Her arrogance had not only cost her the love of her life but the job of her career.
And she couldn’t blame her father for the snob she’d grown into—how many times had he said that no matter how much he trusted his employees, the buck stopped with him—he checked every detail of an important job himself.
She closed the door behind her and straightened, shaking off her personal despair over Teague—she had the rest of her life to brood about what might have been, but she had only two more days to come up with a plan to salvage the library project. She bypassed the counter where just days before Teague had spread plans for them to study and had instead wound up making love—correction…having sex.
Pushing the erotic images out of her mind, she headed for the drafting table in her den. Without a crew, she couldn’t do anything to the site before the Monday morning meeting, but she could prepare a passionate presentation for the board of directors, accept blame for the job delay and ask for more time. In return she’d offer to forego the design details of the library that would have been her signature in order to trim the budget.
It would be a humbling experience but necessary.
She went into the bathroom to change clothes and spotted Teague’s yellow hard hat. Her face burned when she remembered asking him to wear it while they had sex. He must have felt belittled, used…manipulated. She didn’t blame him for hating her…she hated herself for behaving like a debutante sleeping with the hired help.
Feeling sadly wiser, Samantha changed clothes, brewed a pot of coffee, spread the current plans for the library on the drafting table and settled in for a marathon work session.
* * *
DIXON WHINED and dropped the chew toy that Samantha had given him at Teague’s feet in front of the leather club chair where he sat in his big, empty office.
Teague frowned. “Get over it, buddy.” Then he took another drink of bourbon from his glass. Two rounds of the stuff hadn’t erased from his mind the stricken look on Samantha’s face when he’d told her that he’d been playing her all along. Instead of the sense of vindication he’d expected to feel, a stone of guilt had dropped to the bottom of his stomach and had grown heavier since she’d left—after brushing away the dirt on his stupid rug like he’d asked her to do.
He put the cold glass against his temple, hoping the chill would jar him out of his funk and remind him that Samantha deserved everything that she’d gotten. Dixon put his warm head on Teague’s knee and looked up at him with the most sorrowful eyes imaginable.
Teague sighed and put his hand on his pet’s head. “I know how you feel.” He set down the glass of bourbon and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He flipped it open and punched in a number, relieved when it was answered on the first ring.
“Griggs, it’s Teague. I need your help.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SAMANTHA PULLED UP to the job site Monday morning wearing sunglasses to hide her lack of sleep and a Dolce & Gabbana pant suit to boost her confidence. Even though she was early, to her dismay, several cars were already in the parking lot. The last thing she wanted was to be perceived as not caring about the deadline, especially since she hadn’t met it. She grabbed her briefcase and hurried toward the site, her stomach in knots.
Russ O’Bryant and four other members of the board of directors stood peering out over the site. She hoped that the fact that the site had come so far would help them to visualize the building she had proposed.
“Good morning, Mr. O’Bryant,” she said.
His jowly face creased in a wry smile. “Good morning, Ms. Stone. Cutting it a little close, wouldn’t you say?”
She looked to where he indicated and frowned at the hordes of workers streaming away from the site toward their vehicles parked all around the perimeter. Two men in particular stood out in the center of the job site—one of them, she realized with a start, was Teague, in his work clothes, complete with hard hat and with Dixon at his side.
Samantha inhaled, her heart clicking overtime. What was he doing here?
As she watched, Teague accepted what looked like a folder of some kind and shook the other man’s hand, who then walked away. Teague turned and strode toward the group, his gaze tracking hers. Dixon spotted her and ran ahead, bounding up to lick her hand.
She smiled and petted the dog but was dismayed to realize that despite everything that had happened, her body still reacted as Teague approached, her senses reeling. It was going to take a long time to get over him.
“Good morning, Ms. Stone,” he said formally, removing his hard hat. His hair was flattened, his face, neck and arms almost black with grime, his clothes sweat-stained. He had never looked more handsome to her.
“Good morning,” she managed, confused.
“Here are the inspection reports,” he said, thrusting the folder into her hand. “I think you’ll find that everything is in order. The site is ready, with all paperwork filed and approved.” He swept his glance over the directors to include them. “You’ll be happy to know that the site passed the engineering inspection with flying colors. And the engineer was especially complimentary of the design of your retaining walls, Ms. Stone. I told him I expected the patent would be filed shortly.”
Sam was speechless. She felt the file folder in her hand, but she couldn’t believe what she was seeing…and hearing. “I…I…” She glanced at the directors. “Would you excuse us for a moment?”
Sam waited until she and Teague were out of earshot before she turned to him. “Is this another joke? Another setup?”
“No,” he said flatly, his eyes serious.
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“I was wrong,” he said simply. “I shouldn’t have done what I did to you, Sam. After you left my house, I made a few phone calls, got some crews and equipment back out here, and called in a few favors at city hall.” A rueful smile lifted his mouth. “Besides, I wasn’t about to give your father a chance to gloat. And don’t worry about the added cost—it’s on me.”
The expense, she was sure, was little more than a rounding error on his personal balance sheet. But she knew that he had performed miracles to get the job site overhauled in little more than forty-eight hours, not to mention getting the inspector out before dawn.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she murmured, feeling completely humbled.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, then settled his hard hat back on his head. “I was just doing my job.”
As he started to walk away, she said, “Teague.”
He turned back.
“I’m sorry…for everything. I hope you can forgive me.”
His green gaze seemed to laser into her soul. “Same here.”
He whistled for Dixon, then walked to his truck parked alongside the road, climbed in and drove away.
