Coldhearted Boss

by Grey, R. S.

  Wednesday and Thursday follow the same pattern. I send her out to do things that will put as much distance between us as possible, but my inspiration is dwindling quickly. I don’t own that many pairs of boots, don’t generate that much trash, not to mention I have actual work to do. I don’t have all day to come up with arbitrary tasks for her. On Thursday afternoon, I have a conference call with my partners, and I tell her to sit outside until I’m done. So, she does. She sits right up on the top stair with her chin in her hands, observing the progress of the demolition taking place in front of her.

  It’s unnerving.

  It wrecks my entire vindictive plan. The small part of me that wanted to enact revenge is quickly losing steam. The fire that burned when I saw her standing in line, hoping to be hired as part of my crew is quickly turning to ash. Apparently, I’m not half the asshole I thought I was.

  It annoys me.

  She might be playing the kitten now, but a month ago, she wasn’t quite so innocent. In that bar, she had a plan. She seduced me on purpose. She took my wallet and stole my cash. That wasn’t an accident.

  It’d be so much easier if she just showed her true nature so we could be done with this. I want something in my office to go missing. I want one of the guys to report a stolen item from the bunkhouses. She’s had plenty of unsupervised time throughout the last few days, ample opportunity to play the thief if she wanted to.

  And yet by lunchtime on Friday, she’s still the docile kitten, so I have no choice. I won’t continue this charade into next week. I won’t keep tiptoeing around the cabin and sending her off on fool’s errands just so I can bait her into committing a crime.

  Paychecks go out at the end of today.

  After I sign hers, I include a small note: Now we’re even.

  * * *

  I’m not surprised to hear footsteps banging up the steps of the trailer that afternoon. A moment later, the door slams open. Ah yes, the kitten is gone. She’s seething now, an angry little spitfire as she throws the note in my direction. It flutters to the ground pitifully slowly, like a feather, which only angers her more. With a growl, she reaches for it, storms over to my desk, and slaps it down on top of a new rendering Steven just completed. The paper wrinkles under her hand.

  “You knew who I was this whole time?!” she asks, smoke billowing off her.

  I lean back in my chair, surprisingly calm now that she’s not. This is the fight I’ve been waiting for, the truth-telling I’ve been eager to hear.

  “You mean, do I remember you seducing me in that bar and stealing from me?” I ask, tone deceptively bored. “Yes.”

  Her eyes widen and she rears back. It takes me a moment to realize she looks shocked.

  Shocked?!

  Why the hell should she look shocked now? Maybe before, yes, when she first opened her paycheck and found it was $800 less than it should have been. I’m sure she was surprised to find she’s only taking home a paltry $45.32, but she should be glad I left her with that much. I was tempted to send her home with nothing, just like she did me.

  “What do you mean ‘stole from you’?” she asks carefully.

  Oh good grief. I thought we were done with this game. We’ve been playing it all week and its long lost its appeal. “Do you have amnesia? Or are you just playing dumb?”

  She practically snarls, those high cheekbones bright red with anger now. She looks ready to strangle me. I wonder how she managed to pull off the innocent act all week.

  “Fine. Since you’ve apparently pulled the same stunt so many times you can’t even pick them apart anymore, I’ll recount that evening for the both of us. Last month, I stayed in Oak Dale for one night with my partners. We decided to get a drink at the bar beside our motel. You happened to be there too.”

  She blinks and her anger gives way to another, indiscernible emotion while she listens to me speak.

  “When my partners left, I stayed, curious about the sad girl alone at the bar. You turned back to glance at me over your shoulder and the invitation was clear. You wanted me to follow you into that bathroom.” The red from her cheeks spreads all the way down her neck. “And of course, I did. You had me eating out of the palm of your hand, didn’t you?”

  The memories from that night are too hard to beat back—hot mouths, impatient hands, explosive chemistry. She must be remembering now too because she shakes her head and steps back.

  “It’s not a crime to kiss a man in a bathroom.”

  “But it is a crime to steal money from him.”

