Coldhearted Boss

by Grey, R. S.

  So, I’ll just have to assume Taylor is complying with my command and leaving for the weekend. In fact, I should be focusing my attention elsewhere during the long drive home, and yet when I pull into my driveway and walk into my quiet house, I’m still thinking of her and wondering if I’ve been too hard, too unyielding where she’s concerned.

  I haven’t ever been so heavy-handed with an employee before, but to call Taylor just an employee is a gross understatement. The fact is, I’ve never lived with an employee, which is the only explanation for why it feels like she’s started to entwine herself so deeply in my life.

  I’ve never thought of my house as being quiet before tonight. I’ve always loved it here. I purchased the 1960s bungalow a few years ago, back when you could still afford to buy property in Austin without breaking the bank. It’s centrally located near downtown without being in the thick of it, the lot oversized and shaded with three sprawling live oak trees. The house itself needed a lot of work. I had Steven draw up the plans for the renovation and I oversaw it slowly, painstakingly, ensuring the historical details weren’t wiped clean by the new, modern updates.

  Compared to the cabin I’ve been living in, it might as well be a palatial mansion.

  I wonder what Taylor would think of it, and then I yank that thought right out of my head and reach for my phone.

  It’s late and I have that meeting in the morning, but I can’t just stay here. I know if I try to go to bed now, I’ll just lie awake, thinking of her and the details of a week that seemed equal parts infuriating and addicting.

  Isla texted me earlier that our friends were all heading over to Easy Tiger, so that’s where I go after I rinse off and throw on a clean set of clothes. It feels good to walk into the bar and see my friends all crammed together in a booth, raising hell. When Brody sees me, he throws up his hands and they all turn, faces lighting up.

  “Didn’t think you’d show,” he says, grabbing an extra chair from another table for me.

  I take a seat, holding up a hand for the waiter. “Yeah, it’s been a long week. I need a beer.”

  Jace and Alice are there too, nearly fused at the hip just as Isla forewarned they would be. Beside them, there’s Brody and Liv, who’ve been married for the last few years. Isla sits opposite them, and beside her is Camille, a coworker of Liv’s and a new addition to the group.

  It’s funny seeing her beside Isla. The two couldn’t be more different. My sister has a row of freckles across her nose, shoulder-length brown hair, and an affinity for wearing clothes that should make absolutely no sense yet somehow blend together pretty well. Right now, she’s wearing a pair of denim overalls over a white blouse with a little silk scarf tied around her neck. Her brown eyes—a pair that match my own—shine with happiness. Any ill will I felt toward her for chatting with Taylor doesn’t stand a chance.

  Camille, by contrast, is wearing a tight black top. Her black hair is long and straight, her bee-stung lips coated in a layer of red lipstick so bright there’s not a guy in this bar who hasn’t noticed them. Her eyes are what I notice most, though—they’re clever, shrewd. She and Liv both work at a law firm downtown and Liv has boasted before that Camille rarely loses a case.

  “Glad you showed up,” she says with a flirtatious smile.

  Isla catches my attention and barely contains her laughter. That’s my sister—her smile seems to always take up every square inch of her face, even now when she’s not so subtly laughing at Camille.

  I throw her a reproachful glare. She needs to ease up on Camille. It’s obvious to anyone who’s been around our group for long that Camille is interested in me, but that’s not what bothers Isla. She doesn’t like Camille because when they were first introduced, Camille asked about Isla’s job. When Isla mentioned she works in advertising, Camille looked down her nose and snidely asked if she came up with “those little jingles for commercials”. Isla took offense considering she’d just been promoted to senior art director at one of the largest ad agencies in the country. No, she doesn’t come up with jingles. First and foremost, she’s an artist and designer.

  I thought they’d smoothed things over since then.

  Apparently not.

  “How’s the project coming along?” Brody asks just before the waiter comes by to take our order. Everyone’s due for another round, so I open a new tab.

