by Cora Brent
OTHER TITLES BY CORA BRENT
Worked Up
Fired
Unruly
Hickey
Breathless Point
The Gentry Boys
Draw
Risk
Game
Fall
Hold
Cross: A Novella
Walk
Edge
Snow: A Holiday Novella
Gentry Generations
Strike
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2018 by Cora Brent
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503900790
ISBN-10: 1503900797
Cover design by Eileen Carey
For my husband, who has given me two beautiful children and sixteen years of love and laughter.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
“He did what?” I tried not to shriek into the phone as my construction foreman explained that one of the workers had decided to relieve his bladder over an empty elevator shaft.
“And unfortunately the county building inspector was standing fifteen floors below,” Barnes admitted with reluctance.
“Shit.”
“No, piss. But almost as bad.”
I stifled another curse and pressed the crosswalk button as I headed back to the office.
“I’ll be at the site this afternoon as soon as my meeting’s over,” I told Barnes. “I’ll also call the inspector to smooth things over. The piss king is fired, effective immediately.”
“Already booted him off the jobsite,” Barnes assured me.
“Good. While I’m there I’ll address the entire crew to remind them of the jobsite code of conduct. I’ll text you when I’m on my way, so please make sure they are assembled.”
Silence met my statement. Then Barnes sighed. “Whatever you say.”
I knew the foreman thought I was overbearing at times, but this art museum project was extremely important. Everything needed to go well because any day now the partners of Lester & Brown were going to announce which project manager would receive the coveted downtown courthouse project.
“Approximately two o’clock,” I told him. “Hopefully sooner.”
“Sounds good. I forgot to ask you, did we get a plumber yet?”
“Signed Gable and Son last week,” I said, slightly annoyed by the feeling that Barnes was second-guessing me. Then I reminded myself that the man was just being meticulous. There were other managers who were known to drop important balls now and then. But I never did. Yet Barnes had known me since I started with the company. As a site foreman, he managed the daily construction labor, but he reported directly to the assigned project manager, who bore ultimate responsibility for everything from scheduling to the flow of materials and the overall budget. That was me. Perhaps Barnes resented my managerial role, but he was usually the sort of guy who kept his head down and did his job. It’s why I always requested him on all of my projects.
“You can always expect that I have everything under control,” I added, a tad too briskly.
“Of course you do,” Barnes said, with the same hint of snappishness. “I’ll see you later, Audrey.”
Of course you do.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I muttered as an elderly man in a red baseball cap paused to stare at me. I gave him a slight smile and started to cross the street.
Barnes’s words would have been a compliment if delivered with less irritation. I tried to shove away the vague annoyance I felt over the conversation, though a nerve had been struck. I had been called a control freak at work. Hell, I’d been called a lot worse. Still, Barnes was also under a lot of pressure and probably didn’t mean any harm. I wouldn’t be bringing this up later. There were more important tasks to deal with, and the last thing I wanted to do was give anyone a reason to call me oversensitive. It was hard enough being the only female project manager in the firm.
I was so lost in my inner monologue that I failed to notice the light had changed. The waiting pedestrians had already crossed to the other side and traffic was beginning to move. Someone grabbed my arm and yanked me backward, pulling me out of the road.
“Shit!” I dropped my handbag in the street and went tumbling in the direction of whoever had seized me.
“I’ve got you,” said a deep voice. An arm braced me around the waist. For one insane second I wanted to go limp against its power like a swooning virgin in an old-fashioned bodice ripper.
Then I looked up and got a load of who the voice and the arm belonged to.
All thoughts of virginal swooning evaporated as Jason Roma grinned down at me.
“Don’t you know any better than to wander into a busy street?” His mouth tilted into the perpetually infuriating smirk that I’d grown used to despising after six years.
“I’m fine,” I snapped, shoving him away. My heel wobbled as I took a big step back, farther away from the curb and from Jason Roma, from his strong arms and his pine-scented aftershave that always made me think of sex whether I wanted to or not. But even though I stumbled a little, I managed to avoid falling.
He calmly watched me. “You won’t be fine when you turn around.”
I brushed my hands over my skirt as if Jason had somehow gotten it dirty. “Why’s that?”
He pointed. “Because your overpriced status symbol just got eviscerated by a city bus.”
My head whipped around. The Louis Vuitton bag I’d bought for myself last Christmas was lying in a deflated heap in the middle of Third Street. A pickup truck added to the damage by running over it once more, this time managing to displace the contents, because somehow I never remembered to snap it closed. Jason Roma and every pedestrian waiting on either corner got a nice view of my crushed lipstick, scattered tampons, and the two condoms I kept in a side pocket just in case I stopped working long enough to have sex with someone.
