13
| JASON |
WEDNESDAY
(Time: 1:27 a.m.)
I’m losing my goddamn mind.
I shouldn’t have fucking touched her in the trailer. Jesus, what the hell was I thinking? I need to apologize. Fucking hit my knees to the ground and beg for her forgiveness.
Only, I don’t want to apologize.
I don’t want to have to say that I regret rubbing her little clit and making her come so hard I nearly came in my pants just watching her. Because I don’t regret it. The very thought makes me pissed as hell. And that’s the most messed up part about all of this.
I fucking loved watching her come, feeling her come. I replayed it in my mind a thousand more times throughout the day. Even now as I’m standing here outside her loft rehearsing my apology in my head, I’m hard as hell.
But the fact that I can’t stop wanting her, craving her is my problem, not hers. I could’ve ruined her career. If we’d gotten caught in that trailer, absolutely nothing would’ve happened to me. Yes, I’m her boss on this project but she’s an independent contractor, not an employee. There’s no HR issue. No one would say shit about me.
But they would damn sure talk shit about her.
I’ve grown up in the trades. I know how fucking hard it is for any woman to succeed, let alone thrive to the level of success she’s achieved. The absolute last thing she needs is dumbass gossip that she’s sleeping with a client. She’d get labeled as a slut and lose the respect of her colleagues and her crew.
And that thought is enough to make me want to punch through a wall.
This is all my fault. I unclench my fist and flatten my palm against her door.
It opens without me even knocking.
Goddamnit, she’s so fucking beautiful.
“Jas—” She stops herself. “Um…is everything okay? Security just called to tell me to check that my doorbell is working because you’ve been standing out here for the past few minutes.”
I sigh. Of course they did. I make a mental note to give them all bonuses for being so invasively observant. “Sorry, they probably thought it was some sort of landlord emergency. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
Though she’s rubbing her arms nervously, she lets loose a crooked little smile at that. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?”
I feel my lips twitch in amusement as well. “Right. Stupid question.”
She chews on her lower lip. “Do you…want to come in for a drink or something?” She glances over to the old grandfather clock behind her to check the time. “Guess it’s probably too late for you for coffee. But I do have beer.”
Bad idea, Steele. Don’t do it. Say what you need to say out here in the hallway. Better yet, send her a nice email. That way, you won’t accidentally trip and end up with your hand down her pants again.
“Sure, a beer sounds great.”
Way to go with the self-control, asshole.
Once in the door, I stop her before she heads into the kitchen. “Actually, forget the beer. I just came here to apologize again for what happened in the trailer.”
Her mouth turns down at the corners. “Stop apologizing, Jason. Really, there’s nothing to be sorry for.”
“Yes, there is. We both know how bad that could’ve ended for you if someone caught us.”
She drops down onto her sofa with a sigh. “I know I shouldn’t care about something as trivial as gossip, but I do.”
Against my better judgement, I join her on the couch. “Anyone would, Summer. Our reputations are our livelihood.”
A soft smile graces her lips. “My grandfather used to say that all the time.”
“Not surprising. Never got the chance to meet the man, but he had a helluva reputation.”
“That he did,” she says proudly before the light in her eyes dim a bit. “That’s the only reason so many folks took a chance on me when I was starting out. Because I was the little granddaughter of John Davis. If not for him, there’s no way I’d even be where I am right now in this business. I’m practically the poster girl for nepotism.”
“Nothing wrong with that. I can say the same thing about me. My dad paved the way, and I’m thankful for him for it.” I shrug. “Besides, your grandfather may have opened some doors for you, but you’re the one that showed them why you deserved his backing. I remember hearing about you a long time ago. Folks talk when a girl kicks ass in the trades. Especially back then. And believe me, I heard a number of times how good you were.”
“Yes, well, I was a novelty then.” She avoids my eyes and gets up to go fiddle with some old photos of her grandfather on the fireplace mantel. “I bet the stuff you’ve heard about me recently haven’t been quite so glowing.”
It makes me pissed that she even has to deal with this crap. “That’s just your competitors trying to tear you down because you’re so good. I called around before I hired you. Your clients had nothing but praise for your work.” Well, most of them anyway.
A knowing look crosses her expression. “We both know that a few of my clients are the ones talking about me as well.”
Hell, I fucking hate gossip. Hands down one of the stupidest human traits, if you ask me. “I’m sorry you have to put up with folks talking about you behind your back.”
She lifts a dismissive shoulder. “It’s not really a big secret. I am who I am. So why hide it?”
I stare at her. Clearly, I’m missing something.
“What?” she asks, staring back at me, too.
I frown. “Are we talking about the same thing?”
“The rumors that I’m weird?”
“No, the rumors that you were your boss’s mistress in the city.”
Her jaw drops. “WHAT?!”
Shit. I shoot up from the couch. “It’s just something I happened to hear.” From a lot of friggin’ folks. “Could just be a small circulating rumor.” Yeah, not likely.
For the first time ever, Summer looks…vulnerable. Hurt. And that makes me want to beat the shit out of everyone who ever repeated the rumor. “Summer…”
“It’s not true,” she bursts out vehemently. “I don’t even know who they could possibly be talking about.”
I should just drop the subject. But I figure she has a right to know. “It was some high-rise project you did early last year.”
A repulsed shudder shakes her small frame. “Ugh. The client on that one was Chad Harrington. The guy was a jerk, and pretty sleazy if you ask me. Never did see how he had such a sweet wife.” She scowls. “Why on earth would anyone be spreading rumors about me and Harrington? I barely talked to the guy.”
Yet another instance of where her surprisingly naïve innocence worries me. “Honey,” I say gently, “from what I heard, it was your client that started the rumor.”
