by Allie York
Forever with the Foreman
Allie York
Copyright © 2018 by Alissa York
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Formatting: AB Formatting
This one's for Shannon who likes it quick and dirty
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Chapter One
Morgan
The whole morning has gone to hell in a flipping hand basket. I’m late to the site because I forgot to set my alarm; I forgot to set my alarm because I was up late looking over the plans for the next site; I was up late looking over the plans for the next site because I had to do something that wasn’t watching sappy love movies and day-dreaming about where I really wanted to be.
I really wanted to be curled up next to a man, planning a future that didn’t include looking over site plans at three o’clock in the flipping morning. Well, one man in particular, but that man looks at me like the boss’s daughter, and not in the naughty way. Not that he has a reason to look at me otherwise, I’m technically his boss, he even calls me Boss, and our relationship is disgustingly professional.
So, I pull into the gravel lot late, noting that the whole construction crew is already here. Of course. It makes me look like an amateur, like I have no idea how to run a company, but as long as my dad doesn’t find out, I’m good. He’s grooming me to take over, to run his dynasty once he retires to Bermuda or something. Maybe his plane will go down on the way. Then the company would be mine and I could make a decision for myself.
I climb out of the car, tuck a couple of pens into my tight bun, and grab my briefcase. Quickly, I check my appearance in the tinted window of my car. My pencil skirt is a little snug, but I look polished and professional. I look like I should, like the boss. My appearance matches my position. I run things, and all the men on the site treat me as such. Even Mr. Jennings treats me like I’m in charge. He’s the only one who knows Daddy is the one pulling the strings, but he hasn’t told the men, thankfully. With one complete job and one half done, things are ahead of schedule and running smoothly. Well, the job is running smoothly, my hormones are a totally different story. I made it all through school being driven, studious, and not like all the other girls. I didn’t have boyfriends, I didn’t go out partying. I worked my ass off and graduated early at the top of my class in high school and college.
It’s all paying off, until I walk toward the site and see him. Then my brain turns into a stuttering, aroused mess. No girl in their right mind can blame me. He’s built like a tank, like something out of every woman’s wet dream. He’s tall, wide, and hard all over. Not that I’ve noticed, but once Everett Jennings starts working and sweating in the Southern heat, the thin undershirt sticks to him in all the right places, and then I have to close my blinds or I accomplish nothing other than a puddle of drool and a need for a vibrator.
My heels sink into the clay dirt, making me wobble as I walk to the trailer, and I feel my hair slipping. I know this isn’t construction site attire, but I need to stand out, I need to look the part. I need to demand respect in my first job.
It’s already getting hot, really hot, and the sun doesn’t do my fair cheeks any favors. If I wasn’t blushing, I’d look like it anyway due to the summer sun. I avoid eye contact with the men, knowing they are all watching me. Knowing he is watching me. His eyes following me is my payback for being late. I keep my composure under the judgmental gazes of seasoned men on their young, inexperienced boss. Then my pen falls out of my hair, thudding on the dirt. I stop, take a step back, and stoop as ladylike as I possibly can to retrieve the pen. A whistle pierces across the site, and I whip around to see who it is just in time to see Mr. Jennings hit the offending party in the head and get in his face. Some other words are exchanged, and I give the men a warning glare, hurrying to the trailer. Mr. Jennings apologizes for the perv who whistled, and I give him a curt nod before I shut the door. I don’t rattle easily, being my father’s daughter is the blame for that, but Mr. Jennings makes me crumble. Something about the way he looks at me, or maybe it’s how I want him to look at me, makes me all jittery and hot, and … some other craziness. If I’m being honest, I’m horny as hell. I want nothing more than for Mr. Jennings to storm into my trailer and demand to have sex with me. I slump onto the chair behind desk, open the blinds so I can see the men working outside, and start my day.
Chapter Two
Everett
I chug the bottle of water, crushing it in my hand before throwing it into the metal barrel. It’s hot as fuck and the sun is barely up. Dex is next to me with the five other men on my crew, shooting the shit like we always do during water breaks, but my mind is elsewhere. I wish my body was elsewhere; namely against the curvy redhead strutting across the site. Miss McPherson, or Boss Lady as we all call her, owns the multimillion-dollar company we are currently employed by. Not that my company is anything to sneeze at. We’ve built half the damn city, including two apartment complexes under Boss Lady’s watchful eye. She has money, class, and a quality about her that only comes from being born into wealth. I, on the other hand, have worked my ass off to get where I am. Being the kid of a couple of worthless druggies landed me in foster care early in life, and I fought my way up from nothing. Boss Lady and I live in two very different worlds. But fuck if I don’t want those worlds to collide.
Paul, one of my new guys, lets out a long whistle when Boss Lady stoops to retrieve a dropped pen from the clay dirt, and is met with my hand to the back of his head as my other men step back. I step into his space, ready to rip the bastard’s head off. It’s an unspoken truth that no one looks at what’s mine. While she might not know, the woman belongs to me, and my crew knows it. On top of that, Paul is a rude motherfucker, and my crew is expected to act like gentlemen. Paul mumbles an apology and Miss McPherson stands, tucking the pen into her hair. I’ve seen her hair down once, when she and her father were first hiring my company, but not since. It’s always pulled back into a tight knot, but I want so badly to feel it spill into my hands. I want it brushing my chest while she rides my cock and to use it to jerk her head back and lick up her slender throat.
