For a long moment, he watched me without speaking, almost as if he knew how much I despised awkward silence and was weaponizing it against me.
“You tried to murder me,” he finally said. “Should I be worried?” His voice was deep and smooth and far too nonchalant about the whole experience. I’d rather he yell at me for my insane driving. Instead, all I saw was a cool, calm exterior and a deep frown.
I put my hands on top of my desk and stood. I was nowhere near as tall as him, but I needed every inch I could get.
“It was not an attempted murder,” I snapped. “At best, it would be involuntary manslaughter.”
He took a step closer, never taking his eyes off mine. “Wow. That’s a comfort. Thanks.”
I shrugged, ignoring the way his voice vibrated through me and lit up nerve endings. “It was an accident. My shoe broke.” I waved a hand at him. “If I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.”
One corner of his mouth quirked. “Noted.”
“You can go now,” I said, lifting my chin and faking a level of confidence I didn’t feel. I did not like being alone with him, even in a room as large as this. It was too much, too intimate. His scrutiny was so intense it was palpable, and his glare alone was slowly breaking down the protective walls I’d spent decades building up.
“I don’t spend a lot of time in the office. But I’m here to help. Anything you need.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
Slowly, he walked toward me, and when he was directly in front of me, he placed his hands on my desk. They were wide and strong and tan. And dammit, my traitorous eyes dipped and studied his left hand. No ring. It was a detail I was better off not knowing.
“Think of it as an olive branch.”
His proximity and overall maleness were making my brain short-circuit. It was too early, and I was too under-caffeinated to spar with him today. “Olive trees don’t even grow in Maine. Aren’t you the tree guy here?”
With a small shake of his head, he headed for the door. At the threshold, he turned and winked, and with that, he was gone.
My heart lurched. What the shit?
This was all kinds of wrong.
I was supposed to grind him to dust beneath my one-thousand-dollar heels, not be on the receiving end of unsolicited winks. Day one was already off to a shittastic start.
Chapter 3Gus
Early mornings in Maine were hard to beat. The air was still crisp and cool, but it wouldn’t be long before that changed. July in Maine was defined by two things: humidity and mosquitoes. And lately, I’d found myself rising earlier and earlier, desperate for the tranquil quiet of the early morning.
Usually, I did chores, read, or walked Clem, but today, I was plagued by the overwhelming need to go for a run. I wasn’t much of a runner, but I was full of anxious energy, and a good run was the best way to get it out of my system.
She was here.
I hated it.
Also, I loved it.
See? I was fucked up.
I’d spent years trying to extinguish every memory of Chloe and our brief marriage. But despite my best efforts, they’d never completely gone away.
Seeing her here, in my hometown? I liked it. I was a masochist, because as much as her proximity made me feel alive, the ensuing crash hurt even more.
When I’d run until my lungs gave out, I headed home. Inside, my dog, who didn’t bother to get off my couch to greet me, lifted her head and eyed me with suspicion.
“Morning, Clem.” My heart was still pounding as I headed to the pantry to get her breakfast.
Why was I drawn to women who hated me? Why hadn’t this wound ever fully healed? After decades, the sting of it was still acute.
She was here.
She’d purchased our company.
So many times over the years, I’d thought about her. I ran into her family pretty regularly. I saw her dad at quarterly meetings, and her siblings all lived in the area.
Here and there, I overheard news of her. She was always traveling and working, and she didn’t come back much, which was perfectly fine by me.
I’d always hoped she had found happiness. That she’d dealt with the grief that had almost drowned her after her mom passed away. And I’d hoped she’d found a way to move forward. She deserved that.
But that was before she’d become my boss.
I’d signed the contract. I was obligated to serve as operations manager for one year. During that meeting, it had seemed like a small price to pay in return for financial security for my family. I’d suck it up, grit my teeth, and push through, like I always did.
After my yearlong sentence was up, I’d head west. A new job, a new coast, and a fresh start.
If this was what having her in my orbit again did to me, how the hell was I going to survive the next year?
My central nervous system was in disarray.
