Freedom (4 page)

But you probably can’t trust me, Emma, especially my unedited imagination that has you in several very creative positions.

Four

Emma

For the rest of the week, Dylan doesn’t laugh once. I guess that boisterous outburst I witnessed on my first day has been the laugh he allots himself once a year.

I am past the point of thinking of him as a jackass or a scary assassin. Now he just seems like some arrogant, hot guy who sits five feet from me every day. When he is in the office, he’s constantly on the phone talking to clients. When he is not here, he is roaming the building, conversing with other employees. He talks to everyone except me. He mumbles and grunts some information periodically my way, however he seems to be working awfully hard at preventing any lengthy conversations between us, which is just fine.

I keep my crackling hormones in line, even though they spark constantly when Dylan is near me. I regularly catch an unnoticed observation of his profile or the back of his broad shoulders and well-packaged jeans when he leaves the office. For holy heck, when he throws on a tool belt to work in the factory, there is a pull in my center and I get unbelievably fluttery excited; I have to exit any room quickly when we have prolonged contact.

Sometimes, he looks rather uncomfortable around me, too, and perhaps all that tinkering and woodworking he really doesn’t have to do anymore is because he likes to busy himself in the factory to get away from me.

Then there’s his lunchtime running. I have a bowl of soup every day at the diner to catch up on the girl chat with Lauren and Imogene, who both work that shift. They sit with me between serving their customers, and I always manage to catch Dylan running by the big booth window.

Today, Archie sits with me, wearing a three-piece suit and polished wingtips. He’s impeccably groomed, and I find this both refreshing and amusing in this small town where everyone else dons jeans and t-shirts most days. But then, Archie is the only attorney in town and seems to handle a lot of clients across the county.

“So, I’m going to skip my usual burger and try the vegetable soup that Emma is having,” Archie says to Imogene who scribbles his order on a pad before her head jerks up to the window.

Lauren dashes over, giggling.

“Oh, here comes Ironman!” Imogene says, picking up a fork and using it as a microphone.

Archie looks at me and shakes his head at our juvenile hilarity, but I can’t stop myself from laughing along with the girls.

“And he hurdles the fire hydrant! Excellent. Now, will he run around Karen and her stroller or will he hurdle the stroller? Oh! He runs around it,” Imogene continues.

Lauren and I are laughing so loudly that other customers turn to watch. The truth is, I can’t tell my friends that I think Dylan looks magnificent and that I look forward to these lunches everyday just to see him in action, sprinting shirtless.

“Bill Jamison just cut Dylan off with his truck!” Imogene continues in her mocking, sportscaster voice. “And now Dylan is giving Bill the finger, and wait, yes… Bill is laughing and he’s giving the bird back to Dylan. It doesn’t slow our Ironman down one bit… And he’s off!”

“Oh my,” Archie says, watching the finale.

Imogene plops down next to me and Lauren sits next to Archie as we continue laughing until Archie’s disapproving sigh shuts us up.

“Where does he run to?” I ask.

“He takes the county road as far as he can and then doubles back,” Lauren replies.

“He needs it. It helps take the edge off all of his… edginess,” Imogene explains as she scrunches up her face and shakes her shoulders to demonstrate.

They both leave to serve their customers, and I notice Archie’s stoic face regarding me with a questioning seriousness.

“How are you and Dylan getting along at work?”

“Well, he seems to be very good at his job, and I’m doing pretty well with my new projects and clients, if I do say so myself. But, truthfully, we don’t talk much. He’s good at working with other people in the company, but he also seems like a loner.”

“That’s interesting,” Archie responds, and I wonder if my comment made him slightly sad because of his tone. “I think he’s trying to get used to his new situation. He’s had to overcome some difficult issues.”

“I know. This town talks.”

“Yes, it does. Dylan happens to be one of my favorite people. I don’t think I’ve ever told him that, though. But as an old man, I have always envied Dylan’s perseverance and enthusiasm, despite some of his poor choices.”

“You wish you could run like the Tasmanian Devil?” I smile.

