Except he wasn’t some guy. He was the man Emily had thought about constantly for the last week. Had dreamed of seeing again, because the truth was, even though her fantasy night hadn’t been exactly what she’d worked it up to be in her mind, it was still amazing. Memorable. And the thought lingered in the back of her mind . . . she might want to do it again someday.
But she could not go out there as the president of this company.
Emily got off the elevator and made her way down the carpeted hall toward the wall of windows that gave the best view of the patio. The moment she looked down on the scene below, she frowned. Natalie was smiling. So was Reeve. They were smiling at each other. Now they were laughing. Reeve put his hand on her elbow and helped her off the patio step and toward the willow tree.
Emily’s willow tree. Emily’s Reeve.
Natalie was a beautiful woman. She had shiny dark hair and a gorgeous curvy body. Today that body was highlighted by black slacks, black heels, and a formfitting blouse that had appeared to be missing a button from when Emily had last seen it. What in the hell had Emily been thinking sending Natalie out there?
Emily watched as her CFO appeared to get a little choked up talking about the willow tree, her hand going to her now overly exposed chest. Reeve looked sympathetic, nodding in understanding and pointing out some things around the edges of the patio.
Today his hair was a little sweaty and rumpled from working in the sun. Now she knew why he’d been so tan and muscular. Pure, unadulterated, sweaty manual labor.
And why were they still talking?
She couldn’t take it anymore, so Emily head back toward the elevator and made her way to her office on the third floor. There was no use torturing herself with what she’d never have again.
Sitting down at her desk, she pulled out some work that she intended to finish before she went home. Except after five minutes she was still staring off into space. Were they still out there talking? Was he asking her out?
Emily idly wondered what would have happened if she’d been open with Reeve, if instead of one night of insane sex he’d asked her out on a real date. Would he have found her money attractive the way some of her past dates had? Would he have pretended to be fine with it at first until using it as a weapon against her for not putting him first? Would he see her salary as a threat to his masculinity? Or was it possible that what she did for a living might not matter to him? She sighed. Her life didn’t have room for a man who needed to be babysat while he dealt with the fact that the woman he was dating worked longer hours than he did, had a more powerful job, and made a shitload of a lot more money than him. Here in the middle of nowhere, Kansas, there weren’t many guys who would break that mold. She was pretty certain a Harley-riding, landscaping, dive bar patron was not about to be the exception to the rule.
“Hey, I did it!” Natalie said from the doorway. “He’s agreed to try treating the tree. He says he can’t promise it will work. Then he suggested we tear out the damaged patio, repour it, and fill in around the tree where the grass won’t grow with more topsoil and flower beds. It will be gorgeous. I could have listened to him tell me about it all day.”
Emily’s insides curdled just imagining his voice as he spoke to Natalie. “And what the hell is that going to cost me?”
Natalie’s smile faded. “About ten thousand. But you said anything.”
“Natalie, he swindled you! He knows we . . . I can afford to do it and he just found a way to make money off your sob story about that tree. What an asshole.”
“Now, listen here, Emily. You sent me out there with clear instructions and they were that the tree was important and I was to do anything to save it. That’s exactly what I did. And I find your anger a little insulting. The finances of this company are what I do. I would never approve a decision that would be harmful. It’s ten grand. Not a million.”
Emily sighed. “You’re right. I apologize. I’m just a little uptight about this situation. And I’m tired after traveling today.”
“Don’t apologize.” Natalie leaned on the doorjamb. “It is a chunk of money, but we’ve got plenty in the budget. He actually made some great points about the tree. The disease is obvious once he points it out, and so is the damage from the roots. You’re lucky he didn’t insist on taking it down. And I don’t think he took advantage. Too much. I mean he runs a business just like we do. It’s all part of the game. In my experience, good landscaping doesn’t come cheaply.”
Natalie was right. This was not personal at all, and any intelligent businessperson would have taken the same opportunity to offer a solution and make a profit at the same time. Emily could not allow this to feel personal; the man didn’t even know she was here. “You’re right. I know that, too. I’m just being bitchy. But thank you. Truly.”
