FOUR

“Can you move?”

I stare up at the man, who is apparently my boss, and try to keep my face straight. He’s glaring down at me, like I’ve done something wrong to him, yet that’s impossible because this is the first day he’s been in the office and I’ve literally only just come in contact with him. I don’t even know if he knows who I am. All I know, without even having a conversation with him, is that he’s a jerk.

He’s middle-aged, maybe only in his very early forties, with a mop of dark hair that’s slicked back on his head. His eyes are blue, set amongst olive skin. He’s toned, and, without a doubt, good looking. But arrogance radiates off him. The way he’s staring at me, like I’m nothing more than a burden he has to have around, much to his horror.

I force a smile.

Good impressions and all.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was in your way, sir,” I say, my voice calm and even. I step out of the way, and he moves to the filing cabinet in my office that I was just standing in front of.

“Where’s Sandra?” he grumbles.

“She’s gone out for lunch, I was just doing some filing for her. I’m the new trainee, Rachel ...”

“I know who you are,” he mutters, glaring at me.

Seriously, what have I done to this man?

“Right, well, if you need anything-”

“Coffee. Black. Hurry up.”

With that, he turns and strides out. The urge to flip him the bird is strong, but I keep my twitching finger at bay. Instead, I take a shaky breath, straighten my shoulders, and go into the lunch room and make him a coffee. I resist yet another urge to spit in it, and instead plaster a big smile on my face and walk to his office, right at the end of the hall.

Terrence Smith.

I like his name. Shame about him.

I knock carefully, and, after a moment, nobody answers, so I carefully push the door open. He’s sitting at his desk, and the receptionist, Cat, who I have only met once, is sitting on the corner, smiling down at him. Awkward. Anyone with two eyes can figure out exactly what’s happening here. Not my problem. Not my business.

“Ah, I just have your coffee,” I say, taking a step into the office that smells like cheap perfume and cologne.

“If you knock, and I don’t answer,” he growls, “then you do not come in.”

I blink. “You asked me to make a coffee. Where would you require me to leave it, then?”

“You wait.”

I wait. Outside. With a hot coffee.

He can’t be serious? Anger bubbles in my chest, but I squash it down. Calm. Be calm.

“I’m sorry. I’ll just put this down and leave you to it.”

I place the coffee on his desk.

“There’s a coaster there,” he snaps, jerking his finger at a coaster.

Do not punch your boss in the face, Rachel. It’s not acceptable.

Don’t do it.

Don’t.

“Right, of course, sorry.”

I place the coffee on his damned coaster, flash the fakest smile I’ve ever given in my life, and then turn, walking out as calmly as I can. It takes all my power not to slam the door. Taking a few calming breaths, I walk down the hall toward my office, entering it just in time to see Sandra sitting down. She looks over to me.

“There you are. Have you had your lunch yet?”

“I’m not all that hungry,” I say, my voice tight. “I’ll just finish up the filing.”

“Is everything OK?”

“Sure. I just got Terrence a coffee.”

She smiles. “Ah, that’s good you’ve met him. Lovely, isn’t he?”

I blink. Pardon me? Lovely? She has to be kidding? Is this some sort of test to see how well I can handle different situations? It has to be. There’s no way she could think that ... jerk in there is lovely. I could think of a thousand other words, but lovely certainly is not one of them.

“He seems fine,” I say. “I’ll just get back to the filing.”

“Of course.” She smiles, going back to her work.

Nope. She’s not kidding.

So, what the hell have I done to mega jerk in there to make him dislike me so much? Considering he doesn’t even know me, I can safely say nothing. And that just makes me angry.

The rest of the day feels like it takes forever, and my bad mood worsens. By the time I leave the office in the afternoon, I’m ready for a bottle of wine and some alone time. Terrence plays on my mind all afternoon and the entire drive home. Seriously, what the hell is his problem? Is he just like that to all the new people, to see how hard he can push them? If so, that’s a really poor way of conducting business. He needs to learn some class.

I arrive at home just as the sun is setting.