  Her jaw drops. “I didn’t take any money!”

  Her words are so clear and convincing, I almost believe her. “You’ve clearly had practice. That almost sounded believable.”

  “It should sound believable! It’s the truth!” she cries, throwing her hands up in defeat. She’s pacing now, walking back and forth in front of my desk, fisting her hands.

  “When I went into the bathroom with you, I had my wallet,” I point out dryly.

  “Yes!” she says with a huff. “Okay, I did take your wallet, but—”

  “After you seduced me.”

  “I did not seduce you!”

  “What was it you were doing then?” I ask, standing and rounding my desk. I hate that she isn’t looking at me right now. I can’t stand her pacing. I want her to meet my eyes as she lies to me. I want to see her for what she truly is, once and for all. “That was an act, right? A way to distract me from your real goal?”

  She’s taking one step back for every one of my steps forward. Soon, she’s back against the door, chin lifted, eyes blinking up at me. Black sultry lashes frame a pair of knock-you-on-your-ass brown eyes. I put up a wall against them.

  “Yes,” she says on a long exhalation. Then she catches herself. “No! That’s not why we went in there. I didn’t plan on stealing from you!”

  Her words are so convincing something inside me nearly breaks. Then I realize what she let slip before she caught herself. Yes, it was an act. Yes, she was only kissing me that night because she wanted my money. Who cares that she’s backtracking now? In fact, it almost makes it worse.

  I keep a careful distance between us, enough space that I’m not in danger of touching her. I don’t trust myself—not because I’m feeling the passion I felt in that bathroom, not because it’s nearly eating me alive to keep my hands off her, but because I’m so enraged, I don’t trust myself to act like a gentleman.

  “And what about now? Why are you here, pretending to be a man on my crew? We both know you’re not here to swing a hammer. So, what is it? Are you going to steal from the guys while they’re out working on the jobsite? No one would expect it from an innocent thing like you, but I know better.” My hand reaches out so I can curve my pointer finger under her chin and force her to meet my eyes.

  She yanks her face away from my touch and shoots daggers up at me. “I’m not here pretending to be a guy. I never lied,” she insists, teeth gritted. “I just decided it was best not to advertise that I’m a woman. There’s a difference.”

  “Is that what you were doing in the bar that night? Advertising?”

  Her hand shoots up, but I catch it before it makes contact with my cheek.

  I toss it away just before she turns around, trying to yank the door open.

  She reaches for the handle and there are tears on her cheeks now when she glances back at me. “You’re wrong. I am here to work, even if you don’t believe me.”

  “No.” I shake my head, back to sounding as if this whole confrontation is beneath me. “I don’t believe you.” And just before the door slams shut behind her, I think, Good. We’re done.

  Except it doesn’t feel that way.

  Not even close.

  Chapter 12

  Taylor

  So this is what pure unadulterated rage feels like. There’s so much built up inside of me, I could lift a car and throw it across a football field. I could rip a phonebook in two. I could get out of this truck right now and run the whole way home, and
not a pretend-you’re-running-because-your-P.E.-teacher-is-watching situation. I mean arms pumping at my sides, wind in my sails, all-out sprint. That’s how I feel sitting in Jeremy’s truck on the way home to Oak Dale on Friday night.

  Meanwhile, he’s happy as a clam. His paycheck is in the cup holder between us. It’s made out for over a thousand dollars with Ethan’s signature in the bottom right corner. Jeremy asked me about mine, and I told him it was roughly the same.

  “Really?” he seems surprised. “They gave me a little extra because I have construction experience.”

  “Oh, well they pay me extra because working for the boss is such a hard job,” I snap back.

  My anger flies over his head. “Huh. I saw him a few times around the jobsite, and he didn’t seem so bad. I mean, I can see why people are intimidated by him—he’s got that look about him—but he wasn’t barking orders or shouting at people or anything.”

  “Can we talk about something else?”

  Literally anything.