“The new area will look nice.” Natalie walked over and laid something on Emily’s desk. “And here is his info in case you need to get ahold of him.” She winked and left the office.
Emily picked up the card. BIG BLUE LANDSCAPING was typed across the type in a pretty metallic raised font. Below it read, REEVE MILLER, OWNER.
So they had something in common.
Emily glanced around her office. The wood floors were polished to a high sheen, the rug under her feet was plush, and the walls were a soft rich gray. She loved this room because it was lovely but also because it reminded her of her dad and grandfather. How many days had she spent playing in the corner while they sat right here and discussed business? It was ingrained in her subconscious. Part of her genetic makeup.
Across the room from her desk hung the original movie posters from Little Apple Moviehouse’s inaugural year of business. They were framed in shiny wood to match the floor. She loved the classic 1970s vibe with its bold colors and heavy fonts that read DIRTY HARRY, DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER, THE GODFATHER, and CABARET. Emily never got tired of looking at the handsomeness of a young Sean Connery, despite the fact that he was bookended by two scantily dressed bimbos, or that of Clint Eastwood, even if he was pointing a gun at her face. These images had become so synonymous with her grandfather’s office, it was as if their faces had become his own, watching over her as she took care of his company.
Her company.
This office, this job, this entire community of employees, was her legacy. She had way too much going for her to let a crazy one-night fling get the best of her.
CHAPTER SIX
Reeve didn’t see the strike coming. The firm blow to his jaw had his ears ringing and eyes blurring. He twisted away from his opponent and spit the pooling blood from his mouth.
“Jesus, man, sorry. I never expected you to actually take that one,” his friend and army pal Tyler Cavallo said. “You need to get out of your head or something before I beat your ass for real.”
“No shit,” Reeve mumbled. He moved his jaw back and forth, adjusting to the pain on the inside of his cheek where his tooth had obviously come into contact. Damn that had hurt, and he didn’t usually let Tyler get the drop on him. Something he was pretty proud of considering that not only was Tyler a big guy himself, but he used to fight dirty for real. First underground as a misspent youth, and then legit professional MMA. It had all ended when he’d enlisted in the army, but he still had a crazy mean right hook.
“Come on, sugar, I’ll go easy on you from here on out.” Tyler chuckled from across the ring, bouncing from one bare foot to the other. The guy never stood still.
“Fuck you,” Reeve said as he got back into stance. They circled, bobbing and weaving, until Reeve saw the slightest movement from Tyler as he began to lunge in. Reeve slipped to the right and then came back with a counter hook. Tyler tried to evade him, but Reeve caught the side of his head.
Tyler took it like a man and backed up, laughing. “You’re welcome.”
“Asshole,” Reeve said as he pulled off his gloves.
“Aw, come on. I didn’t want you going out like that.”
Reeve rubbed his sore jaw. His luck he’d prob
ably have a hell of a bruise. They’d been at it for over half an hour, so without speaking they both left the ring and headed for the front of the gym to lift some weights. Tyler owned Excel Gym and MMA training center and thankfully gave Reeve, and the other guys in their unit at the Guard, a dirt-cheap membership fee. When he’d joined three years ago Reeve wouldn’t have guessed he’d end up spending many of his mornings and Saturday evenings fighting his buddy, but it was something they’d grown to enjoy.
Building his own business had been slower than he would have liked. At this point it might have been nice to have a woman to be home with on the weekends, maybe even take some nice trips with a couple of times a year. But no, he was single, still trying to grow Big Blue Landscaping, and the only trip he took was his required two-week training mission every summer with the Guard. He didn’t mind any of that, but at thirty-one he was starting to wonder . . . what next?
Reeve sat down on the closest machine—lat pulls—and gripped the bars on each side. He gave a good tug and the bar swung down too fast. “Shit.”
He let the weights clatter down on the other side and stood up. Why hadn’t he adjusted the pin before he started? He added more weight and then headed back to the seat.