Her eyes catch mine and that beautiful pink hits her cheeks. “My apologies, Boss. It won’t happen again.” Her ice-blue eyes look me over and she nods once. I know I’m a sight. Red clay is on every surface of my jeans and white shirt, but I’m not the kind of boss that makes everyone else do the dirty work. I get my hands filthy with the rest of them. That is exactly why I have no business even looking at someone like Morgan McPherson—although, making her as filthy as I am is a nice thought. I wouldn’t mind letting her clean me up, either.
The day I first laid eyes on her I knew I had to have her as mine, but I’ve kept myself in check. It was about eight months back when she stood behind her father and made the deal to hire my company to renovate and add on to three small apartment complexes. Mr. McPherson made it clear that Boss Lady was in charge and that we were to respect her wishes. It was her first project as the newest member of The McPherson Corporation, and her father was letting her call the shots.
Boss Lady walks up the steps into the trailer serving as her office, glancing back at us, and catching my eyes one more time before the door slams behind her. I shov
e Paul, hard, so his back hits the trash barrel. “Don’t be disrespectful, asshole, or you’ll be looking for another job.” I glare at him, making sure he understands, and whistle for the men to get back to work.
The day is hot as hell and there is a lot to get done, but water breaks are how you keep your crew from passing out. No matter how tough a man is, Southern summer heat is a killer. Once the day is done, my men load up their tools, locking the big stuff in the shed, and I make my way to the trailer. Picturing her there alone makes me hard instantly. I can see her sitting at the desk through the blinds, so I walk in.
“Yes, I am very aware, but—” Miss McPherson gets cut off and rubs the heel of her hand into her forehead. “It’s not an oversight, it’s three million dollars!” I start to back out, but she holds a single finger up, halting me. “Fine, you know I hate that area, but wherever you want to go is fine. Thanks for meeting with me, Dad.” Morgan hangs the phone up, tossing it roughly on the desk, and groans.
“I’m sorry I interrupted. Just telling you that we’re out of here for the night.” Her head jerks up at my voice, and she gives me a tight smile.
“Of course, thank you, Mr. Jennings.” We stare for a moment longer, each of us appraising the other while she slowly stands.
“It’s not my place, but is everything all right?” I’ve watched the fire in her eyes dim over the last eight months. The vibrant, driven young woman is slowly fading, and it’s breaking my heart. She wants nothing to do with Daddy’s company, and that’s clear to anyone who pays attention, but I’m hoping I’m the only one noticing. I may kill another man for watching her that closely.
“Just an accounting error; I’ll get it worked out. Have a good night, Mr. Jennings.” My gaze trails down to the parted collar of her blouse then to the curve of her waist and back up. Everything about her is built for a man. Built for me. I shift, hoping my boss doesn’t notice the hard-on I’m sporting on her behalf.
“You too, Boss.” I wink at her just to watch her blush and leave her alone in the trailer. Maybe not truly alone. I’ll sit across the lot, waiting for her to leave before meeting the crew at O’Malley’s for drinks. Something about leaving her alone late in the evening doesn’t sit right with me. Some might view me as creepy, but from what I have seen of her father, I may be the only one with her best interest in mind.
Chapter Three
Morgan
I leave the site a little late after gathering all the papers I need to show Dad and his slimy accountant. The whole situation isn’t sitting well with me. Accounting is not my strong point, planning is, but even I know something is wrong. I walk to my car, noticing Mr. Jennings in his huge black pick-up at the other end of the lot. No matter how late I stay, his truck is there, waiting for me to leave. The first night it happened was during our first project together. It scared me a little then, but now it makes me feel safe. Him just being around makes me feel safe.
Everett Jennings is easily the most ruggedly sexy man I have ever seen and the star of every fantasy I’ve ever had. He’s probably in his early thirties, with the body of a god and the most mesmerizing hazel eyes. A wild mane of brown waves too long to be professional, but not so long that it could be pulled back, is always messy perfection. I want to run my hands through it. And those arms. The man has sun-tanned arm porn for days. I toss him a polite wave, knowing he’s watching, and head toward my meeting. I love that he’s watching me. I love it so much that I barely notice my drive across town.
I snap out of my lusty daydream and step out of my car, locking it with the fob. I hate the west side of town—high crime and lots of bars means I’ve been mugged there twice, but, thankfully, I never carry cash and I didn’t get hurt. Dad doesn’t care what makes me uncomfortable. He never has before, so why start now? The last time I was robbed, he suggested I dress down to avoid “looking wealthy”. It’s like telling him to have a less nice house to avoid being robbed. Tact isn’t my father’s strong point. One of Dad’s companies owns Scavelli’s, so we always go there to do our business, even if it’s in the worst neighborhood.
