Page 4 of Working for Him

He notices and steps to the side, blocking the glare without being asked. It's a small thing. It’s considerate in a way that shouldn't make my chest tighten, but does anyway.

"I like to see things before they get busy," I say, matching his even tone. "You catch more problems that way."

"That so?"

"You disagree?"

He studies me for a long moment, and I watch something shift in his eyes. It’s like a decision is being made, and an assessment finalized.

"No," he says finally. "I just don't get many consultants who bother."

There's respect in those words, buried under the neutral delivery. I recognize it because I've learned to listen for it, to catch the difference between someone humoring me and someone actually paying attention.

"Then you've been working with the wrong consultants," I say.

His mouth curves, just slightly. "Apparently."

I flip a page on my clipboard, giving myself something to do with my hands that isn't reaching out to see if his forearms are as solid as they look under those sleeves.

"Ground's soft near the eastern edge," I tell him, nodding toward the area I was examining. "If you're running equipment through there later, you might want to reroute."

"We already did," he says. "After the rain last night."

My eyes snap back to his, surprise flickering through me before I can hide it.

"Good," I say, recovering. "Then we won't have a problem."

"That's the plan."

We stand there for a beat too long, the noise of the site washing over us, neither of us moving. There's a charge in the air between us, something that has nothing to do with construction and everything to do with the way his gaze keeps dropping to my mouth before catching himself.

"You always this confident?" he asks, and there's something in his voice now, something warmer, more curious.

"Only when I know I'm right," I reply, letting my smile sharpen just enough to be interesting.

He exhales slowly through his nose. I watch his chest expand under his jacket, and watch the way his shoulders shift as if he's physically bracing himself against something.

Against this.

Against me.

"This site's my responsibility," he says, and I hear the weight behind those words. It’s not possessiveness, it’s more like duty.

"I know," I tell him, and I mean it. "That's why I'm here. We want the same thing."

His gaze searches my face, looking for something. Doubt, maybe dishonesty, or corporate doublespeak that usually accompanies people in my position.

Whatever he's looking for, he doesn't find it.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "I think we do."

A shout cuts through the moment, sharp and urgent. Both our heads snap toward the sound in unison, our bodies already tensing in preparation.

One of the workers near the dig has slipped, his boots losing purchase on the muddy slope. His arms windmill as he fights for balance, and for a heart-stopping second I think he's going over the edge.

Caleb's already moving, but I'm faster.

"Hey!" My voice is loud across the site, but it’s sharp and clear. "Stop. Watch your footing."