At least I’d been holding my phone when I decided to take a stroll into traffic. It was still clutched in my palm.
The light changed again. People began crossing once more. Vaguely I recognized I was missing my brief opportunity to run into the street and collect my belongings.
Then I blinked and realized I didn’t need to because Jason Roma ha
d braved downtown traffic to do it for me.
“Here you go,” he said triumphantly a moment later, handing over the sad remains of the handbag. “Looks like your wallet’s still inside and in one piece, if a bit flatter.”
I tried to accept it with dignity. “Thank you.”
I had to cradle the handbag in my arms like a newborn baby because the seams were busted, and even though Jason had tried to stuff the loose tampons and other objects inside, they were in danger of escaping through the holes.
“I appreciate the help,” I said with a bit of sincerity, which was odd for me when I was talking to Jason.
He raised an eyebrow. “You mean in saving your life? Or retrieving your purse?”
Somehow I got the feeling he was on the verge of busting out into laughter, but that was a typical impression one got from Jason. He was the type of guy who assumed constant ridicule was part of his charm. Jason Roma would probably find a reason to chuckle over a smallpox epidemic.
I looked down at the designer logo now sporting tire tracks. “Both,” I mumbled.
He leaned forward, too close. “You’re welcome, Audrey.”
I tried not to take notice of the fact that Jason looked like he’d just stepped away from a modeling shoot. How the hell did he manage to appear cool and freshly pressed on a grimy urban street beneath the Arizona sun? His almond-shaped dark eyes raked me over with amusement. Those eyes of his looked for a long time and lingered in places they shouldn’t. I fought the urge to press my thighs together in order to quell the rush of heat. He’d notice, I was sure of it.
“Let’s go get a drink,” he suggested with a jerk of his head. “The Cobalt Room is just down the street.”
“A drink? It’s not even one o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Good. Then they won’t be crowded.”
I glared at him. “I have a meeting.”
He grinned. I never knew a grin could really be devilish until I met Jason Roma. But his grins were full of trouble and sex, especially when they landed in my direction. “Skip it.”
“I can’t and you know it.”
Jason dropped his usual smirk and a concerned expression crossed his face. He reached out to brush a nonexistent object from my shoulder. “I think you’ve had a hell of a scare. You should sit down for a few minutes and collect your thoughts.”
“My thoughts are perfectly collected, thank you.”
“That’s too bad,” Jason said, and somehow he was closer again, too close. How had he managed to get so close? I hadn’t even seen him take a step. “I would have been willing to help you with that chore. I think we both would have enjoyed the process.”
I swallowed and felt myself biting my lip, an old nervous habit.
The light changed yet again. I had to get away before I did something really stupid.
“Look, Jason, I’ve got to go. Thanks for your help.” I pivoted and carried my ruined purse across the street in my arms like a dead animal.
“Hey, Audrey?”
I turned around.
Jason Roma held a wrapped condom aloft. “I forgot to give this back to you.”
Gritting my teeth, I reversed and started marching toward the glittering high-rise that contained the offices of Lester & Brown Construction. Mercifully, Jason did not follow.
“It’s okay!” Jason shouted to my back from where I’d left him on the opposite corner. “I’m sure I can find a use for it!”
Jason’s words were still bouncing around my head as I took the elevator up to the eleventh floor. I felt like I’d just lost a battle in a war I hadn’t even agreed to fight. It was always better to just avoid him.
Noting that I was running low on time at this point, I paused in the ladies’ room for a quick check. My usually pale skin was flushed, but my hazel eyes glared back at me from the mirror without any smears of mascara. I secured the clip that kept my shoulder-length blonde hair out of my face. My lips looked rather puckered, bloodless, and I really wished my tube of Sephora lipstick was not lying in a waxy melting puddle on Third Street.
But I couldn’t fix that right now any more than I could fix the fact that Jason Roma had swiped one of my emergency condoms. Knowing Jason, the thing was surely destined to be unwrapped, used, and tossed into a trash can somewhere in the Phoenix city limits before nightfall.
And that doesn’t bother me a damn bit.
Less than two minutes remained before the official start of my meeting, and I hated being the last one to walk into the conference room.
“Holy shit!” gasped Helen Delflorio from the other side of the bathroom door as I flung it open.
“Sorry,” I said.
She put a hand on her sizeable chest. “Almost knocked me over, doll,” she said with a wink, which was supposed to be funny because Helen was a big woman—a former bodybuilder. Meanwhile, I got tired after a twenty-minute workout with a pair of five-pound weights.
