Page 5 of Working for the Enemy

"Is that how you offer people jobs?" I ask, throwing my legs over the side of the bench, rising to my feet, and crossing my arms to mirror his exact stance. I have to throw my head back just to look him in the eye. "Because it sounded suspiciously like a kidnapping threat wrapped in an employment offer."

"It's an offer," he rumbles.

"Right. Well, as tempting as it is to spend eight hours a day being glared at by a man who looks like he eats barbed wire for breakfast, we’d be an absolute disaster as a team. I don’t even know your name." I flash a sweet, fake smile.

“Kane. Langston. Owner of FCMC.”

“What exactly is FCMC? Abbreviated corporations always give me culty vibes.”

“Forge Creek Municipal Contractors.”

“That’s a mouthful. You should consider using some kind of shorthand for that,” I tease.

Kane’s left eye twitches, and for a moment, I think he might roll his eyes at me. At least that would be some sort of acknowledgment of my wit and charm. But, no, it appears the twitch is out of annoyance, not fighting the urge to belly-laugh.

"So…” I continue, not sure how to move this conversation along. “What exactly does this job entail?"

"Secretary work," he barks.

The word hits me like a tiny slap. My jaw tightens.

"Secretary?" I tilt my head, letting a sharp, sarcastic edge bite through my cheerful tone. "Oh, I see. The blonde girl rolls into town and suddenly her only value is filing your paperwork and making sure your coffee is hot? Just because I have curves and a bright smile doesn't mean I'm only capable of sitting behind a desk, looking pretty, and answering your phone calls while you go play with heavy machinery, Big Boy."

I’m breathing heavily by the time I finish my rant, my chest heaving, standing toe-to-toe with a man twice my size who could knock me over with his pinky.

Kane doesn't flinch. He absorbs every drop of my fire, his dark eyes tracking the flushed rise of my cheeks and the stubborn set of my jaw. His jaw flexes, his hand coming up to rub the scar on his face.

Silence stretches between us, thick, heavy, and charged with an unbearable tension.

"You got a commercial driver's license?" he asks calmly, his voice dropping an octave.

"What?" I blink. "No."

"You certified in arc welding or heavy equipment maintenance?"

I press my lips into a thin line. "No."

"Then you're managing my desk," Kane says bluntly.

I huff out an embarrassed, frustrated breath, looking away. Dammit. He has a point, but I hate that he made it so easily. I stand there, shifting my weight, the silence stretching out like a pulled wire. Every instinct I have tells me to walk away from this terrifying, overbearing brute. But underneath the bossy commands and the dark glare, something in my chest wants to stay. He makes me hot, bothered, flustered, and... strangely, impossibly grounded.

"Why me?" I ask, dropping the bubbly sarcasm for a split second. "You don't know me. You clearly don't even like me. So why are you standing here offering me cash to work for you?"

For the first time since I met him, Kane is the one who looks flustered.

His dark blue eyes widen slightly. His throat works as he swallows hard. He opens his mouth, stops, clears his throat with a rough grunt, and tries again. "It's... the yard needs... paperwork is a mess."

He stops short, a subtle, dark flush rising beneath his stubble.

A massive, genuine grin breaks across my face. The unflappable mountain man is flapped. Is that a thing? He’s certainly out of his depth, which intrigues me.

"Oh, look at that," I giggle, stepping a fraction closer and tapping my chest in mock triumph. "The big, bad construction boss is speechless. Looks like I win this round."

Before he can recover, my phone rings again in my pocket. The loud, cheerful chime cuts through the air like a blade. I pull it out, and the smile instantly dies on my face.

An unknown Denver number.

The blood drains from my face so fast the park seems to tilt. My stomach drops through the floor. They found my number. Soraya was right. They know I'm on the run, and now they know the number to my burner phone. It won’t be long until they find out where I live. Panic rises up my throat, thick and suffocating, threatening to choke me right where I stand.