Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
“I’ll spare you the details, but the fact is, I need this job. I need it badly enough to work for a man I can barely tolerate.”
I probably would have done better to leave out that last part, but he’s thrown out so many barbs this morning, he deserves to feel the sting of one as well.
His brown eyes are still on me, hot as flames. I wonder if it would have been wiser to keep my hat on. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me, like he can see things I haven’t consented to showing him.
There’s no easing of his scowl, no gentle smile unfolding across those lips. He really intends to dig in his heels, and I can’t allow it. For my mom and for McKenna and for my own future, I need this job.
“I’m asking you nicely to please find something for me to do here.”
Chapter 13
Ethan
I want her out of my hair and away from my construction site. In short, I have no idea what to do with her. I should tell her to march out into the forest and start counting trees. Don’t come back until you reach 10,000.
I could send her on a pointless errand, but then I’d have to lend her my truck. I happen to like the way it looks without her digging a key into the side of it.
“I need you to wash my laundry.”
Laundry? Really? Jesus, why don’t you ask her to get in the kitchen and make you a sandwich while you’re at it?
I know I sound like a sexist pig, but the fact is, I actually do need my laundry done. I didn’t leave the camp over the weekend. I stayed and worked, appreciating the quiet.
Not to mention, laundry is just about the only thing I trust her with. I don’t think she’s going to try to steal my briefs.
“Laundry?” she confirms.
Her tone is disbelieving. She thinks this is a trick.
I raise one brow.
She shoots to her feet. “Right, laundry. Fine. Any specifications? Cold water only? Hand-wash delicates?”
I resist the urge to ask if I look like the type of man who owns delicates.
“There’s an old washer and dryer in the back of the mess hall. If they don’t work, use a sink.”
Then she’s gone, flying out the door of my trailer like her feet are on fire.
I watch her go. I watch the sway of her hips. I watch her high ponytail swishing back and forth. I watch her walk in those new boots that actually fit her. I’m glad for that. Wait—I’m happy she has new boots? Jesus. I jerk my attention back to work and don’t look up again until lunch.
The mess hall is noisy when I walk in. I had Hudson stagger lunch breaks for the crew so there wouldn’t be a line out the door, but even still, these guys like to eat. The catering team hustles to fill plates with burgers and fries. The smell has my mouth watering, but I bypass it all and keep moving through the kitchen back into the adjoining washroom. I figure the camp used to use the washing machine in here for towels and dish rags used by the kitchen staff. Whatever the reason, I’m glad it’s here.
I hear voices before I get to the hallway, a feminine laugh followed by a deep chuckle, and my hackles go up instantaneously. What I expected to find: Taylor hunched over a washing machine, toiling away with sweat dripping down her brow, more grateful than ever that I’ve kept her on as an employee even though I should have fired her. What I actually find: Taylor taking advantage of my goodwill. She isn’t alone, which explains why a task that should have taken her an hour to complete has filled up her entire morning.
“I can’t believe you thought I was into Mark Granger.” Taylor groans with mock disgust. “He’s not my type at all.”
“Well what else would explain why you broke up with me right before the homecoming dance—”
My presence in the doorway cuts off the guy’s sentence. I don’t know his name, but I recognize him as part of the new crew. He looks like he should be on a beach with his surfer-length hair and easy smile. That’s right, he’s smiling at me.
“Get back to work,” I say, pointing him out the back door of the washroom.
His brows crinkle in confusion. I half expect him to reply with a stoned, Aw, c’mon man, we were just havin’ some fun. Instead, he hops to it and walk-runs right out the door, leaving Taylor to fend for herself. Nice guy.
She keeps her back to me and continues to pull clothes out of the dryer.
“Why was he in here?”
“You’ll have to ask him,” she replies with a cold, even tone.