Why would Liam put the decision for when they became lovers solely in her hands?
Because he didn’t care one way or the other?
No. He’d shown up in her office with condoms. He wasn’t exactly “whatever” about them getting it on.
Maybe you should stop worrying about funny business and get back to running your business.
Good plan.
Stirling lasted three hours—most of which she’d spent on the phone—before she decided to check on the installation of their newest piece of equipment.
The designated space housing the new machine was across the hallway from the lab. The door was open and she heard clank, clank, clank, then “Motherfuck!”
“Is everything all right?” she called through the door.
Liam’s face appeared on the left side of the CO2 tank. “Macon may’ve gotten a great deal on this, but it should’ve been industrially cleaned before they sold it.”
“It’s not defective?” she said with alarm.
“Not that I can tell. Just dirty. When the technicians arrive they’ll hear it from me. There’s no excuse for poor maintenance of lab equipment.” Liam’s head disappeared for a moment and then he shuffled toward her.
Stirling couldn’t believe her eyes. Dr. Argent’s pristine white lab coat? Filthy. Grease stains were smeared down the front as if he’d actually used it as a towel.
He said “What?” a little tersely.
“Dude. A truckload of Tide bleach pens won’t do the trick on those stains.”
“As I’m aware.”
When she looked at his face, she couldn’t help but break out in laughter.
“Find my dishevelment amusing?”
“I wouldn’t say…amusing.”
“What would you say?”
“Surprising. I’ve never seen you less than perfectly put together. You look like one of those hot-rod mechanics, dirt on your face, smears of grease on your clothes, oil on your rough, knuckled hands. Your tattoos peeking out just adds that rugged-around-the-edges hotness.”
Liam stalked her for the second time today. Her back hit the wall and those big, dirty hands were right next to her head. “Is that what turns you on? A guy with workingman’s hands?” He put his mouth close to her ear. “Do you imagine your man coming home from an honest day’s labor, pulling a cold beer out of the fridge, and seeking you out before he changes out of his stained work clothes?”
He brushed a kiss below her earlobe, eliciting her shiver.
“When this blue-collar fantasy man sees his sexy-as-fuck woman wearing a tight skirt that molds your perfect ass, and you turn around, your hard nipples taunting him under your sheer white blouse, does he drain his beer in one long drink, never taking his eyes off of you? Do his work boots thump against the floor, matching the fast beat of your heart, as he comes closer and pins you against the wall?”
Her heart rate went wild.
“Does he put those big, dirty hands on your tits and capture your mouth in a brutal kiss? As he’s touching you everywhere, kissing you, rubbing his body on yours, determined to take what’s his…” Liam’s lips moved to her neck, placing a line of kisses to the center of her chest. “Do you even care that he’s left grease stains on your chest, your ass, your thighs, and your throat? Or do you wear those dirty marks with pride?”
“Liam—”
“Answer me,” he demanded, his mouth against her throat.
“No, I don’t care.”
“Why not?”
She swallowed the ball of lust in her throat. “To feel—to see—firsthand that kind of sexual need directed at me, knowing I brought it out in him? Knowing I’m what he desires above all else in that moment in time? That I’m the one who can satisfy him? That’s heady stuff.”
Liam allowed enough space between them to gaze into her eyes.
His expression convinced her to confess, “Especially when I’ve never had that.”
A beat passed and he said, “You do now.”
Oh. Fuck.
Then he retreated. “I’ll put a pin in that fantasy for now.”
“What? You’re just…” Leaving me here all wet and horny?
“Ushering you back to work? Yes.” A cocky smile curled his lips. “We’re acting professional, keeping this a secret between us, not risking our reputations…blah, blah, blah… Sound familiar?”
Stirling blushed. She had said that. Fuck. Why had she said that?
“I’m following your lead, Miss Gradsky.”
That cleared her lusty thoughts. “And why is that? Why leave the decision about our first sexy time up to me?”
“Because you have more doubts about this than I do.”
“Not true, Dr. Delusional. You asked me to help prove your theory. I shared five observations about you. Instead of participating, you handed me a condom and bailed. Which indicates that you couldn’t come up with one thing you learned about me during prankfest, to say nothing of five.”
“Wrong.”
“Prove it.”
The muscle in his jaw flexed like he was gritting his teeth. “One. You have half a dozen pairs of cowgirl boots, but when you have an important meeting and need an extra boost of confidence, you wear your beat-up brown leather boots, because you consider them lucky.”