“That, and I wish I could go back and grab the second chances I stupidly dismissed. It’s merely an old man’s musings.” He has a kind smile that reaches the wrinkles around his eyes. “I’m glad you’re working with Dylan. It’s good that he has someone to contend with besides Carson.” Archie chuckles.

“You make it sound like we’re opponents. We work together. Sort of.”

“Yes. I meant it’s nice that he gets to have you in his office, sharing the workload. I saw you two having lunch here together the other day, you seem to have hit it off.”

I bark a laugh so suddenly that I surprise myself. “You’re kidding, right? He took me out for lunch on my first day, and that was more than a little tense. This whole week, we’ve worked pretty much independently of each other. We’re working around one another, but I wouldn’t say we’re hitting it off.”

“It’s just my observation.” Archie winks with amusement.

“Maybe you need glasses,” I tease him.

“I don’t think so.” He chuckles. “Don’t let those young women lead you to believe that Dylan is worse off than anyone else. He’s a good person.”

“All right.” I say nothing more about Dylan Blackard because it’s clear that Archie wants the last word on this man who is very dear to him.

Naturally, I am not going to let on that I like these lunchtime festivities. I can’t wait to see Dylan in his element, whether it’s running through town or meandering through the factory at work. I have caught myself at the big, glass partition that separates the offices from the factory, watching him stroll around to different workstations, talking to the designers and craftsman, while I stand there stupidly with paperwork in my hand, gaping at him.

However, it is those images of Dylan running that I find extremely distracting. I can be talking on the phone with a customer when I’ll start daydreaming about his incredibly muscled chest and abs and his powerful, corded legs, pumping fast as he runs. He is breathtaking when he moves like that. Though, at the same time, I have to wonder how lonely it must be to run so far away, out in the middle of nowhere, with no one for company.

Despite the rocky start to our first day, and the tension that leaves me wondering if it’s attraction or friction, I would like it if he spoke to me more. I want to get to know him.

One morning I can’t resist taking things further. We both finish calls to clients and there is an awkward silence between us before Dylan jumps up from his chair, grabs his tool belt off the filing cabinet, and begins securing it around his trim waist.

“Are you a salesman or Bob the Builder now?” I ask rudely to provoke him.

“Wow, you’re a feisty wench,” he replies without a trace of a smile.

“Wench? How about I’m an awesome salesperson because I work these phones all day while you run off to play with your hammer,” I retort, waving my hand at his belt.

He pauses and glares at me. Then he’s practically on me in two steps as he puts two big fists on my desk and leans in towards my face. “I can’t sit in a chair all day, so I like to alternate between the office and the factory and the studio. Besides, I take care of my clients,” he bristles.

Why did I start this tiff?

My head drops from his face to his hands where I notice a long thread hanging from his sleeve. I immediately seize the opportunity to change the subject.

“Give me that,” I say, jerking his fist towards me.

I reach into my purse and pull my compact knife out. I push a lever and the blade shoots out.

“Shit. You carry a switchblade?”

As I pull the loose thread taut and cut it clean from his shirt, my swiftness startles him.

“Is that thing even legal?”

He looks quite alarmed, and I want to laugh at the fact that I shocked him so easily.

“It’s legal for hunting, and we are in the country, and I happen to be hunting loose threads that annoy the heck out me.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of scissors? Really, who uses a switchblade to cut a piece of thread?” He pulls his wrist towards him and inspects my work.

“People who don’t like scissors.” I close the blade and throw the knife back into my bag. “You have more dangerous things hanging off that belt of yours. I didn’t think a little knife would bother you.”

“It doesn’t. It’s the woman holding it that bothers me,” he says and then leaves the room with a big, sexy swagger.

Whatever
. I am here for a job and a chance at a real career. I am not here to moon over a guy who has a past of setting world records in one-night stands. At least, that’s what Lauren has said about his college days.

From what I can tell, and from Lauren’s unedited gossip, Dylan has become a temple unto himself, eschewing women and drinking since he got out of the mental hospital or whatever they call it these days. He looks pretty sound to me with the exception of all his excessive running and weight training. I wish all that physical activity would kill the pheromones he gives off. That would really help me concentrate on my work.