Her look of disgusted shock makes me wish I knew who the hell this Harrington jackass was so I could fucking ruin him.
“But…why would he do something like that? He’s married. With a kid.” Her arms wrap around her middle as if she’s literally in pain. “Do you think the rumors got back to his wife? His kid? His daughter was like ten—old enough to be damaged by this.” She looks close to tears over the thought.
Hell, she’s such a sweet, gentle thing.
Definitely fucking ruining the asshole.
“I don’t know the answer to that. All I know is that he bragged about it to a bunch of guys and…well, you know how rumors go.”
“I mean I went to dinner with him a few times, but it was just business meetings. Like the kind we have in your penthouse.” She frowns. “I guess he did get a little handsy once when he was tipsy, but I never really thought much about it because a lot of the construction guys I go drinking with get the same way.”
“Which guys?” I growl. They’re fucking fired.
She jumps. “None of them on this crew.” Her shoulders sag and she looks deflated. “Do folks really believe I’d do that? Sleep with a married man?” She looks up at me, eyes brimming with anger, humiliation. “Wait… You said ‘mistress in the city.’ Do you mean he was telling folks that he was like my…sugar daddy or something?”
I don’t want to tell her that her description is far milder than some of the rumors.
She nods at my silence. “So, my colleagues don’t just think I’m a slut, but also a whore.”
I grip her chin and grit out through my teeth, “Don’t ever fucking say that about yourself.”
She looks down. “It actually explains why I heard some guys I’ve fired in the past call me that. Just thought they were being asses. Now I know.”
Her expression is so defeated, I want to yell at the universe. Men never have to worry about shit like this. It’s fucking unfair. I know how good she is. But the fact that all three of the contractors I’d called to find out more about her lead with her ‘reputation,’ and followed up with crass jokes about how she might give me the same deal as Harrington is totally fucked up. If I’d been asking around about a male project manager, no one would even mention shit like that. And crew members would never disrespect a man for something like this.
“Oh, no,” she whispers, her gaze flying up to meet mine. “You think the guys might end up saying the same thing about us?” She backs away from me, shaking her head. “W-we should do damage control. We’ll stay away from each other as much as possible; I can get another trailer on the other side of the lot. And no more meetings outside of the jobsite.”
I glare at her like she’s out of her mind, even as I feel something in my chest tug hard over her trying to protect me. “Summer, cut it out. There’s no fucking need for any damage control.”
She freezes in place. “Oh crap! This apartment. I need to start paying you rent.” She rolls her eyes. “What the heck am I talking about, I can’t possibly afford this place. I’ll move. Asap.”
“You aren’t fucking moving,” I all but bellow.
“But what if folks—”
“It was part of your employment package,” I cut in, feeling myself unraveling at the thought of her leaving. “No one will say shit about the loft.” I know that’s probably far too optimistic to be true, but if someone does make a comment, I’ll just kick their ass to clarify the situation.
“Even if it was part of my hiring contract. To be safe—”
“I said no. You aren’t going anywhere. Now calm the fuck down.”
I make a concerted effort then to take my own advice.
“I promise, Jason. I won’t let your reputation get ruined along with mine. I promise, nothing like what happened today will ever happen again.”
Goddamnit. No fucking way I’m going to be able to calm down now. I close the distance between us in two steps. “Don’t say shit like that, Summer. Just hearing it makes me crazy.”
When she backs up a step and looks at me like she’s going to repeat that fucked up promise again, I pull her into my arms. “You’re special, Summer. I’m not going to let stupid male chauvinistic shit stop me from seeing you.”
Her eyes soften, and she says with a gentle smile, “I think you’re special, too.”
Thank fuck. “So, nothing changes. We just…need to be careful.”
She looks skeptical at best.
“It’ll be fine,” I insist. “I just have to learn to keep my fucking hands to myself when we’re at work.” Easier said than done.
“Or,” she says, in a way that makes it clear I’m not going to like her suggestion. “We could just wait until the project is finished.”
Sometimes, I hate when I’m right. “You’re suggesting we wait almost a year to pick this up again?” I’m man enough to admit that I’m not strong enough to do that, not after having had her come in my arms already.
She mutters something under her breath that I don’t catch. The look on her face tells me it’s important. “What was that?”
“I said, ‘what’s one more year?’ For me, anyway.” She shoots me a meaningful glance like I’m supposed to know what she means.
I truly don’t.
“Summer, I know you’re wanting me to get something right now, but it’s going over my head. Spell it out for me, sweetheart.”
“I’ve never…done…that before. Not that I don’t want to. Well, I didn’t. Before. But now I do. With you, I mean. But I can still wait,” she rambles on for a bit before cutting herself off and biting her lip nervously.
It takes me a bit to process it all. When I finally get what she’s saying, I’m admittedly not very smooth about it. “Holy. Fuck. How the hell is that even possible? You’re so damn beautiful.”
She shrugs, embarrassment clear on her features. “You’ve met me, haven’t you? I’m weird around guys outside of my own crew. I’ve barely even been kissed before you came along.”
I somehow manage to keep another ‘holy fuck’ in. But I do want to make sure I get clarification on a few major details. “So, in the trailer, that was the first time a man ever…”
She blushes and nods.
Jesus. “And you really mean it when you say that you want your first time to be with me?”
More blushing, and more nodding.
Just like that, I feel something unlock inside me. It’s fucking freeing. Her admission has a humbling, territorial, primal feeling growing inside me and I don’t fight it. No, I revel in it.
And then I start advancing on her.
I see the question in her eyes, and I feel the answer to her question pounding away in my chest.
“W-what’re you doing?” she asks, eyes wide with curiosity.
In a thick, barely recognizable voice, I tell her exactly what I’m doing: “Not waiting.”