Dammit.
“Two. You keep a bag of cat food behind the seat in your monster truck to feed the strays by the fence.”
Her mouth dropped open. “How do you know that?”
“I noticed the bag when I filled your truck cab with ‘I Love Nick Jonas’ balloons.”
“The joke was on you that time, because I’m a Joe Jonas fan.” She sighed. “That guy is fucking fine.” Actually…when she thought about it… There was a resemblance between Joe and Liam.
“Three,” he continued tersely, “you won’t drink citrus-based sodas, even if 7Up is the only kind left in the vending machine. But you love Diet Mountain Dew.”
“Everyone who works here knows that, so number four needs to knock my socks off.”
“You brush your teeth at work at least twice a day. You have a special pink plastic case you tuck in your purse.” He tipped his head closer and licked the seam of her lips. “As a man who’s had my tongue in this delectable mouth, I thank you for the attention to oral hygiene. I could kiss you for hours.”
Stirling forced herself to ignore the sexy growling noise he made, even when her pulse sped up. “Finish it. Number five.”
“I noticed you in Macon’s office the first time I met him. When he excused himself to take a call, I wandered to the shelf behind his desk and saw a picture of him standing next to the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her smile lit up the picture, so I couldn’t fathom how formidable that smile would be in real life. The casual way she leaned into Macon, her dreadlocks a complete contradiction to the business suit he wore, showed a woman confident with who she is.” His gaze encompassed her entire face. “I’d never envied a man as much as I did Macon in that moment.”
The intensity in his eyes made simply breathing difficult.
“When Macon returned and saw me holding the picture, I told him his girlfriend was stunning. He laughed and said, ‘That’s my little sister.’ And he said nothing else. Not that if I agreed to work for High Society, I’d see your mesmerizing smile every goddamned day. Not that we’d detest each other on sight. Not that we were exactly alike and we’d immediately become BFFs. Not that we’d develop an intimate connection through crazy, stupid pranks.” He put his mouth on her ear. “And most definitely not that you and I would throw enough sexual sparks off each other to power all the lights in the grow house.”
“Liam.”
“I’ve gotten more satisfaction from fighting with you the past ten months than I’ve ever gotten from fucking any woman.”
“Okay, you win,” she said in a breathless rush.
“I’d say we’re both winners.”
In the silence she heard the heels clicking down the hallway stop outside the door.
Shanna called, “Dr. Argent?” through the door.
“Yes?”
“Have you seen Stirling?”
“She’s right here.”
Stirling stepped around Liam. “Hey, Shan, what’s up?”
Her confused gaze winged between them. “Some of the employees are freaked out about all that’s gone on, so you need to settle them down.”
“Don’t we have weed that’ll take care of that better than I can?”
Liam laughed behind her.
“Oh, stuff it,” she said over her shoulder. “It’s not funny.”
He kept laughing. “Yes, Stirling, it is.”
“Whatever. Quit playing with your tool and double check when the contractors are supposed to arrive.”
“As you wish.”
Shannon’s jaw nearly dragged on the floor as she tried to keep up with Stirling hustling down the hallway.
Before they entered the back room—technically the drying room, the trimming room, and the vault where the saleable “finished” weed was stored—Stirling faced her assistant. “Why is everyone freaked out?”
“Because they’re afraid the business is going under.”
Of all the… She counted to ten. “What gave them that impression?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Grow stage one was padlocked by the MED, and Macon isn’t around after he had meetings with you and Dr. Argent two days in a row last week.”
“That’s it? Macon is rarely around.” She’d be really happy if he became a silent partner.
“No, that’s not it.” Shanna shuffled her feet. “You and Dr. Argent aren’t arguing and acting like Dwight and Jim on The Office. The employees are afraid you’re getting along because the business is folding.”
Talk about stoner paranoia. “The business is fine. My brother insisted Liam—Dr. Argent—and I work together on getting the extraction equipment viable as soon as possible.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.” Stirling slid her keycard through the reader and waited for the green light.
Once the door opened that distinctive cannabis scent wafted out.
The door to the drying room was at the end of a short hallway. She stepped inside and her gaze swept the ceiling. Cotton clotheslines were strung from one end of the room to the other. Each plant hung upside down with the RFID still attached.
Hip, the post-harvest manager, aka the “cannabis sommelier,” bounded over. “Hey, boss lady. What’s up?”
