Untimely You (3 page)

I wonder why he doesn’t seem to laugh anymore…

“Yes?” My voice is meant to sound confident but it comes out in a squeak. I flicker my gaze to Mr. Andrews, who wears an unusual smile behind him, before returning to gape at Mr. Hocksted.

“May I have a word with you?”

I want to tear my stare from his and shoot Paul a
help me
look. But I can’t. I’m ensnared in his interested trap. His brown eyes work their way over my face, down my chin, and to my throat to which I gulp in a nervous manner. It’s as if he senses my anxiety and hones in on it much like a cat would corner a bird with a broken wing—enjoying the calm before the kill. I can’t seem to take my eyes from him and fixate on the way his jaw clenches almost in an angry way.

“I’m sorry we’re late,” I start to explain. “I mean, I, um…”

He scowls. “Enough. Come to my office after your lunch date. I’d like to have a private word with you.”

Before I can manage another word, he and a waving Mr. Andrews stroll out of the restaurant.

Shit!

I’ve somehow pissed off my boss and it couldn’t have come at a worse time. I need this job at least long enough to get approved for a loan. Then, I’ll be on my own and doing what I love rather than answering phones and doing menial tasks.

“You think you’re getting canned?” Paul questions as we leave.

I shrug my shoulders. “Maybe I’m getting a raise.” My toe catches the rubber mat in front of the door of the restaurant and I stumble forward. I’m thankfully able to catch myself before I break something or someone as usual.

His unconvinced bellow of laughter behind me only serves to stress me out further.

“W
hat do you mean you’re overdrawn?” I ask with a growl into my cell phone as I pace my office.

My son huffs into the phone. “I had shit to buy, Dad.”

I clench my jaw to keep from blowing up on him. The past almost twelve years have been hard on us. Being both mom and dad to a rebellious young man has been trying, to say the least.

“Damien, I just put nine hundred dollars in your account. That was supposed to be for food and your rent. Did you at least get rent paid?”

A groan from his end.

“Jesus! Yes, your fuck-up son remembered to pay the rent. I just…” He trails off. “Forget it. I’ll figure it out.”

“Wait,” I say with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I’ve just had a rough day. How much do you need?”

Rough day is a fucking understatement. The acquisition of Kensington Ammunition was littered with a shit-ton of government red tape bullshit. Eric and I spent the better part of the morning pouring over the fine print in the contract to make sure we weren’t getting the short end of the stick. We’ve spent months finalizing this acquisition. I’m eager to get it done and move the fuck on to something else.

When my son tells me to hold while he looks at his bank statement, I sit down at my expansive, overpriced desk—thanks to Eric. All of my family photos face me—mocking me. My favorite is one from not long before the accident where Chrissy is beaming at the camera with our rambunctious six-year-old in her lap. We’d taken a trip up north to Niagara Falls, and with my arm casually draped over her shoulder, I grin at the camera without a worry in the fucking world. Had I known I would have lost the woman that rocked the very world I stood upon not even a year later, I’d have glared at the camera. Held her tighter. Told God to fucking leave us alone.

I pick up the frame and inspect her closely. Blonde hair that was normally kept shoulder-length with smooth was frizzed from the spray of the falls. Her crystal blue eyes twinkled with undeniable life and love. I miss those eyes. I miss them so fucking badly.

“Two hundred should cover it but…”

I set the frame back down and wiggle the mouse on my laptop to pull up my online banking to make the transfer. “But?”

“I’m kind of seeing this girl and…” His tone sounds nervous. Damien hasn’t had many girlfriends, despite being a good-looking enough kid to where he could probably land any girl he wants. My son, though, seemed to retreat a bit into himself after the accident. We both did. As if we’d find her hiding within ourselves.

“Is this girl affecting your studies?”

I know it’s not the cool thing to ask, but I’m his dad and I pay a ton of money in tuition for him to just throw it all away on a piece of strange.

“God, Dad. No. Laci’s my tutor. All she wants to do is study,” he groans. “I’ve been conning her into ‘
studying
’ at the pizza parlor on campus nearly every night, hence my cash being low. I wanted to ask her out on a real date. Like take her to a steakhouse and a movie or something.”

On instinct, I run my fingers through my hair messing it up along the way, something I do whenever I get frustrated. “Sure, I’ll send a little extra. Stay focused, Dame. You’re nineteen and there’ll be plenty of girls. Don’t settle on the first one.”

“You settled for Mom in college,” he retorts without missing a beat. “She was the first one.” His words aren’t meant to sting, but they do. The part of my heart that holds her—
the way things used to be
—tears open and bleeds. I swallow and will myself to calm down.

“Of course,” I tell him, my voice gruff. “Just be careful.”

A soft knock on the door saves me from any more awkward conversation with my son.

“I’ll see you soon, Damien. I miss you…and love you.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

As soon as I hang up, I give one last, long look at Chrissy’s brilliant, vibrant smile before I call in my visitor. “Come in.”

The door cracks open and the willowy woman carefully walks in as if she’s afraid I might clamber over my desk after her like a flesh-eating zombie. I wave her over to the seats in front of the desk and scrutinize her appearance. Despite this being a business environment, she pushes the dress code, wearing a floor length brown maxi skirt and a cream-colored blouse. It’s nearly see-through and I find myself biting my tongue to not lash out at her about it. The tan bra beneath does nothing to hide the globes of her breasts.

