“Who?”
“The horny attorney—who do you think?”
“Oh. Uh, Stewart.”
“Well, I’m really happy for you, Sam. I hope that what you and Stewart have will blossom into true love.”
Somehow Samantha doubted it, considering Stewart had been walking by her door when Teague had left last night and she’d been wearing a robe. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the plans Teague had been holding weren’t the only thing that had been rolled. And the strange thing was, she hadn’t cared.
Sam’s lips parted in sudden realization—she was in love with Teague Brownlee.
“You were right, Sam,” Carley said. “All you had to do was decide not to waste time on any more unsuitable guys, and next thing you know you’re having a wild fling with a guy who’s not only great in bed, but successful, too.”
Sam massaged the sudden discomfort behind her breastbone. “Right,” she said weakly. Good God, what had she done? Fallen for a man who could never make her happy.
Yet he did, she realized in a wondrous split second of revelation. There was no denying that she just wanted to be around Teague, that he dominated her thoughts day and night. And no matter what he’d chosen to do with his life, he was the only man she’d ever known who could make her body come alive, who could talk about her work and who made her feel confident.
“Sam?”
Besides, digging ditches was not only an honest way to make a living but was essential for a project like hers to be completed. How could she have been such a snob? She’d almost closed her heart to Teague because he didn’t aspire to a flashy, high-stress corporate job…because he wasn’t chasing the almighty dollar, because he chose to do what he enjoyed and to lead a simple life.
“Sam? Are you there?”
A rap sounded on her office door, then Price stuck his head inside. “The inspector is on the phone.”
Samantha’s heartbeat picked up. “Carley, I hate to run, but I have to take this call about the library job site pre-closing inspection. Wish me luck. This could make or break my career.”
“You have it. A man in your bed and a feather in your cap—sounds like you’re having a banner week, Sam. Let me know how it goes.”
Samantha said goodbye and disconnected the call. Price held up crossed fingers and backed out, closing the door. Sam sent a quick prayer heavenward, then pressed the button for the call on hold. “This is Samantha Stone.”
“Ms. Stone, this is Daniel Fenton with the city inspector’s office.”
“Yes, Mr. Fenton, I’ve been expecting your call.”
“I’m afraid we’ve got some problems on the Carlyle Library site.”
Her stomach plummeted. “Problems? What kind of problems?”
He started reciting items, including permits that hadn’t been applied for and ending with the more serious allegation that foundations for neighboring buildings hadn’t been reinforced properly to ensure they weren’t compromised structurally from the amount of dirt being displaced for the library foundation. There were concerns about water runoff and even soil samples that indicated they might need to dig deeper to reach more bedrock. The longer the list grew, the lower Sam’s heart sank. “Did you review these items with my foreman, Mr. Brownlee?”
“Sure. He didn’t seem concerned.”
She sighed in relief. “So there won’t be a problem addressing all these items before Monday?”
The inspector’s dry laugh sounded on the line. “Monday? No way. Maybe a week from Monday if you can get your permits expedited and if your foreman and crew break their backs between now and then.”
She tamped down the alarm that threatened to choke her. “That’s impossible, Mr. Fenton. You see, the excavation has to be completed and pass a final inspection before Monday at eight a.m.”
He made a rueful noise. “I don’t know what to tell you, ma’am, but even if by some miracle you got things ready for inspection, it would take another miracle to get a city inspector out on the weekend.”
Her breathing became shallow—this wasn’t happening. “I…I need to speak to my foreman. How can I reach you, Mr. Fenton?”
He gave her his cell phone number. When she disconnected the call, she took a few calming breaths, telling herself not to panic…yet. She picked up her briefcase and headed out the door. Ignoring Price’s questions, she left the office and drove to the library job site. To her dismay, the workers—what few of them remained—seemed to be packing up their equipment. She spotted Griggs and hurried over. “What’s going on here?”
Griggs didn’t seem to want to make eye contact with her. “The crew’s moving on to another job.”
“But you can’t,” she said, gesturing wildly at the unfinished site. “You have to complete this excavation first.”
“Just doing what we’re told, ma’am.”
Frustration and anger billowed in her chest. “Where’s Teague?”
“He left.”
“He left?”
Griggs removed a slip of paper from his shirt pocket. “He said to give you this.”
She took it and Griggs walked away, gathering his tools.
Bewildered, Samantha read the address written on the paper. Why would Teague leave her an address in an upscale part of town?
When realization dawned, her shoulders fell. He’d obviously found a new place to work and was taking his crew with him. A sense of betrayal washed over her. How could he leave her high and dry like this? And a deeper hurt pierced her heart—she’d fallen in love with him when apparently all he wanted was a roll in the sack for old times’ sake.
She walked back to her car, pushing aside her raging emotions for the moment—she had to try to salvage the library project and her job. She programmed in the address that Teague had left for her into her car’s GPS system. When she was underway, she took a deep breath and dialed her father’s number. Her throat convulsed to swallow the pride that stuck there, but under the circumstances it was a call that she felt she needed to make.
“Packard here,” he barked into the phone.
