay, Mom. I should be getting my first paycheck soon. Some say it might even come at the end of this week.”
McKenna grabbed the phone then, jumping into any and all updates about her life, little things, nothing bits. Her friend has a new crush. Her English teacher read her essay aloud because she thought it was so good. Soccer practice was hard and her asthma flared up a little, but she didn’t have to sit out for long.
I could have listened to her talking forever—it was the first time my stomach had unclenched all day—but right in the middle of her stories, the call dropped. Whatever fleeting signal I’d nabbed, I couldn’t recapture, so I stuffed my phone in my back pocket, mentally repeated Jeremy’s advice to suck it up when the tears threatened more than ever, and headed out for the cabin. I took my time, appreciating the quiet, dark forest. It would have spooked me the night before, but not anymore. I was grateful for the distance between the main camp and our cabin; it meant the sun was all the way down and night had fallen by the time I opened the door. I was grateful he was probably asleep by the time I walked inside, grateful I only caught a fleeting glimpse of my roommate’s naked torso as I flew past him into the bathroom.
I thought I was in the clear until he spoke.
I can’t believe he was awake.
I can’t believe I didn’t correct him when he said, “What’s your name, man?”
Does he truly not know it’s me?
Could I get so lucky?
* * *
Tuesday, bright and early, we’re all due at the jobsite near the lake. It’s our first official day getting our hands dirty, using tools—y’know, whacking nails and…stuff. Honestly, my mission is simple: stay out of everyone’s way and try to seem as if I belong.
I survived the second night in the cabin and snuck out again at the crack of dawn, so I’m the very first person at breakfast. Good news: I get my pick of the scrambled eggs and bacon from the caterers because no one else is awake. Bad news: to fill the hours before work, I drink a lot of coffee. I’ve had so much caffeine by the time we’re heading to the jobsite, I’m a jittery mess. Also, I’m due to pee my pants any second now, but I feel slightly better about my situation. The blisters on my feet have become so painful that my brain is numb to them. I’ve survived two nights sleeping in the same cabin as him. HIM—I really need to learn his name, but to do that I’d have to talk to him. So, Him is never getting a name. Sorry Him.
Anyway, the point is I’ve survived, and even though I’m operating on very little sleep, thanks to excessive amounts of caffeine, there’s hope on my horizon that this might all work out.
Well, right up until we get to the jobsite and I’m greeted by the sight of heavy machinery. There are half a dozen diggers and excavators and Transformers.
“Oh god, what if they put me up in one of those?” I ask Jeremy.
He follows my finger to see that I’m pointing at a bulldozer. He finds the idea highly comical. “You need a license to operate those. I don’t even have one.”
Thank God. Could you imagine the damage I would cause?
Honestly, they should just put me on refreshments like the water boy for a football team. I’d get this crew so hydrated they’d be peeing their pants right along with me.
The crew gathers around Hudson and another tall man with a white mustache and a booming voice who introduces himself as Robert, the foreman. While he explains that we’ll be split up into teams to tackle the demolition for each building, I surreptitiously search the crowd for my cabinmate. No such luck.
Hard hats and neon green safety vests are dispersed through the crowd. The guy handing them out pauses when he gets to me and he narrows his eyes curiously. I’m still wearing my hair hidden up under my baseball hat, but my flannel shirt is tucked in today because the billowing fabric seemed like it’d be hazardous on the jobsite. I don’t need it getting caught on a bulldozer or something. No thank you. That’s not the way I’ve leaving this earth.
“You’re the girl, aren’t you?” he asks. “The one everyone’s talking about?”
“Yes,” I reply tentatively.
And then he nods, hands me my gear, and moves on.
Jeremy and I exchange a relieved glance.
That’s when I hear my name being shouted. It’s the foreman, telling me I’m needed in the office. A hush falls over the crowd as heads turn in my direction. It seems, even if I don’t know the names of 99% of the crew here, they all know mine. It’s not shocking. I’m the only one with boobs.
I arch my brows at Jeremy and the crowd parts to give me a clear path to the white trailer nestled in a cluster of pine trees back in the direction of camp. It’s command headquarters for Lockwood Construction, an ominous place I’d hoped to avoid at all costs. In fact, as I start heading in that direction, it feels almost as if I’m back in high school being summoned by the principal.
I brace myself as I knock on the door. A deep voice bids me to enter, but I linger there on the precipice for a moment longer, trying to gather courage. If they’re going to fire me just because I’m a woman, I’ll fight it. Somehow. Maybe I can find a lawyer who accepts Monopoly money.