Sometimes, when I think I sense him staring at me, I’ll turn to catch him looking away. What the hell kind of cat and mouse game are we playing here? I can tell myself that I am not mooning over him, yet the rest of me would disagree.

Aside from a new job I like, a nice aspect of living in this little town is that there are not many ways to blow my paycheck. I haven’t ventured out for any social events yet. Archie, Lois and Eleanor—the sixty-something town yogis—have invited me to join their weekly poker game, but I don’t know how to play poker, and I suspect Lois is a real card shark and a heartless one at that. Lauren and Imogene, who were a blast to hang out with in college, have invited me to their home as well to have dinner and watch movies with them and their boyfriends, but so far, I’ve declined. Yeah, being the unattached fifth wheel is always
fun
.

Until I get my bearings on the job, the social life will have to wait. The benefit of this is that the small, inexpensive rental cottage combined with my boring nightly entertainment of knitting and watching television will keep my bank balance at a livable amount. I have turned into my grandmother, and my vagina will surely shrivel up with this stale lifestyle, however I won’t have to live paycheck to paycheck and eat rice and beans for every meal.

Friday afternoon, as I get ready to leave, I pass by the makeshift employee gym down the hall where I hear Dylan arguing with Carson. Curious, I’m unable to stop myself from peeking in. Carson is standing by the bench press with his arms crossed, looking annoyed while Dylan is shirtless, in sweat pants, flat on the bench and gripping the bar weighted with several huge plates. I don’t know what this guy benches, but he looks amazing doing it. I jerk my head out of view and stand flush against the hallway wall so I can eavesdrop.

“Why didn’t you wait until I was back from California before you interviewed her?” Dylan is pissed, and I have no doubt that I’m
her
. Well, that explains the cold shoulder treatment this week. He really doesn’t want me here. In that moment, I realize those hot sparks I’ve assumed were a budding sexual attraction between us are merely the short-circuiting in my own conflicted, sexually deprived body.

“She’s a perfect fit for this job.” Carson uses a calm, steady tone with his brother.

It is probably familiar territory, given their turbulent childhood and history of brotherly conflicts. Lauren has told me quite a bit about their parents’ early deaths and Dylan’s destructive years while Carson tried to raise both of them.

Dylan doesn’t respond. He just lets out a loud, deep grunt, and when I sneak another peak, he is consumed with that angry assassin look again as he pushes the weight bar up and lowers it several times against his chest. His legs are up and crossed at the ankles, and his repetitions get faster and look more painful as it goes on.

“This is overkill,” Carson comments, watching Dylan power through his set.

I move back to hiding against the wall and think about how I am going to work with a guy who really doesn’t want me here. Maybe we could have separate offices.

“Overkill, my ass. I need this. What I don’t need is an assistant who needs me to help her,” Dylan grunts.

Assistant?
Fuck him.

“She’s not your assistant. She works for me just like you do, so let me tell you how we’re going to operate. Emma is taking a big load off your shoulders, and she already knows the ropes. She has a lot of wholesale experience, so you are not training her. You’re not her boss. You two will work together, and you will get your head out of your ass and start being more polite to everyone around here. Got it?”

“I heard every fucking word,” Dylan growls.

On one hand, I want to cry for being spoken about in that manner. On the other hand, I want to walk in there and give Dylan a good, hard right cross against that handsome face of his.

Defensive moves are probably the only thing of value I learned from some of my father’s bodyguards who taught me how to fend for myself without breaking my knuckles. My father’s best guy, Sean, always says my preeminent defense tactic is to grab a guy’s groin and squeeze the hell out of his nuts, and when he buckles in excruciating pain, I should ram the base of my palm up against his nose to break it. Sean says the fun part is when you get to watch a guy crumble and fall, howling in pain. I’ve done that before, and it is
not
fun. Besides, I shouldn’t be entertaining these types of thoughts about Dylan. He hasn’t physically attacked me; he simply gave me an emotional sucker punch to the gut.