“Typical Monday shit.” Stirling’s gaze locked onto the vault. She still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of product finished the drying process in garbage bags. Then she looked back at Hip. “Just giving you a heads’ up. We’re enacting some changes—all good ones, I promise. I’ll make a formal announcement and write up protocol, but all of these leaves and shit pieces that drop during drying? They’ll need to be picked up and screened for the extraction machine.”
“You got it.”
“The next harvest is in two weeks?”
He nodded. “We’ll be ready. We’re sitting good on stock of the popular kinds. But tell Jumanji we’ve got an extra bag of OG Kush to run as a happy hour special this week.”
“How much extra?”
“Ten pounds.” Hip shook his head. “Man, Louie was a fuck-up. Or he planned to rip you off. That much bud shouldn’t have been where I found it. I’m glad he’s gone.”
Employee turnover was higher than normal in this business. “You’re sure it’s marked recreational and not medicinal?”
“Positive.”
“Awesome. Split it in half. Mark one of the bags for me. We’ll need to run premium buds through the extractor after we’re familiar with the machine.”
“Will do.”
“Thanks, Hip.”
The door between the drying room and trimming area required another keycard entry. Since trimmers weren’t employees, but independent contractors, they had limited access behind the scenes.
Josie, a carrot-topped, freckle-faced waif with a photographic memory, managed the trimming and packaging room. She froze when Stirling entered. “Fuck. It’s true. We’re closing.”
“No, we’re not closing. We’re making some changes but none of them are bad.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Who’s we?”
“Me mostly. But Dr. Argent will be working outside of his lab. So cooperate with him, yeah?”
“No problemo.”
Stirling relayed the new instructions for gathering the trim that didn’t make the final cuts. “Any questions?”
“You want the super trash too? Stems, etc.?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“That’s what I’m asking. Trash parts are trash for a reason. What do you think you’re gonna get out of it?”
“We won’t know unless we experiment with the low end as well as the high end. Dr. Argent will determine a baseline and we’ll go from there.”
“Oh. That makes sense. Thanks for explaining everything. I know you didn’t have to.” Josie adjusted her headband. “I have a buddy who works at another dispensary and he tells me horror stories about the owners. So I know how good I have it here, boss. Everyone who works at High Society feels the same way.”
Stirling hugged her. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that today.”
As usual, when Stirling entered the rec store, she had a burst of pride. High Society lived up to the name—a sleek, upscale modern space, decorated in neutrals with unexpected pops of color. The shelves lined with glass jars of buds were set against a tomato red wall. Tucked in the cannabis consultation area was a deep-cushioned couch in electric blue. She’d balanced class with comfort. The collection of glass paraphernalia arranged by color gleamed like jewels. The display case for the fresh edibles remained glaringly empty, but when the case was stocked, she arranged the ganja goodies like a Parisian patissere. Several of their customers referred to High Society as the ultimate adult candy store.
While there was no doubt what was sold in here, there wasn’t a single tie-dyed item for sale. No posters of celebrity cannabis smokers adorned the walls. And Bob Marley’s music was permanently off the playlist. If cannabis consumption was ever going to be accepted as a societal norm, then keeping alive the counterculture memorabilia and mindset from the 60s and 70s was counterproductive.
So along those lines, Stirling insisted employees—in the store and the grow house—wear uniforms. She hated walking into a dispensary and being unable to discern which people were fellow customers and which ones were store employees. In most places it was hard to differentiate.
She scanned the room, seeing Bob siting on a stool behind the counter. How many customers dismissed him as another employee? Granted, he wore the High Society employee shirt, but the massive man was mean looking. That’s why they’d hired him.
Owning a cash-only business had huge drawbacks. Most dispensaries paid cash for everything, including employee wages. After Macon had taken over the dispensary from his client years ago, he’d set up a shell company tied to his law firm to run payroll through so at least their employees could take their paychecks to a bank. The temptation to rob a dispensary of product and cash, especially in the early days, caused owners to hire security guards. Bob was one of six guys in rotation at High Society. On days when she or Kiki had to transport large amounts of cash to pay vendors or tax revenue, they had two men with them at all times.
Stirling waved to Bob and he dipped his chin at her. She noticed the store was at full capacity and they were down an employee on the sales floor. Snagging a black lab coat with the company logo on the pocket, she slipped behind the counter.
Time to earn her cake.