Wearily, I get out of the car with my cheap bottle of wine I picked up in a hurry, along with Chinese take-out. It’s exactly what I need for the night. Just me, a heap of delicious food, and copious amounts of wine, maybe a call to my best friend, because I know she’ll put me back on the right path. I trudge up to the front porch and stop dead. My mouth drops open, the bottle of wine drops from my hand, and an unintentional scream leaves my throat.

The coyote on my porch, that was rummaging through a bag I forgot to drop into the trash, lifts its head and looks at me. Oh. God. I’ve read stories about these things going savage on people. Now it’s looking at me. And a small growl escapes its throat. I don’t think. I throw myself off the patio, backward. I land with a thump on the ground below, knocking the wind out of myself.

A gasp leaves my throat, my spine burns, my ribs ache, and I’m certain I hit my head. I lay there for a few minutes, gasping and making some strange pained noise in my throat. A gun shot goes off, and another scream escapes my throat. The scurry of the animal running from my porch can be heard, before a massive form appears over top of me, reaching down and hooking an arm around me, hauling me up. I gasp, coughing and wincing in pain. I think I grazed my knees and my elbows.

I hate today.

I hate it.

“OK?” Hercules asks.

I wince as I try to take a step away from his massive body. “I think I sprained my ankle.”

“Come on.”

He doesn’t hesitate; he leans down and scoops me up into his arms as if I weigh nothing. If I wasn’t in so much pain, or in so much shock, I’d probably protest. But there was just a wild animal on my porch, eating my trash, and I could have died. OK, that’s slightly dramatic, but all the same, it could have been a very real possibility.

Still too dramatic.

After a bit of fiddling, we get into the cabin and Slade flicks on the lights, walking over and placing me down on the sofa. I can see blood on my knees, and I can feel a sting on my elbows. My head hurts, not majorly, and my ribs are aching pretty heavily. I look up at the man squatting down in front of me, studying me. Did he kill it? I’d feel awful if he did. I mean, I left the trash there after all and it’s just an innocent animal. What if he injured it and now it’s dying slowly somewhere?

Oh God.

“Did you kill that poor coyote?”

He blinks.

“Come again?”

“You didn’t ... you didn’t shoot it, did you?”

Another blink. “Those things can do a lot of damage. They’re wild. They’re a pest. And you’re worried that I killed it?”

“It’s an animal,” I squeak, clenching my eyes together. “I hate killing animals.”

He mumbles something about strange fucking woman under his breath and then glances down at my knees. “You’re bleeding. Got a first-aid kit around here?”

“You didn’t answer my question. Oh, God, you killed the poor thing, didn’t you?”

His eyes dart back to me and he shakes his head. “I can’t believe I’m listening to this crap. The thing could have hurt you, badly.”

“Just break it to me,” I say, clenching my eyes shut again and taking a few deep breaths.

“You threw yourself off a patio to save yourself from it ...” he mutters.

“Break. It. To. Me.”

“Fuck me,” he mumbles. “No, I didn’t kill the damned thing. I let a shot off to scare it. It ran away. The end.”

“Oh, thank God, thank God. He can go back to his family now.”

Slade stares at me, a horrified look on his face. “You’re wacked, lady.”

My eyebrows dart up. “Pardon me?”

“Didn’t stutter. You’re wacked. That thing could have done serious damage.”

I blink, and purse my lips. “So. It’s just ... it’s just doing what it knows best.”

He makes a frustrated sound and shakes his head. “First-aid kit.”

“Under the sink in the kitchen.”

He stands and strides off in big, long steps. Moody. I glance down at the mess I made of my knees and the filth all over my clothes. Great, just great. Like today wasn’t bad enough, now I’ve ruined my new work uniform, got grazed knees which will not look attractive in a skirt, and nearly got mauled by a coyote.

Wine.

“Wine,” I murmur when Slade returns. “Did it smash?”

He stares at me, those brown eyes penetrating mine, making me squirm. “What?” I mumble, looking down at my hands. “Trust me, after the day I’ve had, I require it.”

“Wacked,” he murmurs, walking outside and coming back a moment later with my Chinese food and my wine. Both saved.

Thank the lord.