  “It’s on schedule, which is all you can really hope for with these large-scale projects,” I reply once the waiter leaves.

  “Isla told us all about it.” Camille smiles. “It sounds like it’ll be amazing once it’s complete.”

  “Can’t wait to check it out,” Jace says, throwing his arm around Alice’s shoulders.

  “Yeah, it’ll be a fun weekend,” Brody adds.

  My gaze clashes with Isla’s and her eyes beg me not to ruin the moment by telling everyone the trip is off. Memorial Day is two weeks away and the resort won’t even be framed by then, much less welcome to guests.

  I don’t want to rain on everyone’s parade, so I try for honesty instead. If they realize how shabby the camp actually is, I doubt they’ll still want to come.

  “It’s not going to be a luxurious vacation. The camp is old and there’s nowhere to stay. My crew is taking up the old bunkhouses.”

  “So we’ll pitch tents!” Isla replies brightly.

  The guys agree.

  Camille wrinkles her nose at the idea, which only excites Isla more.

  “And there’s a lake, right? Can we swim in it?”

  We had water samples taken when we were testing the soil, just to get our bearings as to what the bacteria levels looked like. It’s actually cleaner than the water coming out of most people’s tap owing to the fact that it’s fed from an aquifer underground.

  “You can, but it’s freezing.”

  That doesn’t faze them either.

  It’s no use.

  Everyone’s curious about the site and no one—except maybe Camille—minds the fact that they’ll have to rough it in nature.

  * * *

  After drinks on Friday night, the weekend creeps forward like a slug. In fact, I’m not totally sure it isn’t moving in reverse. The meeting on Saturday lasts hours and only holds half of my attention considering it’s a very straightforward project based here in Austin. I’ve done ten just like it in the last five years. After that, I work, go to the gym, decline an invitation to have drinks with Camille, and snuff out each errant thought I have about Taylor like I’m pinching the wick of a candle.

  It doesn’t always work though. That flame still flickers, and every spare minute I have amidst the flurry of activity is spent debating whether or not I should head back to camp early. I nearly do it, too. I pack my stuff Saturday afternoon and catch myself just before I walk out the door.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  There’s no good reason for me to go back to camp early except to see Taylor. Oh, sure, I try hard to mask it with another motive like wanting to check up on the jobsite or confirm that she followed my orders. That said, the fact is plain and simple and a hard pill to swallow: I’m actually anxious to see her, anxious to get back to that cabin.

  Obviously, this infuriates me, so I double down and force myself to stay in Austin even longer than I would have otherwise. It’s why I join my parents and Isla for dinner Sunday night.

  My knee jostles under their table while my gaze flits to the clock every five minutes. My bag is already in my truck. I’ve got a full tank of gas. I plan on heading back to the camp straight from here.

  “Seems like you have a lot on your mind,” my mom says, nodding toward the untouched dessert plate in front of me. It’s my favorite: warm apple pie with a dollop of melting ice cream beside it. I hadn’t even noticed it was there.

  Isla’s grinning at me from across the table. I haven’t brought up Taylor to her at all this weekend, but it doesn’t matter. Isla knows me too well.

  I narrow my eyes, and she gloats as she scoops up a big ol’ bite of pie.r />
  I wonder if it’s too late to put her up for adoption. Being a single child sounds nice.

  After dinner, Isla and I walk out to our cars together. I’m aiming for pleasant silence.

  She has different plans. “You’ve really put in an A-plus effort this weekend. I kept expecting you to growl at me for talking to your assistant on the phone. What was her name again? I don’t think you ever told me.”

  “I forget.”

  She chuckles. “Well anyway, I admit defeat. I clearly was trying to find feelings where none exist. It’s obvious you want nothing to do with her.”

  I frown and turn to face her as we reach my truck. I know I shouldn’t continue down this road and yet I still hear myself asking, “Why do you think that?”

