Chapter Six
“What?” I looked down at my jeans, gray tee, and white tennis shoes as Fisher leaned against the back of his truck with one foot propped up behind him on the bumper, eyes taking way too much liberty with inspecting me.
“Approximately seventy percent of my young male crew will try to get into your pants. I’ll do my best to keep them from humping your legs and licking your face, but I just want you to remember that they went to public school and lost their virginity before they could legally drive a car.”
I hugged my arms to my waist. “And that makes it okay to act like animals?”
“No.” He laughed, pushing off the truck. “They’re not animals. Just guys being assholes because they haven’t had a good woman to keep their dicks in check. Give them a day or two to get used to you before you go filing any sexual harassment complaints because they looked at you the wrong way or whistled a little too loudly. They’re good workers. I need them more than I need you.”
I should have been offended that he was suggesting I turn a forty-eight-hour blind eye to his crew’s bad behavior—but I wasn’t because I was too preoccupied with how he didn’t need me. “If I’m nothing more than a burden, I don’t have to work for you. I’m sure there are plenty of other people who would love to have me.”
Fisher’s crew? Ha!
He looked at me the wrong way, rarely keeping his gaze on mine. My boobs? Those he could have picked out in a lineup.
“Oh…” he forced his wandering gaze back to my face “…I’m sure there are lots of people who would love to have you. But for now, you’re mine. So get in the truck.”
Did I want to be his? Pfft … No.
If God was keeping count of my lies, that one got a tally mark.
As soon as we pulled out of the driveway, he played music from a playlist on his phone. I hadn’t heard the song. It was loud. Hard rock. Littered with swear words. And all about sex.
Conflict muddled my thoughts. I was an adult. I could hear bad words, even if I wasn’t comfortable saying them. Technically, I could get married and have sex. So explicit music should not have felt so wrong. After all, it wasn’t my playlist. But I felt uncomfortable because, like all sin, it tempted me. It tempted my mind. It made me think inappropriate things about my new boss.
“Too loud?” he asked, after the song ended.
I shook my head, a tight shake.
“Why are you so stiff?”
Blowing out a slow breath, I tried to relax my body and my mind. “Just … just nervous about my first day.” I pulled a pad of paper and pencil out of my backpack and opened it.
“Is that a crossword puzzle?” He turned down the music.
I nodded, adding boxes for my next word.
“Are you … solving one or making your own?”
“I’m constructing my own.”
“Why?” He laughed, but it was an odd laugh, a little forced.
“Because I enjoy doing it. My dad was an architect, and he also enjoyed crossword puzzles. Then he started making them just for fun. Eventually, he was submitting them to different places for publication.” I wrote out the next clue.
Seven down: Clownish
Then I filled in the four letters: ZANY
“Doing it makes me feel like he’s … not as dead.”
Fisher glanced over at me for a beat. “Not as dead. I like that. So … what do you do with your puzzles?”
“Not a lot at the moment. However, when I was in school, I got extra credit from my English teachers for making them. The school had an online newsletter, and it included my puzzles. I don’t know what I’ll do with them now. Maybe I’ll look for an online publication for them like my dad did. Maybe…” I grinned without taking my gaze off my paper “…they’ll make it in The New York Times. That would get me some blogger buzz.”
“People blog about crossword puzzles?”
Chuckling, I nodded several times. “Um … there are bloggers for everything. There are plenty of programs to generate puzzles now, but this is authentic. I hope big publications always favor the diehard cruciverbalist.”
“The diehard what?” He held his hand to his ear.
“Cruciverbalist. A person who is skilled at constructing or solving crossword puzzles.”
“Damn. You’re a nerd, Reese.”
“No. I just do slightly unusual things to keep the memories of my parents alive.”
“Parents? Your mom is still alive. You know this, right?”
“Yes. But I felt like I lost her five years ago.”
“Did you do something that made you think of her like your dad and the crosswords?”
On a nervous laugh, I glanced up from my pad of paper and watched the traffic for a few seconds. “I … do. Uh …” More nervous laughter filled the air.