With that thought, I push the door open and am arrested by the sight that greets me: Him, the suit, my cabinmate standing behind a desk with regal posture and a formidable presence.
Somehow, it’s shocking, though it shouldn’t be.
Of course he’s not a common construction worker. He wasn’t with the rest of the crew back at the jobsite. He’s not staying in the bunkhouses with the other men. He was wearing a suit all those weeks ago, and that thought propels me toward another: right now, he doesn’t look all that different than he did that night in the bar. It’s more like looking at two sides of a coin. One version
seemed perfectly composed, gentlemanly even. This other version might be wearing jeans, boots, and a blue Lockwood Construction shirt rolled to his elbows, but his hair is the same shade of dark brown. His jaw is still carved from marble. His eyes are just as piercing as he looks up and pins me to my spot by the door.
“You asked to see me?” I ask, my voice wobbly.
His eyes scan me quickly, halt at the hard hat and safety vest I’m clutching in my arms, and then he nods toward the chair at my right. “You can drop that gear. You won’t be needing it.”
So this is it.
He’s finally connected the dots and is going to send me on my way—or worse. Maybe there’s a police squadron hovering in the bushes outside waiting to leap out and haul me to jail. Ten-four, we’ve got the wallet thief. How many years in the clink do you get for taking someone’s wallet but not actually stealing anything out of it?
I set my gear down then stand back up and catch my elbow behind my back to conceal the fact that my hands are shaking.
His attention has already fallen back to his work. To me, his desk looks like a chaotic mess. Blueprints curling at the edges. A laptop obscuring the paperwork underneath it. A cell phone precariously positioned at one corner, millimeters away from toppling to the ground. I want to step forward and nudge it to safety, but I stay right where I am.
It comes to my attention then that we’ve both been quiet longer than is socially acceptable. It almost feels like he’s forgotten I exist. Isn’t he going to come right out with it? Tell me he recognizes me as the woman from the bar? Fire me? Imprison me?
“You won’t be working on the jobsite,” he finally says as he continues to write something on a construction drawing.
“Are you…are you firing me?” I blurt out, sounding almost panicked. I immediately think of my phone call with my mom last night, how desperate I am to keep this job.
“No,” he says with a tight shake of his head. “But you’ll have a different position than the rest of the crew. You’ll be working here. With me.”
When he says “me”, his brown eyes flick up and lock with mine. My stomach dips and wait, wait, wait, this makes no sense. Does he really not recognize me? My disguise has proven to be terrible. I’m like Hilary Duff wearing that tiny mask in A Cinderella Story, acting like no one could possibly recognize her. Spoiler: we know it’s you, Hilary. Your mask is one inch wide.
“I need a personal lackey,” he continues with a wave of his hand. “An errand boy.”
I swear he emphasizes the word boy.
“You know…right?”
His eyes narrow and there’s the flip of that coin. This is the shrewd businessman again, the man who should be poured into a black suit and sipping a fine scotch. The jeans give me a false sense of ease. “Know? What should I know?”
Yes, what should he know?! If he doesn’t recognize me then I’d be an absolute fool to bring it to his attention. If the lion has decided not to eat the gazelle, the gazelle doesn’t need to lie down on a bed of lettuce and put an apple in its mouth, just to make sure. Take the gift for what it is, you silly gazelle!
“That I’m a woman,” I say, rushing the words out quickly. “So I can’t be your errand ‘boy’, but I’m happy to fill the role of your personal lackey.”
I’m even attempting to smile now, really putting in an effort with my new boss.
So what if he doesn’t recognize me? That’s a good thing! I shouldn’t be offended that our steamy encounter meant so little to him that he can’t even seem to recall it. For all I know maybe he has bathroom trysts all the time. Maybe he gets his wallet stolen biweekly.
This is the first time his face has been anything but an impenetrable mask of indifference. I swear, swear he’s very nearly smirking as he glances back down at his desk. Then he nods once.
“Yes, I know you’re a woman.”
Those words seem to be dripping with so much meaning that I have to fight the urge to squirm with pleasure.
In this moment, I want him to remember me. I want him to be so consumed with remembering me that those blueprints tumble to the ground and that phone goes with it. It’s just begging to fall, and I’ve had enough. I step forward and push it farther onto the desk then glance up and find his icy gaze frozen on my hand. I jerk it away and laugh self-deprecatingly. “Sorry. It was bothering me.” I step back to give us both a healthy distance from one another. With that scowl in place, it looks like he’d appreciate it. “Anyway, what exactly would my duties be if I were to be working for you, Mr…ah…”
I leave the sentence dangling so he can pick it up.