  “Oh, well, it’s the only explanation for why you’re still here, dawdling instead of heading back east. Tell me, is she completely hideous? Does she have a personality like Camille? If so, I don’t blame you one bit for avoiding her.”

  Neither and neither.

  She’s so beautiful I’m tempted to take up writing poetry, something I’d be piss poor at. Roses are red and violets are another color and I don’t care, just please let me kiss you again. And her personality is so enthralling, so unnervingly spirited that as much as I want to despise her, I can’t seem to actually follow through with it.

  Isla tips her head then, studying me. The long stretch of silence following her assessment proves her point for the both of us.

  Without another word, I yank open my truck door and, instead of heading to the jobsite, I head home. It’s a test of my willpower, a way to prove to myself yet again that I’m in no hurry to return to Taylor.

  That night, I sleep at home, and I don’t set out for the camp until the break of dawn the following morning. I arrive just in time to get to work.

  When Taylor walks into the trailer with my cup of coffee, I can tell right away she hasn’t forgiven me for Friday’s argument. Her striking features are a study in cold aloofness, her chin raised, her shoulders pushed back. Her eyes stare at a point just over my head as she sets the mug down and then curtsies—curtsies—before politely mentioning that if I need her to get me anything else, she’d be happy to “obey”. She stresses that word so heavily, there’s no way for it to go over my head.

  I wait until she’s outside before I give in to the urge to laugh.

  I swear I’ll be gray-haired by the time this project is finished.

  Chapter 21

  Ethan

  The next two weeks blend together in a flurry of activity as foundation work gives way to framing. The crew stays on longer, working right up until dinner. I give them the option to cut out early if they need to, but most guys are happy for the extra pay.

  A sense of comradery has formed among them. They hang out together after dinner, some scattered in chairs around the fire pit. A few of them play cards or shoot darts on a board they’ve hung near the mess hall.

  Taylor is always there, in the thick of it. I was nervous at first, careful to keep an eye on her considering the circumstances, but she’s done well making a place for herself among a crew of construction workers most women would happily steer clear of.

  In fact, she hasn’t just made a place for herself—she’s stepped right up onto the pedestal they’ve polished for her. If she happens to walk by the fire pit, at least five of them jump out of their seats, offering a chair. If she needs an extra napkin or a refill on her water at lunch, there’s a slew of men waiting to do it. It’s not out of the question for one or two of them to come knocking on the trailer door on their breaks wondering where she is. I ask what they need her for, and they always fumble with a reply.

  “Oh…nothing, just wanted to thank her for saving me a plate at lunch…”

  “She mentioned she’d never tried homemade pecan pie and I had my mom make some over the weekend…”

  “She told me she just finished a good book and offered to let me borrow it…”

  There’s a line around the block for her attention, but Max seems to always be close at hand, the first to snag her if she ever has a spare moment. Last night, they played cards together during dinner, and I could hear her laughter clear across the mess hall.

  Worst of all, though, is Hudson. His schoolboy crush on her has grown roots. He damn well thinks he’s in love with her and drones on about it constantly, even though I’ve given no sign at all that I’d like him to continue talking. In fact, I’ve asked him to do the exact opposite, a request he can’t seem to process.

  “Please go outside if you’re going to continue rambling,” I say, forcing my attention back to my computer. “And shut the door behind you.”

  He’s standing at the window, sighing. “I think half the crew is as in love with her as I am,” he continues morosely. I can hear his heart splintering right down the middle.

  Oh wait—that’s the sound of the cheap blinds parting as he presses his nose to the glass.

  “I could kill that Max guy,” he says suddenly, whirling away from the window to start pacing. “I heard they used to date. He told me so himself—gloated about it.”

  I start typing louder, really pounding on the keys, sending a message that goes unnoticed.

  “You know what, though? I’m not going to let that stop me. I think she’s into me.”

  She’s not.

  “Last week, she brought me a cookie after lunch.”

  What?! That scheming…

  She brought me one too!