“Miss Noble.” I clench my fist and shake my head. “Has HR not mentioned your transparent shirt today?”

Her hazel eyes widen in shock. “No, I, uh…” She trails off and looks down at her top. “You can see through it? Shit! This morning it was dark and I hadn’t had my coffee yet. I noticed my shoes didn’t match, but hell. Today is so not my day.”

She mumbles the last part and I stifle the urge to chuckle. The woman is a mess, most days a scatterbrain according to my observations. But today, I saw something different. And it wasn’t just her tits through her shirt. I’m not interested in those. Today, I saw compassion.

And like a heat-seeking missile, I had to get her in my presence. I had to learn about her. It was imperative that I speak to her.

“HR doesn’t care about your shoes. And quite frankly, I’m not here to talk about your shirt. Your boyfriend, though, might be jealous. But then again, HR might take issue with the interoffice fraternization.” I’m rambling and I sound pissed. I didn’t want to scare the shit out of her—just talk.

Her eyebrows furrow and she sits up in the chair, her nerves clearly gone. “Paul? Jesus, no. He’s not my boyfriend.”

I smirk at her as her gaze falls briefly to my mouth. It’s not like I don’t know women find me attractive. They do and over the years they’ve attempted to garner my attention. I’ve just never been interested.
Not ever.

“Good for you. Listen,” I say in a soft tone, “I may have an opportunity for you.”

Her eyes widen in surprise but the flighty woman, with one foot inside the proverbial door and the other on the outside, perks up and seems to slide into business mode. She holds my serious gaze with one of her own. Her chin is lifted in a confident manner. If her clothes weren’t so fucking awful, I’d almost entertain the notion of her having abilities outside those required to answer the phones.

“I saw what you did for that kid.”

Her cheeks tinge pink and she gives me a shy half smile. It’s cute, I’ll give her that. “I think he was autistic and was having a meltdown. His poor mother was frazzled. Anyone would have stepped in to help.”

I take a deep breath and glance down at the photo of my family. Chrissy would have done it in a heartbeat. A pang in my chest aches and I force my gaze away from the beautiful blonde on my desk and back to the messy brunette sitting before me.

“Not anyone. You. It’s called compassion. You have a good soul…despite your outward appearance.”

She pouts her lip out as if I’ve offended her, and I don’t like the stirrings it causes in the pit of my belly.

“What I mean is…shit, I don’t mean to say…” I trail off and run my fingers through my hair. “You look fine. I’m not here to talk about your appearance. I’m here to offer you a job.”

Her eyes dart back and forth between me and the window behind me, seemingly perplexed. “I already have a job as a sales support specialist.”

With a huff of frustration, I stand and glare down at her. “Well, I don’t want you doing that anymore. You’re far too overqualified to be fielding sales calls. I chatted with Eric on the way back to the office after lunch. He said that prior to a four-year break you managed a publishing house. And by the way you stepped in and diffused the situation with the child, I can see you’re good with people. You aren’t designed to sit behind the walls of a cubical all day.”

“I know but I
have
to. At least for now.”

I frown at her. “My say is final. I wasn’t exactly asking, Miss Noble. I was informing you of your new position. Starting tomorrow, I want you at my home at seven in the morning.”

She gapes at me and rises to her feet, her chest rising and falling with each angry breath. “What? But I work here! I need this job!”

I lean over the desk and spit out my response through gritted teeth. “
This
job pays more.”

“It’s not about the money, Mr. Hocksted. I need to show proof of income for a year because—”

“I’ll pay you two thousand a week.”

Her words die in her throat and she chews on her pink bottom lip as she contemplates my words. “That’s a lot of money. And for what? What am I agreeing to?”

I sit back down and stare at my wife before turning to look at her. The pain in my chest is crushing. “You’re not agreeing to anything. This is your new work assignment. We’ll keep your payroll the same but I’ll pay you the two grand a week from my personal account. It has nothing to do with the company.”

Her mouth forms a tiny
O
and her cheeks blaze crimson.

“What?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing. What exactly is it you’ll be needing my services for? This sounds weird.”

I frown at her, wondering what the hell is going on inside of her head. “It isn’t weird, Miss Noble. Not weird at all. It’s something personal I need your help with—something too complicated to explain right now. It will all be explained in explicit detail tomorrow when I can actually show you what you’ll be doing. Don’t be late.”

Once I scribble down my address, I hand it over to her. Her slender fingers brush against mine, and I jerk my hand away from her as if I’ve been bitten by a snake. She has the sense to back away, clutching the paper fiercely in her tiny fist.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Mr. Hocksted. I guess.”

I pin her with a firm glare. “Call me Adrian. And consider your job gone if you don’t show up. Oh, and dress,” I wave at her clothes with a slight curl of disgust on my lips, “comfortably.” I’d wanted to say
better
.
Dress fucking better than chic meets homeless
but I refrained. I kept the barely contained insult in my callous mouth.

With an exasperated huff, she storms from my office.

Good. She needs to understand her role. The woman is nothing more than a paid employee under my service.

Nothing more.

Then why is there an uneasy feeling in my gut?