“Goodbye,” Sam whispered, her heart drowning in her chest. The Carlyle Library project was hers, but the victory felt bittersweet. She winced inwardly at the pact she had made with Abby and Carley in her arrogance—she’d been so determined not to fall in love with a man she considered to be beneath her, and now she was the one with the broken heart.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“CONGRATULATIONS!” Carley’s voice rang out over the phone. “I’ll bet your dad is so proud.”
“Yeah,” Samantha said, fingering the silky petal of a white lily in the huge flower arrangement her father had sent to her office with a card that read “I knew you could do it—you’re a Stone!”
And, true to form, Packard had also left a voice message on her phone, telling her to let him know when she was ready to move forward with the patent on her retaining wall system. She smiled and shook her head, but she couldn’t hold a grudge against him—everyone was wrong sometimes. Only sometimes it cost a person more than she could have imagined.
Teague’s face popped into her mind as it had so often in the past week since he’d walked off the job site and driven away. It had been the longest week
of her life.
“So, are things still hot and heavy with the attorney?” Carley asked.
Samantha pressed her lips together, thinking that the only good thing about Teague dumping her was that the girls would never know that she’d reneged on their pact. “Uh, well, things have cooled down a bit.”
“Oh, no! What happened?”
A rap sounded on her door, and Price stuck his head in, his eyes as round as coasters. “You have a visitor,” he whispered in a rush. “It’s your foreman, but he looks…different.”
Her vital signs went haywire. “Carley, I have to go.”
“Wait—tell me what happened!”
She hung up the phone while her friend was still protesting.
Teague walked in, breathtaking in a dark olive suit that complemented his dark skin and deep green eyes. He carried a small box. Price pointed at Teague’s jacket and mouthed, “Armani,” then backed out and closed the door.
Despite his impeccable grooming, Teague looked uncomfortable. “Did I come at a bad time?”
She stood but averted her gaze, afraid that she would telegraph the feelings she still had for him. “No, this is fine. Um, won’t you sit down?”
“Thanks, but I only came by to give you this.” He extended the box stiffly.
Sam frowned but took it and opened it, then smiled in surprise to see a replica of the crystal miniature that had been shattered when they’d knocked it off the counter in her condo. “The Barcelona Pavilion. You didn’t have to replace it, but…thank you.” Her cheeks flamed when she remembered what they had been doing at the time.
“Actually,” Teague said, “I wanted to thank you, Samantha.”
“F-for what?”
“For showing me what a hypocrite I was,” he said quietly. “I did exactly what I accused you of—I misjudged you because of your circumstances and your appearance. I assumed you were still daddy’s little girl, getting ahead on your father’s reputation and money.” He shifted foot to foot, then made direct eye contact. “You’re a talented architect, and your retaining wall design is brilliant. You have my utmost respect, and I know that the Carlyle Library will be the first of many successes.”
She blinked in astonishment at his speech, tamping down the emotion that crowded her chest. “That means a lot to me, Teague.”
“I’ll be going now,” he said, moving toward the door.
Her heart sank, but she nodded, smoothing her hand over the tiny details of Ludwig Mies van der Rohe’s Barcelona Pavilion. She had always wanted to see it in person, but now it would only remind her of Teague.
“Samantha?”
She looked up to see him standing with his hand on the doorknob.
“When you came to my house, you said you loved me.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Did you mean it?”
She set down the miniature and nodded, no longer caring if she looked foolish. If he needed to hear how completely he’d conned her, it was a small price to pay for him delivering the site excavation on time. “I didn’t tell you sooner because…I didn’t want it to affect our working relationship.” A dry laugh escaped her. “Considering everything that’s happened, that’s pretty laughable, huh?”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “No.” He walked back to her desk, his expression sending her heart pounding against her breastbone. “The thing is…I mean, what I should have told you sooner…and I don’t expect you to believe me, but…”
She squinted. “But?”
He looked like a tortured man as he struggled for words, then it seemed as if something inside of him broke loose as his gaze met hers. “I love you, too, Sam. I always have, since we were kids.” He exhaled noisily. “But after what I did to you,” he said, his voice shaking, “I’d understand if you wanted me to just…go away.”
Sam went very still, absorbing the enormity of his words and how they might affect her life, if she so chose. Two heartbeats passed, three, four… “Yes, Teague—go away.”
His eyes clouded, but he nodded and started to turn.
“With me.”
He turned back, his expression questioning.
“Go away with me—” she said, walking around the desk “—to Barcelona…to Sydney…to the North Pole.” She smiled through her tear-filled eyes and looped her arms around his neck and whispered, “To bed.”
He groaned as he wrapped her in his arms. “Woman, you’re going to be the death of me.”
Then he lowered his mouth to hers in a hungry, full-body kiss that promised a future of spirited adventures and torrid lovemaking. With his arms around her, Samantha realized that the last time she’d felt so wildly optimistic about the future, she’d been lying in Teague’s arms when they were teenagers. So much had changed, only to bring them full circle, that it was almost too much to comprehend. She closed her eyes and breathed this man’s essence into her lungs, trying to get used to this feeling…happiness.
Then she stepped back and smoothed a hand down the lapel of his fine jacket. “You know, I rather like this suave, sophisticated side of you.”
He nuzzled her neck. “You do, huh?”
“Uh-huh. But I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to wear your hard hat once in a while…privately.”
He laughed in her ear. “I think that can be arranged.”
Teague picked her up and swung her around, and Sam’s heart stretched with joy. She couldn’t ever remember being so happy, and, in fact, she had only one problem—explaining to her friends Abby and Carley that she’d literally fallen head over heels in love with the very type of man that she swore she would never date!
But that could wait until later. Much later.
* * * * *
ISBN-13: 9781488026874
You Can Leave Your Hard Hat On
Copyright © 2006 by Stephanie Bond
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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