  Then I remember it’s a chocolate chip cookie we’re discussing here, which only serves to heighten my anger. I shouldn’t care about this. It’s silly.

  “Hudson, get out.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve been annoying me for the last ten minutes and I have work to do.”

  He rushes toward the door, making quick apologies.

  That’s not the last I see of him that day. Nope, as I round the curve of the trail heading to Rose Cabin after dinner, there’s Hudson standing on the front porch with Taylor’s hands clasped tightly in his. Her back is facing me, which means I’m treated to a full view of Hudson’s pleading eyes.

  I can’t hear what he’s saying to her over the hum of the forest, but she squeezes his hands and a moment later, he’s flinging himself at her, mouth attached to hers like one of those algae-sucking fish.

  She doesn’t push him off right away like I assumed she would. She steps back slowly, shakes her head, and then reaches out to pat his arm.

  I think Hudson’s about to cry, but then he nods and forces a smile.

  That’s when I reach them.

  “We’ll still be friends, right? This won’t change anything?” she asks.

  Hudson nods. “Friends.”

  Then he catches sight of me and sobers, wasting no time in scrambling down the stairs.

  “Evening,” he says as he rushes by.

  I glance after him for a moment before returning my attention to Taylor.

  “I hope I didn’t interrupt,” I tell her, tone deceptively kind. “I can make myself scarce if you two need some alone time.”

  She crosses her arms and I’m momentarily lost in the sight of her standing there, bathed in the warm light of the sunset. The effect makes it so her eyes are bright amber. Her hair is shining chestnut and mahogany, curling loosely around her shoulders. Her lips are bright red and slightly swollen from Hudson’s amateur attempt at courtship.

  As I see her just like this, Hudson suddenly has my deepest sympathies. Maybe if I were a weaker man, I’d be in the same boat.

  “If you must know, he asked me out to dinner and I told him no. Don’t tease him about it,” she pleads, scowling at me. “He means well.”

  I start up the stairs. My arm brushes her shoulder as I start to pass, but then I stop abruptly, glancing down at her.

  “Be truthful—how many men have asked you out while you’ve been here?”

  She shrugs and looks away, squinting toward the sunset.


  I was expecting her to laugh me off.

  “You shouldn’t lead them on,” I add dryly before continuing inside.

  She catches me before I reach the door, hand shooting out to grab my forearm. “Lead them on?! What are you talking about?” She waves her other hand down her baggy clothes. “Hardly!”

  “The clothes don’t hide a thing.”

  She groans and pushes past me as if all of a sudden she’s in a hurry to get into the cabin before me.

  It’s futile. Once we’re both inside, we don’t know what to do with ourselves.

  She walks to the bathroom, drags a hand through her hair, and then turns back, scanning the room as if looking for something to throw at my head.

  I stay by the door, lean back against the frame, and watch her, more amused than I’d ever care to admit.

  “Are you going to start packing?” I ask with an inquisitive brow.

  She stumbles mid-pace and glances up, her eyes flaying me. “Why would I pack? Are you trying to fire me again? Because—”

  I smile, and my good humor only makes her angrier. “It’s Memorial Day Weekend starting tomorrow after work. Everyone’s off for three days.”

  A blush creeps up her cheeks, and there, right there, is my answer. She’s not going anywhere. Isla will be so happy when she arrives to see Taylor will be spending the weekend with us.

  Of course, Taylor doesn’t know that.

  Taylor thinks she’ll have a few days to herself. She assumes I don’t know she defies me and hides out here on the weekends, parceling off just enough food from the mess hall so she won’t starve but not so much that someone would notice anything’s been taken.

  I’ve wondered why she doesn’t leave. Any guy here would give her a lift home if she asked for one, and yet she doesn’t ask. She doesn’t impose. She stays here and she reads the books I keep bringing for her, titles I intentionally pick with her in mind.

  I could save Taylor the embarrassment and confess that I’ll be staying here this weekend as well along with a handful of my friends, but where’s the fun in that?