Tyler sat on the bench across from him, eyebrow up, odd grin on his face.
“What?” Reeve asked.
“You tell me what.” Tyler leaned over and rested his elbows onto his knees, eyebrow still cocked. “Something’s off about you. Your mom okay?”
Reeve shook his head. Tyler knew his mother struggled with health and mental issues, but he had no idea she was a hoarder. That was information a person just didn’t offer up. “I’m fine, my mom’s fine. I just . . . have a lot on my mind.”
He sat back down, facing away from his friend’s prying gaze. Tyler was good at reading people, a skill honed from living through a lot of his own shit. He now worked with a lot of troubled teens in the gym, coaching and mentoring them free of charge. The guy was on a mission to keep the troubled youth of Kansas out of trouble one at a time. One of the reasons why he had no fear of real talk, unlike most men Reeve knew. Including himself.
Gripping the bar once more, he tested the weight a little, and then went to work on his reps, blowing out a breath with each pull.
He could still feel Tyler’s eyes on the back of his head.
“Something going on with the business?” Tyler tried again.
Reeve pushed out a hard breath and then answered as his arms went up. “No. It’s good.”
“You seeing someone?”
“Dude.” Reeve let the metal clank down again and turned on his seat. “You don’t give up, do you?”
Tyler just lifted both hands in acquiescence. “I almost knocked you out. You’re distracted. What’s going on?”
“Fine,” he gritted out. “I met a woman.”
Tyler grinned. “Yeah? Then what’s the problem?”
Reeve leaned forward and pointed at Tyler. “I’ll tell you what the problem is. I took her home, let her use and abuse me, and then she slipped out without giving me her number. The only thing I have left of her is a headband covered in dicks.”
“Use and abuse you, huh? I don’t usually mind a little abuse. And what the hell is with this headband?”
“It was a bachelorette party. You know the bullshit they wear.”
“Sleeping with a bachelorette party attendee was your first mistake.”
“Yeah, maybe. But there was something different about this woman.”
“So, what you’re saying is that the saying is true. Karma is indeed a bitch.”
Reeve sighed and ran a hand down his face. “Yeah, that’s not really helping.”
Tyler chuckled. “Man, we’re a good way into the Internet age, surely you can find her. We live in Manhattan, Kansas, for fuck’s sake. How hard can it be?”
“You’d think.” Reeve lowered his voice. “But she lied to me about her name.”
Tyler hissed and shook his head. “Damn, dude. You got played.”
“I knew she was doing it. She knew I knew she was doing it. I just didn’t think I cared that much.”
“But now you do.”
“Well . . . obviously.” It was kind of nice to talk to someone about this, but he refused to give all the details about what had gone down. The truth was, despite that bullshit, it was great sex. She’d been so hot, so raw and real. Tyler was right. He had been distracted by his thoughts of her, and now he had a fat lip to prove it.
The entire time he’d been in the ring, the real fight had been going on in his head: To go back to the Deuce tonight and see if she showed or not? Was it possible she’d been thinking about him, too, wishing they’d been more honest with each other? Did she regret leaving the way she had?
Probably not. He recalled the way she’d told the bartender off that night. She was tough, no-nonsense. Said what she wanted—what she demanded—and didn’t back down.
Damn, the woman had well and truly used him. She probably hadn’t even thought about him since. That really stung. More than he ever would have thought. Stung enough for him to want some answers. Or another turn. It was a long shot, but he only had one lead.
“What are you doing after this?” Reeve asked Tyler, who had finally lain back and started bench presses. Tyler lifted the bar onto the rack and set it down before sitting back up.
“I have a kid coming in.”
“Tonight? It’s nearly ten.”
“His sister works nights so sometimes that’s when he comes. It’s either that or roam the streets. I have a feeling if she knew, she’d prefer him being with me.”
Reeve took in the sight of his buddy, all six feet and two hundred pounds of solid, tatted muscle. He had Latin script across his upper chest, below that a set of Roman numerals that Reeve knew to be the date his brother had been killed in action. The phrase ONLY THE STRONG SURVIVE was written above the American flag on his right bicep, and on his left was a snarling pit bull. Reeve’s lips quirked. “I don’t know about that, man. You look like a felon. A patriotic felon, but still.”
