Someone help me here already. Invasive much?
I peel away from Brittany’s uninvited touch, shake off her verbal diarrhea from the past minute, and steel myself. Did I sign up for the job from hell? There’s no turning back now.
I walk through the door and stare straight through a glass wall at a view of the factory and several massive stainless-steel tanks. Then there’s the gorgeous antique wooden desk with two men, one on each side. Definitely not geriatrics. The man to the right, in a light blue button-down shirt, faces the computer screens on the desk. He screams CEO with his neat haircut and clean-shaven jaw. That’s Hunter Logan for sure. He stands, a faint smile bracketing his mouth, but there’s worry in his eyes. We only exchange a brief glance before I’m drawn to the energy that radiates from the man on the other side of the desk.
My gaze travels to a pair of tanned male hands that are clutched together, strong, with veins sloping over the back of them. His forearms are corded with muscles and a white T-shirt stretches over some fabulous biceps. I ogle my way up to a smooth neck and clenched jaw, which he’s neglected to shave for several days, and then to his eyes, which are as blue as the Miami sky.
The cold stare in them makes me falter. I freeze as he stands and towers over me as he takes a step forward. He’s tall and all muscle. Inside of me, all my lady bits flutter awake. No-no-no. This wasn’t the plan.
My gaze jumps between the two men and settles on the one that can only be Raiden Logan. His long legs are hugged by a pair of wash-worn jeans, a tight fit over his strong thighs. Already my blood is draining to my feet, as the glare he gives me perfectly matches the line of his drawn lips. It’s scathing and screams of shock, but worst of all, it’s the quiet of his stance that penetrates as he stares into my eyes. I can almost read his thoughts. This is a surprise. This wasn’t the plan. You’re not wanted. Not here. Return to sender.
“George! Welcome. Glad to see you made it on time and safely. Hunter Logan.”
A hand is forced into mine and, with mortification at the sudden sweat that swamps my palm, I squeeze it, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Raiden Logan.
Hunter lets go and points towards the presence in the room. “This is Raiden Logan, my brother, and…eh…your boss for this project. Raiden, meet Georgiana Wess. She goes by George. As you would know from reading the cover letter of her résumé.”
In slow motion, Raiden lifts his hand and then my palm is against his. As he closes his callused fingers around mine, there’s an unexpected buzz that travels through me. It has to be the scorn that seems to pulse and zip through his veins, traveling straight up my arm like an electric shock.
Something is wrong here. Very, very wrong. Raiden says nothing but drops my hand as if I shocked him. Nobody sits, and it’s as if there’s this expectation that I’m going to leave now, hit the road, and never come back.
Hunter clears his throat, turns to me, and smiles with a slight nod. “How was the journey? It’s at least two flights from Miami to get here. Where did you change over? JFK? Or did you go via Ronald Reagan?”
My gaze jumps to Hunter, and I open my mouth to answer, but Raiden raises his hand.
He coughs. He inhales. He exhales. He leans in an inch. He opens his mouth and closes it again.
A chill idles down my spine as it hits me: this is Raiden Logan plucking up courage, because my new boss is going to fire my ass before he’s even said hello.
“Ge—” Raiden breaks off and shakes his head. “Miss Wess,” he restarts, and it’s with some strain and self-restraint, it would seem, that he forces the words out. “Pay, I will. For the flight. Miami. Tomorrow.” He makes an arc with his hand through the air and hisses z-z-zip. “Back you go.”
3
RAIDEN
It took me the whole two minutes of Hunter’s interaction with this goddess to realize that this might not be a prank. I wouldn’t put it past Hunter, even after all these years, but now I’ve gone and said that.
Fuck. I’m screwed. There is no other way to say this. This is a woman in front of me, a total distraction of a woman, and I ordered a man.
Any guy would do. One who’s been retired for thirty years. One fresh out of high school. I’d even take an equivalent of myself at sixteen, messed up, angry, and stoned, before I take this one on. There might even be someone I can go bail out of the county jail who would be better suited for the job than this…George.
What type of name is that for a woman and how did her parents allow beautiful ‘Georgiana’ to degenerate to ‘George’?
God only knows… My heart skipped several beats when she walked into the room. This is the vision he had in mind when he took that darn rib from Adam. Perfectly curved, long-legged and with a sway of thick blonde curls any man would love to get his fingers knotted in. With a golden tan that’s definitely not spray-on, she’s a human replica of Miami. Sun, summer, smiles. Warmth and wind in my hair.
What would a woman like this do on a construction site except distract all the guys? This is why Cash McGraw steers clear of employing females, for all that he pretends to be woke—Cash likes a job done without any distractions. In the thirteen years I’ve worked for Cash, I’ve never worked on a building site with a woman. Designers and architects maybe, but they float in and out. But like this? All day, day after day…nope.
“Hang on here a minute. I’m not flying back tomorrow.” Her tone is low and crammed with incredulity.
“Right,” Hunter says, and I glance at him, but he’s closed his eyes and is dragging his hands through his hair. “A moment, Raiden?” he says when our eyes connect again. He indicates the door with his head and I follow him outside the office, where Hunter leans in and hisses, “The cover letter. Tell me you read her cover letter?”
Fuck. My blank stare must tell him everything because he mouths my thoughts right back at me.
“That’s the least you could have done! It explained George.” Hunter keeps his voice down, but his tone tells me everything. I’ve fucked up again and he can’t bail me out. It’s too late. “This is why I made you drive through from Boston. I wanted to watch you read those freaking cover letters.”
“Eh…your mixer broke.”
“Ugh.” With an added eyeroll, Hunter walks back into his office, and I follow, feeling how my words scramble. I won’t get them out without sounding like a stuck gramophone.