Page 3 of Working For Her Curves

He looks at me. Not quite condescending, but not far from it.

He pauses before he speaks, and I force myself not to say anything sharp. I’ve seen this kind of behavior from men for years—men who look at me and underestimate me before I even open my mouth. “Where else would they be?”

I grab a binder and hold it up. “In a binder like this one?”

He opens his mouth to say something, then clearly thinks better of it and wisely doesn’t.

“It’s probably best if you don’t assume I’m a complete idiot,” I say, working to keep my voice as neutral as possible. He’s handsome, but that doesn’t mean he’s not also a macho dick.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were about to explain what a purchase order is.”

“Guilty,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender. “How about we start over?”

I nod and update my opinion of him. At least he had the grace to apologize before things went sour. “What’s your variance threshold before you flag a supplier?”

I ask it to test something. I want to know whether he’ll know the answer or whether he’ll redirect me to Dale. This is a man who frames walls for a living. He should not know this.

“Five percent.”

I suppress my smile. I’m impressed. “Industry standard is three.”

“Industry standard doesn’t account for rural delivery logistics.” He leans one hand on the table between us, and the position puts his face a foot from mine. I need to stop trying to get closer to this man and pay attention to what he’s saying. “We get weather delays, road closures. Five gives us margin without flooding Dale’s desk with false flags.”

I’m impressed. He made a call that’s smarter than the textbook answer and he’s defending it and I have completely lost the follow-up question that was on the tip of my tongue a moment ago. What is it about this man?

“Five’s reasonable,” I say, because my voice still works even when my train of thought has jumped the track.

“Thanks for the approval.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up and holds. He’s pushing back instead of folding and I need to keep asking questions or I’m going to keep noticing his mouth, which is not a productive use of my time.

“Show me the daily reports.”

He moves and grabs another binder, flipping it open and turning it toward me, and his hand lands on the table next to mine. I stare at his scraped knuckles, cursing my body for flushing at how close we’re standing.

His voice is quiet and sure as he walks me through the reporting structure. I’m supposed to be following the column headers, but his hands keep moving when he talks, tapping the page and I’m going to have to figure this all out later on my own. His forearm grazes mine reaching for the next tab, and my mind short-circuits.

“I can pull whatever you need,” he says, leaning against the filing cabinet with one hip against the metal, arms crossed over his muscled chest. “Night before, so you’re not waiting.”

“You don’t have to prep for me.”

He pauses and nods, and I appreciate that he’s not trying to strong-arm me into agreeing with him.

“I should tell you something.” His shirt rides up as he scrubs the back of his neck, revealing a strip of tan stomach muscles disappearing into his waistband and making my skin burn with desire. “When Dale said you were coming in, I figured you’d be inexperienced. That was wrong. I’m sorry.”

“Would you have made that assumption if Dale said his grandson was coming?”

His face changes, but he doesn’t look away. “No,” he says. “I wouldn’t have.”

My throat closes. Because this man just took an uncomfortable question and answered honestly, and I didn’t expect that. He didn’t try the macho bullshit I was expecting. I have to give him credit for that. And now he’s looking at me with an openness that is unexpectedly sexy, and I want to put my mouth on him.

But fooling around with Grandpa’s employees is a bad idea, and I know it.

He holds out his hand, and I take it. His palm is rough, calluses pressing into my fingers, and the pressure travels straight up my arm and keeps going. His thumb shifts a fraction against the side of my palm, and all I can think about is that it’s been way too long since I got laid.

“Same time tomorrow?” My voice comes out husky as I release his hand.