“Hi, Daddy—did I call at a bad time?”
“No worse than any other,” he said sourly. “Are you okay, Sam?”
“I’ve been better,” she admitted. “I need a favor.”
“What?”
She forced as much strength into her voice as she could muster. “I just learned that the Carlyle Library site isn’t going to be ready by Monday. I was hoping you would be willing to call Russ O’Bryant and ask him if the committee would be willing to give me another week.” She held her breath waiting for his response.
“Did your foreman-loverboy let you down?” Packard asked drily.
She closed her eyes briefly. “Please, Daddy, don’t go there.”
“Sweetheart,” he said finally, “you said I should stay out of this. I’m afraid this time, you’re on your own.”
She blinked back the sudden tears, hating herself for asking in the first place—he was right, after all. This was her project to win or to lose. While she’d spent all her time worrying about her retaining walls, she’d let other important details get away from her, and she had only herself to blame. “I understand, Daddy. I’m sorry that I put you in an awkward position. I’ll call you soon.”
Sam disconnected the call and inhaled deeply. The GPS system beeped loudly, telling her she’d missed a turn. She pounded her fist on the steering wheel and turned around, hurt and puzzled over why Teague would abandon her job site for another. She turned into a posh, new neighborhood of palatial homes that she recognized as having garnered several awards for the developer. Some of the homes were finished and landscaped, some in various stages of completion from foundation to being under roof. The GPS system led her deeper into the neighborhood to the more established—and more expensive—homes on sprawling, wooded acreage. She leaned forward to look out the car window at the looming estates. Teague must have gotten a remodeling job or maybe some landscaping work. He was also
going to get a piece of her mind.
To go along with the piece of her heart that he’d stolen.
“You have reached your destination,” the GPS system announced.
She looked up at the soaring cedar plank and glass modern home nestled into a wooded lot. As she pulled into the driveway, she distantly acknowledged that she liked the mid-twentieth-century design, craning to spot signs of workmen on the grounds. Seeing none, she climbed out of her car and started down the side of the house, thinking the work was being done in the rear of the house.
Her pulse raced as she thought of what she was going to say when she saw him. There had to be some kind of mistake—maybe he thought the inspection of the library site was over and everything was fine, or maybe he misunderstood how important it was that everything be finished by Monday—
“Are you looking for someone?”
She pivoted her head to see that a tall man had come out onto the porch of the home. For a split second, the sun glare hid his face, but then he took a step forward and she blinked to take in what she was seeing: Teague, dressed in black slacks, a cream-colored shirt and expensive-looking dress shoes, holding a glass of red wine. On his wrist was a Rolex watch. He looked as if he were fresh from the shower, his dark hair gleaming and damp around his neck, and everything about him screamed money.
She frowned and moved toward him, her mind clogged with confusion. “Teague? What’s going on?”
He gave her a flat smile and gestured to everything within sight. “Welcome to my home, Samantha.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SAMANTHA STARED AT TEAGUE against the backdrop of the multi-million-dollar estate and felt disoriented…deceived.
“What’s the matter, Samantha?” Teague asked. “Cat got your tongue?”
“This is your house?” she murmured. “But I thought—”
“That I was just a ditch-digger?”
“I…” She felt as if she were floating, lost, that the ground had fallen out from under her. “What’s going on? Wh-why were you on the job site that day?”
His eyes glittered dangerously. “Why don’t you come in, and I’ll explain.”
Curiosity and longing drove her forward. Moving in a fog, she climbed the long, shallow steps leading to the front door. He gestured for her to precede him and she stepped inside the house onto what looked to be a Tibetan rug, immediately captivated by the breathtaking spaciousness, the soaring ceilings, the enormous skylights that spilled sunshine into the house, decorated in a minimalist, masculine style. And unless her eyes deceived her, that was a Robert Motherwell painting on the far wall.
Across the expansive entryway, Dixon came bounding up to her, his toenails clicking on the rustic white ash flooring, carrying the chew toy she’d given him. He dropped it on the rug at her feet proudly and nudged at her hand for attention. She patted his head tentatively, suddenly unsure of herself…unsure of everything. She straightened and met Teague’s gaze, astonished all over again at how stunningly handsome he was in his sleek designer clothes…although, she acknowledged vaguely, not more so than in his dusty jeans and sweat-stained T-shirt.
“Okay,” she said carefully, “so obviously you’re not a laborer. Why were you on the library job site that day?”
He touched his shoulder. “I found it was a great way to rehabilitate my injury. And I like getting back on the work site once in a while—it keeps me grounded.”
Feeling like an idiot, Samantha crossed her arms. “And why did you let me believe that you were a construction worker?”
He shrugged. “Because you wanted to.”
“But you let me…hire you.” She fought back tears. “You humiliated me.”
He gave a dry laugh. “You treated me as if I was a second class citizen because I was using a shovel, and I humiliated you?”
She put her hand to her temple, trying to make sense of his ruse. “What do you do for a living?”
“Mostly real estate investments now, but I did my fair share of moving dirt while I built my business.”