  I will listen to a long multifaceted discussion about the current state of politics in America between people talking at half-speed if it means I don’t have to continue discussing Ethan Stone.

  Just his name causes a visceral reaction. I wouldn’t be surprised to find I’ve broken out in angry red hives.

  The things he accused me of!

  The way he spoke to me!

  The disdain dripping off his words!

  I wish I’d tried to slap him a second time. He probably wouldn’t have seen that one coming, and oh, it would have felt so nice. Of course, it probably would have hurt me more than it hurt him. I’d have broken every finger thanks to his sharply honed features. Still, it would have been worth it.

  After I left the trailer, I stormed back to our cabin, gathered my things, stuffed them back into my duffle, and told Jeremy I’d be waiting for him at the truck. I couldn’t wait to leave. I never want to go back to Pine Wood Camp ever again.

  I can’t believe Ethan knew who I was the whole week and didn’t say anything. I slept on the bunk over his for five nights while he pretended I was a complete stranger. He called me “man” the night he asked for my name! The memory has me fuming all over again. I bet he was so pleased to find me trapped like that, to get to poke fun at me right to my face.

  Even worse than the fact that he played me this entire week, there’s another massive problem: I can’t believe he really thinks I stole from him! I know I’m splitting hairs here, but there is a difference between almost stealing from someone and actually going through with it. Is he so rich he doesn’t realize all his cash was still in his wallet when he came back to retrieve it? Does he think I skimmed some off the top?

  I freaking wish! At this point I wish I’d taken every cent from that man just to flush it right down the toilet.

  There’s the possibility that the wallet never made it back to him in the first place, which might be why he thinks I stole from him, but I know he has it. I asked the bartender about it a few days later while waiting for Jeremy to pick me up after a shift at the motel. He said Ethan came back to grab his wallet that same night. Everything should have been smoothed over. The only thing Ethan should have been upset about is that I never showed up at his motel room like I promised I would.

  God, I’m more glad than ever that I had a change of heart. I can’t imagine what would have happened if I had joined him in his room that night. A man like that? With a temper like that? And a frame that size? Hands that big? Eyes that dark? I’m getting carried away. The point is, everything worked out for the best.

  I won’t be seeing Ethan Stone again.

  No, wait, I will see him once more—in seventy years, when I find his grave and do a little jig on top of it.

  * * *

  When I get home, McKenna bursts through the front door of the trailer, nearly tripping down the rickety wooden stairs on her way to get to me.

  “You’re home! You’re home!”

  Her arms wrap around my middle and she lugs me up off the ground. I laugh and tell her to put me down before she hurts herself.

  “Here, let me get your bag,” she says, very gallantly, grabbing my duffle from the front seat of the truck before waving goodbye to Jeremy. He’s heading to meet Khloe and I know he’s excited because he talked about it for most of the way home. I heard it all. He misses Khloe. Khloe misses him. They hardly talked. Cell reception was bad near the bunkhouses too. He had to borrow Max’s new iPhone to get a good signal, but apparently absence made the heart grow fonder because one-fifth of his first check is going into his engagement ring fund. By comparison, one-fifth of my check will cover the cost of a Taco Bell dinner.

  I am really looking forward to that grave-top jig.

  “Tell me everything!” McKenna says, tugging me toward the couch. “Was it weird being away? I tried to call you a few times and it said the call couldn’t be completed as dialed. Are you really that far from civilization? In the middle of the woods? Did you see a bear?!”

  It’s no surprise my sister doesn’t stop asking me questions until well past dinner. I’m exhausted since I haven’t slept well all week and I could probably stay asleep all the way through Sunday if given the opportunity, but I am not given that opportunity. She talks to me while I kick off my boots, wince in pain, and head for the shower. She talks to me while I wash my hair, close my eyes, and let the water rinse away the last vestiges of my fury. She talks to me while I rub antibiotic ointment on my blistered heels and then cover them in Band-Aids. And she’s still talking as I lie down on the couch and close my eyes, telling myself I’m only going to rest for a little while. I conk out.