“Ethan.”
“Mr. Ethan?”
Odd, but okay.
His brows soften and I think there’s a shadow of a smile hidden on his rugged face. I lean forward on my toes just a smidge, waiting…wanting to see it. But then his mask is back and he shakes his head sharply.
“Ethan Stone.”
So there it is, the name I can hang over this face in my naughty dreams—and there will be dreams now that I know the nightmares can recede. Everything is going to be okay. He doesn’t remember me from last month. He knows I’m a woman. We can move forward now. I can prove to be the best employee he’s ever had and maybe by the end of the week, I’ll be walking away with a nice little raise.
“So what exactly will I be doing for you, Mr. Stone?”
Chapter 11
Ethan
“Just call me Ethan,” I say, picking up my phone and putting it in my pocket, annoyed she touched it in the first place. Had I not been watching her, would she have taken it? A sharp bite from my conscience tells me I’m wrong to think so little of her, but I can’t seem to help it.
She had the opportunity to tell me the truth just now, to fess up to her deeds, but she didn’t. Of the two lies she’s carrying around—her theft and her gender—she only admitted to one, and declaring she’s a woman isn’t exactly all that earth-shattering. Anyone with a pair of eyes already knew. To go on pretending would have only made her look stupid.
She really committed to the role, though. Those jeans are hanging off her frame, and that shirt looks like it’s my size. She’s still suffering in those work boots—they’re so ridiculous, they nearly look like clown shoes on her.
Still, her beauty is so obvious that hat does nothing to diminish it. Her tempting curves are still visible beneath the baggy clothes, her pouty lips just as alluring as they were a month ago.
She tips back on her heels. “Right. Well, Ethan, what exactly would you like me to do?”
In truth, I don’t actually need an assistant. I’ve never used one in the past. I can answer my phone and reply to my emails myself. I’m pretty good at pouring coffee into a mug and picking up my lunch from the mess hall. I don’t really want someone in my space, but I don’t know what else to do with her. I should fire her and be done with it, but I won’t. I saw her moment of despair earlier when she thought I was letting her go. It almost looked like she was about to cry, which makes sense. If she’s forced to leave, all her plans go up in smoke—plans I’m still curious about.
Still, if I’m going to keep her around, I can’t have her out at the jobsite. It’s a safety issue. Everyone else we hired has had some experience in construction, but not her.
So, she’ll work directly for me.
Just…elsewhere.
“I’d like you to take this note to Robert. When you’re done, see if he has anything he needs you to do.”
She frowns, confused. I’ve just told her she’ll be working for me and now I’m sending her away.
Even still, she accepts the note without another word and is quick with her task. Unfortunately, Robert doesn’t need her assistance at the moment, so in less than ten minutes, she’s back in the trailer, staring up at me with those big brown eyes.
“What would you like me to do next?” she asks with an eager-to-please tone.
I’d like her to leave me alone, but I guess that’s not an option.
“Have you ever been an assistant before?”
“No.” She shakes her head before offering up a small smile. “But to be fair…I was hired to be a construction worker.” When it’s clear I won’t be joining in her teasing banter, she changes her tone. “Mr. Stone, I’m a quick learner and I’d like to be useful, so maybe if you took some time to train me or gave me a list of tasks you’d like me to complete…”
Tasks? I have plenty of them. I want her to stop calling me Mr. Stone. I want her to stop wearing those ridiculous clothes. I want her to tell me why she’s here.
Beyond that, I have nothing for her to do, and I see no reason to train her to be useful because she won’t be around long enough to make it worth it.
So, I keep her busy with menial tasks, things that keep her away from me. I snap at her to refill my coffee, run notes to the site, clean a pair of my boots that got muddy yesterday, check on lunch, take out my trash.
Each time I tell her to do something slightly more degrading, I expect her to respond to my command with a look of disdain or at least a subtle complaint, but instead, she’s quick and eager, always looking for more work when she’s finished.
Annoyed, I finally tell her to take the rest of the afternoon off, and that night, I stay away from the cabin until dark, working in the trailer, keeping myself busy, beating back thoughts of her. When I finally walk into the cabin, well past dark, her floral scent slams into me. I pause on the threshold, wondering if it’s a good idea to go inside. Then I see she’s asleep in her bunk, her feminine features so sweet and docile in her slumber, her dark lashes fanned across her cheeks.
An owl hoots, jarring me out of my careful study of her, and I’m angrier than ever as I storm into the bathroom to take a shower.
In the morning, she’s gone before I wake. It appears neither one of us is eager for a close-quarters cabin encounter. I’m glad.