Teague only works when he wants to. Samantha shook her head, baffled at his deception. “Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”
His eyes narrowed and he set down his drink. He stood close to her, close enough to touch. “I started to, when you offered me the job that night at the bar. But when I hesitated, you said that you’d pay me well. I realized that to you I’d always be a hired hand.”
She started to deny his accusation, but she realized that she hadn’t asked Teague for any details about his life, where he lived, what he’d been doing over the years. She’d simply…assumed. “So why did you take the job?”
His smiled was smug. “Because I saw my chance to get even with you.”
She squinted. “Get even? You mean you took this job and purposely botched it so I would miss the deadline? Lose the library project?” She stared, incredulous. “Why would you do something like that?”
A look of disgust came over his face. “Did you grind people under your heel so often that you don’t remember?” He reached into his back pocket and removed his wallet. “Let me jog your memory. I was a clodhopper with a crush on the most spoiled little rich girl in school who wouldn’t give me the time of day—until I crashed your party and you let me spend the night in your bed.”
“And that was one of the most memorable nights of my life,” she murmured.
“Really? Do you remember leaving this note when you left?” He removed a folded scrap of paper from his wallet and handed it to her.
She took it with trembling hands and opened it to read her own handwriting. Don’t track dirt on my carpet when you leave.
Her eyes filled with tears at the callous young woman she had been—too worried about getting into trouble and too eager to rid herself of his memory to consider how the note might have come across to Teague.
“You didn’t have to remind me that I was dirt-poor trash,” he bit out. “I knew that pretty well all on my own.”
“I didn’t know you’d take it that way,” she said. “I didn’t think that night had meant anything more to you than bragging rights to your buddies.” She struggled to hold back her tears. “All of this—the job, the seduction—it’s all been part of a master plan to…to put me in my place?”
A smug look settled on his face. “It worked, didn’t it?”
Her cheeks felt wet, but she managed a smile. “Yes. It worked, Teague. You win. The joke’s on me because not only have I lost the biggest project of my career, but I also fell in love with you.”
Teague blinked. He’d expected Samantha’s anger but not her tears. Oh, maybe the ranting tears of a spoiled woman but not the dribbling tears of someone who seemed…hurt. Then he reminded himself that hurt to Samantha Stone was just a temporary inconvenience… any hurt she might be feeling was simply a bruised ego, nothing compared to the bone-cutting hurt that she’d inflicted on him with her careless, cruel note. The kind of hurt that left a young man feeling as if he’d never be good enough, that made him work harder and longer to achieve the monetary success that would fulfill him, that would force other people to look up to him.
Cynicism curled his mouth. “How convenient of you to suddenly proclaim your feelings for me after you realize that I’m not just a lowly ditch-digger.” He shook his head and emitted a harsh laugh. “No, I’m not going to fall for that again. As far as your precious library goes—there will be other projects. After all, you’re not the kind of person who will settle for less in life than you deserve.”
He walked past her and whistled for Dixon, who looked up at Samantha and whined.
“Dixon,” Teague said more firmly, “come.”
The dog looked at her with mournful eyes, then picked up the toy and followed Teague.
Teague glanced down at her shoes, soiled, presumably from the job site. “Don’t track dirt on my carpet when you leave.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
SAMANTHA STOOD ROOTED to the floor watching Teague and Dixon wa
lk away, waves of painful emotion breaking over her—degradation, humiliation, betrayal, anguish, heartbreak. She had thought when her mother died that that was as alone as she would ever feel. But her mother hadn’t left willingly, hadn’t dangled her love like a carrot, snatching it away when Samantha reached for it. This, Samantha realized, watching Teague walk away, this is loneliness.
Swallowing against the ache that lodged in her throat, she backed out of the door, kneeling to brush away the dirt her shoes had left on the expensive rug before pulling the door closed.
She made it to her car by putting one foot in front of the other, slid behind the wheel and hit the return-trip button on the GPS system so she wouldn’t have to think about the traffic or the turns to get back home. She was still numb when she walked onto the elevator in her building.
“Hi.”
She turned her head to see Stewart Estes standing there in his pristine suit, his eyes slightly guarded.
“Hi, Stewart,” she said, conjuring up a small smile before glancing away.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “You look…upset.”
“Bad day at work,” she said. “I’m fine, but thank you for asking.”
He nodded stiffly and turned back to the control panel but waited politely for her to precede him off the elevator when it stopped on their floor. She walked to her door, feeling like such a fool—with a perfectly nice guy borrowing sugar from her, how could she have fallen in love with Teague Brownlee?
Because he made her feel alive, and he made her feel adventurous, and he made her feel like there was more to the world than what she had created in her own little corner. He drew her out of herself…but apparently not enough to truly see him.
Teague was right—she hadn’t treated him fairly when they were younger, and when their paths had crossed again she had jumped to false conclusions about him based on his appearance and her expectations of him. Then she’d thrown money at him and taken for granted that he would handle the messy details of the job site, that he would cover her, not just because he was an employee but because of the superior/subordinate relationship they’d always had.
You Can Leave Your Hard Hat On Page 7