I’m greeted by the mouth-watering smell of Italian food, and Maurice seats me in the back, saying my father is running ten minutes late. Dad can call the restaurant but not send me a text about his tardiness. Oh, well. It gives me time to go over the numbers one more time before he gets here. The apartment project is supposed to be showing him that I can make it, that I have what it takes to take over one day. I never wanted to take over when I was younger, but I learned at a young age that what I want doesn’t matter. Now, it’s expected of me, so I am determined to rise to his standards. In reality, my life-long dream is to be a wife and mother, to give some cute little kids all the love I missed out on, but I could never tell him that. My mother got enough abuse from him on that subject, and I refuse to let him do it to me. Dad married her, got her pregnant, then refused to let her work but called her lazy. Bastard. He wanted a son to carry on his family name but got me, and as he put it, “You’ll have to do.”
An hour and three Diet Cokes later, I get a message from Maurice that my father is not showing because he got held up at some bullshit meeting. I spend all day locked in a trailer stressing about numbers instead of watching Mr. Jennings work, after being late, and now I am in a shitty part of town at night alone. Daddy didn’t even have the decency to call my phone, he called the damn restaurant. I pay for my drinks, leaving a tip for Maurice, and stack my papers back inside my bag, cursing my asshole father under my breath. My apartment is clear across town and I am pissed and tired. I thank Maurice as I leave, and he tells me to be careful.
The night air is just as hot and sticky as the day, but at least a slight breeze rustles the wisps of hair falling around my neck. No amount of hairspray can hold in the muggy heat. I pass bar after bar on the way back to the lot I parked in, but it’s not until I have to turn down an alley that the creepy feeling prickles through me. The feeling that has me convinced that I’m being watched. Each little alcove has a door leading to a bar or club, and none of them are lit—too easy for someone to hide. I glance around behind me and see nothing, so I silence the paranoid part of me. I’m about to come out next to another bar into better lighting, convinced that the feeling was all in my head, gun-shy after the last time I got mugged, until someone calls out behind me.
Before I can turn, a thick arm grabs me from behind, pulling me back into the alley by my waist. Fight or flight kicks in, and I fight. I try to scream, but a gloved hand covers my mouth and the grip on my stomach tightens. I fight, kicking and screaming into the glove until I am thrown roughly into the brick wall like I weigh nothing. My vision blurs when my head bounces off the rough surface. I feel the gravel and grit imbed into my hands, but it doesn’t hurt. I’m just focused on the chance to run. A little relief slips in, but not for long. A weight lands on top of me, and no amount of kicking or pushing will move it. I open my mouth to scream, blinking to clear my eyes, and a sharp pain spreads across my neck. My shirt is torn and the sticky air hits me at the same time as a stab against my neck. I flail, worthlessly, screaming, trying to strike the person tearing at my clothes, but he’s too heavy, too big. My too-tight skirt keeps me from kicking him with my heels. The knife digs into my neck, holding me against the wall.
“Shut up and be still,” a rough, angry voice hisses at me. Something hits my head in the same place as the wall, and the blackness tries to consume me. Please don’t rape me. Please don’t kill me. All I can think is that I am going to die in this nasty alley. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to stay conscious enough to fight and scream. I scream into the glove, shoving, pushing, kicking.
Then the weight and knife are gone. I finally take a deep breath and open my eyes to see two shadowy figures fighting. My world slows down further. The man on top, and it’s definitely a man, is furiously punching the one under him. The guy underneath doesn’t stand a chance when the on top is so big. I yell, hoping to stop the fight while also hoping the guy winning is my
knight in shining armor. The man on top jumps up, coming toward me, huge and imposing, as the other one scrambles out of the alley the way I came. I realize my mistake and curl into a ball. My mind knows it won’t help, but I’m working on instinct. I should have run while I had the chance. The massive shadow powering toward me has me closing my eyes and hoping I’m not about to die.
“Please, just leave me alone,” I sob, hoping he takes pity on me.
A soft hand touches my shoulder and the deep timbre of a familiar voice hits my ears. “I got you, Boss.” Everett Jennings drapes a flannel shirt over me and scoops me up, cradling me against his chest. “You’re safe now.”
My arms instinctively go around his neck, and I bury my face in his chest. “Thank you,” is all I can manage. My whole body is shaking, and the pain starts to spread through me as the adrenaline wears off. My head and hands burn; my neck is throbbing, and my whole body starts to ache. He carries me several long strides, and I try to open my eyes, but my head hurts too bad.
I hear the beep of a car unlocking and jump a little. “You’re safe, Boss.” He kisses my hair, and I nod. I’m placed on a seat and his hands slide down to my hips to steady me. I open my eyes and see the worry etched on his face in the dim interior light. When I put my foot down to adjust my posture, my ankle screams in pain, and I gasp, making him grip me tighter.
“Let’s get you home and cleaned up.” Everett reaches over and buckles me snugly before walking around the truck and climbing in. “What happened?” The truck roars to life and his hand moves to rest lightly on my thigh, making me feel even safer and slightly squirmy. The man I have been dreaming of for months just saved my life and literally swept me off my feet. If Everett wasn’t there to rescue me …
