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“Does this mean I have the job?” she asked, doing some sort of little shimmy with her shoulders.
There was no doubt that she was charming and gorgeous and more intelligent than she let on at first glance.
But she was also unprofessional and a bit of a smart-ass. Of course, my brother and most of my tenured employees would say I was a stick in the mud, so there was that.
I’d have to make sure she understood that I was the boss and she worked for me. This was a job, and if she wasn’t stepping up to the plate, I’d have no problem cutting her. It didn’t matter how cute or sexy she was.
And goddamn, was she ever sexy.
“You have the job.” I pushed to my feet. “Be here tomorrow morning at 8:00 a.m. sharp, and we’ll get you all set up. I don’t tolerate tardiness or excuses. I’m a busy man, and I need someone who can keep up.”
She pushed to her feet and saluted me. “I will not let you down, Bossman.”
“You can call me Mr. Lancaster,” I grumped.
Once that was out of the way, I glanced at my watch, aware that I had a meeting in five minutes, so I walked to the door and held it open, extending my arm. “Welcome to the team. HR will have your paperwork ready to sign in the morning.”
She squealed, and my eyes widened. “Thank you,Mr. Lancaster.I can’t wait to dazzle you.”
Once again, she was completely unprofessional.
But when her small hand landed in mine, I didn’t want to let go.
And that had me yanking my hand away immediately. I held my arm out for her to leave, and when she turned around to say goodbye, I let the door shut.
We weren’t girlfriends.
I didn’t do small talk.
I needed to make that clear right off the bat.
And that was exactly what I intended to do.
three
Georgia
I wasgrateful that I’d worn pants this morning because it was bone-chillingly cold today. When I’d driven home from my interview yesterday, I’d passed the lot owned by one of my brother’s best friends, Brax, where a lot of the locals had their cars for sale. Unfortunately, a car was well beyond my budget at the moment, but I did have some graduation money in the bank, so I’d purchased the cutest white scooter. It even came with a matching helmet, and the whole thing was only two hundred bucks. It was the temporary solution I was looking for. I didn’t know how long I could pull off the excuse that my car was in the shop. My brother, Hugh, was already annoyed that I’d left it at an auto shop in the city when his good friend, Roddy, would have worked on it here in Cottonwood Cove and given me a deal.
No, duh.
I wasn’t a dipshit.
I was a survivor.
I had a gift for buying time, and that was exactly what I was doing. My car was not in the shop. It had been stolen.
Well, stolen might be a bit harsh, seeing as I knew the thief all too well.
Dikota Smith, a.k.a. my insane ex-boyfriend, had taken my car and was holding it hostage. He’d refused to give it back to me until I agreed to start seeing him again.
I sure can pick ‘em, right?
I loved finding broken things and trying to put them back together. The problem with Dikota was that he was broken beyond repair. The guy never acted like he was into me until another guy showed me any kind of attention, or when I’d finally called off the relationship.
Then he suddenly couldn’t live without me.
So, he’d taken my keys the last time I saw him and had driven away in my car. He’d hidden it somewhere and wouldn’t give it back.