Helen worked for the accounting department and was one of the few women on the management floor. I liked her. And if I had time to talk, I might have told her about my brief, humiliating encounter with Jason Roma. Then she’d tell me a bawdy story about her colorful past, and as a result I wouldn’t feel so gross about mine.
“Lunch tomorrow?” she asked me as I squeezed around her.
“Sounds good,” I said breathlessly, and then hustled down the long row of high-walled cubicles.
I stopped by my desk only to toss my busted purse into a drawer and grab a notebook and pen, even though I knew I’d be scribbling a grocery list while my boss prattled on about his charity golf weekend in Scottsdale.
Luckily I wasn’t the last one into the conference room for the weekly project status briefing. I wasn’t the first one either.
The man who had been a witness to my morning embarrassment motioned to the chair beside him, but I ignored the gesture and took an empty one at the opposite end of the long table. I primly pretended to write something just to avoid acknowledging his presence. Jason Roma seemed untroubled by the rejection and sat there casually, toying with his cell phone.
“And how is everyone’s day going?” asked Elgin McCray, the chief financial officer, who often talked to the staff as if we were kindergarteners. Somewhere along the way he’d read one book about model executive behavior and had taken the contents to heart.
“Laptop had a meltdown,” complained Frank Leary, a fellow project manager who always made it a point to complain about something. “Damn inconvenient.”
“Everything’s great. Been working around the clock to get a bid out,” chimed in Mark Peterson, another project manager, one who never missed an opportunity to suck up.
“I witnessed a near tragedy a few minutes ago when a woman stepped into traffic on Third Street,” said a voice that caused me to pick up my pen and begin scribbling my list in the hopes no one would notice that my face was overheating.
“Really?” asked Karen Graner. I loved her as a project assistant when it came to filling out purchase orders, but she’d probably believe you if you said clouds were made of cotton candy. “Is she okay?”
Avocados.
I looked at the word I had written. I didn’t even like avocados.
“A passerby was strong enough to pull her back onto the sidewalk before she got crushed under the wheels of a bus. But as to whether or not she’s okay, I’m not too sure.”
American cheese.
Karen didn’t have time to offer further comment, and I didn’t have time to continue my grocery list, because Marty Lester walked into the room. It would be more accurate to say he sprinted into the room. He was a fast mover for such a short guy. Marty, the majority owner, chief executive officer, and president, was always referred to as The Man. He actually referred to himself that way. If you were unlucky enough to receive a call from his huge corner office, the caller ID on your dated desk phone would actually say The Man. When I told people outside the company this fun fact, they usually laughed and figured I was joking. I wasn’t.<
br />
Davis Brown, a prominent shareholder who occasionally showed up for meetings and events, followed. He heaved his thick body into a chair in the corner and looked bored—his desire to keep an eye on things warred with his natural inertia.
The Man fired off questions at the project management team and awaited the answers with obvious impatience. “And the Koppling wing of the art museum?” All eyes fell on me.
“Two minor modifications, but completion will be on schedule,” I said with confidence.
The Man nodded. “And the budget?” he asked the CFO.
Elgin McCray consulted a pile of spreadsheets. “Koppling is within budget for materials. And it looks like labor will likewise remain in budget.”
“It will,” I said, knowing I could guarantee that.
The Man was pleased by the news. “Good work, Audrey. Moving on. What’s the status of the Glendale Avenue Apartments?”
“We’ll be wrapping up a week early,” said Jason Roma.
“Budget?”
Elgin McCray peered at his spreadsheets again. He let out a low whistle. “Under budget. Considerably.”
“Excellent.” Marty Lester clapped his hands together.
Jason Roma grinned at me. I did not grin back. I examined my grocery list.
Apples.
Artichokes.
Apparently I was planning to subsist solely on foods beginning with the letter A.
The Man described some upcoming bid opportunities around the state and prodded Elgin McCray to stand up for a moment to lecture us about containing labor costs. I thought about pointing out the difficulty of containing labor costs when the estimates we used came from the ambitious sales team’s efforts to land the bid, but that would have opened up an entire barrel of worms, and anyway, this wasn’t the time or the place.
I glanced across the table. Jason Roma was leaning back in his chair with his sleeves rolled up above the elbow so I had a good view of his tanned, muscular forearms. Forearms shouldn’t be enough to get a girl all aroused in a crowded conference room, but in this case there was a very firm body to go with them.
Jason stifled a yawn and shifted in his chair as The Man discussed tomorrow’s photo shoot for promotional materials to be used in an upcoming trade show. I returned to my list.