Tyler laughed. He knew it was true and he was laid-back enough to take it. “Yeah, well, this kid might actually become one if he’s not careful. His sister leaves him alone all the damn time. I’m ready to knock on her door and have a few words.”
Reeve was about to respond when Tyler gave him a firm look and stood up quickly. A lanky young man walked through the gym toward them, and Tyler grinned at him. “Hey, man. Glad you could make it. Meet my buddy, Reeve. Reeve, this is Caleb.”
Reeve stood up and held out a hand to the hunched-over youth. He couldn’t be any older than sixteen and although physically his punk level was through the charts, there was a wariness about him. Reeve could see why Tyler felt the need to help these kids.
The young man reluctantly reached his own hand out, shaking Reeve’s weakly but not making eye contact. Reeve spoke up. “Nice to meet you, Caleb. I hope Tyler’s not kicking your ass too bad. Between you and me, I find his weakest spot to be his nuts. Just sayin’.”
Tyler chuckled, punching Reeve in the arm. But it worked. Caleb’s eyes rose, a small smile lifting at the corner of his lips. “Isn’t that the weak spot for all guys?”
Reeve looked at Tyler. “Smart one here.”
“The nuts and the heart. When the right woman comes along, that is. Right, Reeve?”
Reeve slid him an annoyed look and picked up his towel from the lat pull machine. “Shut up. Have fun, you guys. I’m out.”
He headed for the locker room. Turning the shower to hot, Reeve stood under the nozzle and let the water run over his face. He was not going to go out to the Deuce. Nope, not going to do it.
Twenty minutes later he was on his bike heading north.
He was one weak son of a bitch, after all. Damn woman.
* * *
Apparently, there were a handful of interesting creatures that roamed the grocery store aisles at midnight on a Saturday. They consis
ted of a group of giggly teenage girls buying armloads of toilet paper, a blurry-eyed dad buying formula and diapers, and even a stoned-out young man buying pizza rolls and Mountain Dew.
Emily realized she was the most pathetic of those creatures. Single woman feeling sorry for herself. Why had she gotten a full-sized cart? It only attracted attention to the humiliating contents: potato chips, French onion dip, wine coolers, and tabloid magazines. She should have picked up a handbasket so the only person who could judge her was the cashier.
For a long moment she stared at the end cap full of snack cakes and then finally settled on something that contained a lot of peanut butter and chocolate. On her way back to the front of the store she reached out and snagged a bag of grapes for good measure.
She’d been so close to going back to the Deuce tonight. Even going as far as showering and doing her hair and makeup. But as she’d stood in her closet deciding what outfit looked the least desperate, she’d just said “fuck it” and grabbed a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt. After washing off her makeup and throwing her hair in a ponytail, she’d resorted to working for a few hours. And then the self-pity cravings had hit hard, so here she was.
The sleep-deprived dad was just finishing up at the register when Emily began to unload her cart onto the conveyor belt. At the last minute she grabbed another magazine, a pack of gum, and a PayDay, tossing them down alongside the grapes and other garbage.
A twenty-something female with a sloppy ponytail and a heavy hand with the eyeliner began to scan Emily’s items without as much as a hello. That is, until she swiped the French onion dip and a loud beep rang out. She tried it again. Beep. The young woman rolled her eyes and called to someone over Emily’s shoulder.
“Trevor, this French onion dip isn’t scanning. Will you go see how much it is?” She glanced down at the tub and then called out again. “Twenty-four-ounce family size.”
Emily let her eyes fall shut. Thank God it was midnight and barely anyone was there.
The sound of glass bottles jingling behind her pulled Emily’s attention down to the conveyor, where she saw a six-pack of Bud Light. Of course. And now they had to wait on her price check. She turned back to give the customary sorry-I’m-taking-so-long smile and shrug, then froze, mouth halfway open.
All I Ask Page 8