  Saturday morning, my mom wakes us up at 5:30 AM with pancakes. I want to hate her for it, but I can’t. She has to leave extra early because she’s catching a ride with a friend to get to Livingston for her classes and she has to get on the road by six. This way, we get to have breakfast together before she leaves. She doles out pancakes on my plate and kisses my hair, and it’s still dark out and we don’t even have syrup, but I don’t mind one bit. My heart is full.

  As soon as she’s gone, McKenna and I run for the couch and huddle under blankets. We spend the whole morning watching whatever random shows our antenna manages to pick up, trying hard to become fused with the couch fibers. We do a pretty good job of it until I have to begrudgingly get up to make us lunch.

  McKenna proves to be a perfect distraction from the worries of life, one I didn’t even realize I needed until she announces that she’s going out with some friends for milkshakes. Nothing crazy—they’re just going to hang out at Whataburger. Ah, the life of a teenager in rural Texas.

  “No drugs,” I emphasize as she heads out the door. “And no drinking.”

  “Taylor, I’m going with Lillian and Brittany. Lilian’s mom will be with us the whole time.”

  I know McKenna’s friends. Lilian’s in band and the president of the freshman honor society, and Brittany is on the robotics team and captain of the freshman soccer team. Sure, that could all just be a front for the fact that they’re really all drug-addicted partiers, but I think they’re too smart for that. They’ve made a pact. They all want to go to the same college, and I know they can make it happen if they stick together.

  I give her a few dollars—money we don’t really have to spare at the moment—before waving her off. Then I head back inside the quiet trailer. My mom was supposed to be home by now but a coworker called in sick at the grocery store so she picked up an extra shift after her class. I feel guilty that she’s having to do it. I know she’s probably exhausted. I wish I’d come home for the weekend with my full paycheck instead of the measly few bucks Ethan threw my way. It would have gone a long way to getting us back on our feet, especially considering I’m not sure what I’ll be doing for work now.

  I’ve been avoiding the dilemma all day, but tomorrow is Sunday and I have to make a decision.

  I can’t just go back to the motel. I had to put in my notice there
when I accepted the job with Lockwood Construction. Sure, I could go back and grovel at my manager’s feet, but just the thought makes my dignity scream out in protest. I hated that job and I hated how little they paid me.

  I could apply for work somewhere else, but I’ve been in this town long enough to know that’s a dead-end road. There are a few decent jobs around Oak Dale, but not for someone who barely graduated from high school. The familiar twinge of resentment over my lack of education settles in the pit of my stomach.

  If we could afford to get our car out of the shop, I could drive into Livingston or another nearby city to look for work, but even that would be a major waste of gas and time, and there’d be no telling how well the car would hold up if I was driving it around that much.

  With a heartbreaking sigh, I realize I’m just as stuck now as I was four years ago. I’ve been working so hard trying to claw my way out of this hole life tossed me into only to slide right back down to the bottom time and time again.

  My job with Lockwood Construction was the first sign of hope I’d had in a long time, and I hate Ethan Stone even more for taking the opportunity away from me.

  But then I realize—maybe he didn’t.

  He didn’t technically fire me, and I didn’t technically quit.

  So what if I hate him? A lot of people hate their bosses.

  The fact is, right now, I don’t really have another option, so Saturday night, I come up with my plan. The first step? Call Jeremy and demand we make a stop on our way out of town tomorrow afternoon. I’m spending every last cent of my paltry paycheck on a new pair of boots—ones that actually fit.

  * * *

  The second step in my plan is to find Hudson as soon as we make it back to camp the following evening. This proves more difficult than I thought it would because while searching for him, I also am trying hard to avoid Ethan. I’m forced to hover near buildings and trees in case I need to duck and cover. Work doesn’t start until tomorrow morning, and I’d rather not cross paths with him until then. Of course, this method means I draw quite a few concerned glances from passersby, but I put on my best smile and wave like everything is all good. “Don’t mind me, just checking the hardy plank on this building.” Knock knock. “Yup! Good as new!”