He thrusts them at me and then reaches down, curling a hand around my ankle and lifting my foot into his lap. He’s sitting on the coffee table in front of the sofa. It takes me off guard, and for a moment, I just stare, mouth agape. He’s got my foot. In his lap. My foot. His lap. I swallow and avoid eye contact as I try not to make a big deal of it and reach for my wine, opening it and taking a sip right out of the bottle.

Slade pretends not to notice, but his comment tells me he did. “Always drink like you were born a man and not a woman?”

I am not taking his crap. Not today. Not ever. If I want to drink out of the damned bottle, I will. And I won’t be ashamed of it. “Listen, buddy, I’ve had a crappy day. A really crappy day. And I do not have to explain myself to anyone, especially not you.”

He uses a wipe and cleans my knee. I drink through the sting.

“What kind of day could make you want to drink from the bottle?”

He doesn’t look up when he asks the question, he just keeps cleaning my knee.

“My boss is a dick.”

He looks up now and raises his brows. God. He’s scary. Good looking and scary. I’d lick his face.

Shit.

The wine has hit home already.

“Welcome to life, princess. That’s not abnormal.”

My mouth drops open and my hackles rise. “Excuse me, mister,” I snap. “I’m not weak, or pathetic, or sulking because my boss gave me a job I didn’t like. I’ve had jobs before. I’m not stupid. This man, he’s being an arrogant pig. Beyond normal. And he’s only doing it to me.”

“Probably wants to fuck you.”

My mouth closes. Then opens. Then closes again. “I-I-I ... He does not! Stop being so ... so ... vulgar!”

He looks up at me for a second and then lowers his head again and keeps cleaning my knee. I try not to notice how nice my heel feels in his lap. Stop. Stop. Gah.

“I’m not bein’ vulgar, I’m telling you a fact. Men that want to fuck women are either nice about it or they’re mega assholes.”

“He hadn’t even met me! He was a mega asshole the second I made eye contact with him!” I protest.

He shrugs. “He wants to fuck you.”

“Oh, my God. You’re impossible! Honestly! I don’t know why I bother.”

He keeps cleaning my knee. “A thank you for saving me from the poor innocent fuckin’ coyote would probably be a nice way to get over your mood.”

I gape at him. “You have some nerve.”

“You’re welcome, Rachel.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Ryder told me.”

I cross my arms. “Right, I’ll add stalker to the list.”

“I need to know who my neighbors are,” he says, moving his fingers over my skin as he turns my leg from side to side so he can study it. “Found out tonight, I have an acrobat on my hands.”

I bite my lip to hold back from the sarcastic remark. “What would you have me do? It was on my porch. I had nowhere else to go.”

“Back up slowly. Now throw yourself off the edge.”

“It could have killed me,” I whisper-hiss.

He gives me an expression that makes me slam my mouth closed.

“I’ll add drama queen to the list.”

“Jerk,” I mutter.

He falls silent, finishing up my knee while I finish up more wine. My stomach grumbles in the silence, and Hercules stands, looking down at me. He reaches over, snatching the bottle from my hand, then he lifts the Chinese bag and thrusts it at me. “No more of this. Eat that.”

And then, just like that, he strolls out my front door, still holding my bottle of wine.

Well then.

I’m going to pretend today never happened.

~*~*~*~

“So, you leapt off the porch?” Lara giggles as I get in my car after work the next day.

“Yes, I leapt off the porch. I freaked out, I didn’t know what to do.”

“You’ve been in the city too long, Rach.”

I roll my eyes even though she can’t hear it. “Well, that’s probably true, but still, I was afraid. I just reacted.”

“Well, good reaction.”

“Hardy-har-har. How are you, anyway?”

“Good, been keeping myself busy with work. Noah and I are still trying for another baby, nothing so far.”

My heart breaks for her. They’ve endured enough, the least that could go right for them is to be able to have the big family they both want. “Aw, Lara, it’ll happen. I know it will.”

She sighs. “Yeah, I just don’t want it to become a chore, you know? I don’t want him to feel like that becomes all we sleep together for.”

“I don’t think he’ll feel like that. You two aren’t that worried about it yet, are you?”

She sighs, but then lightens her tone. “No, not at all. If we only ever have the one, we’ll both be happy.”

I smile. “Well, she is totally worth it anyway.”

“Absolutely. Listen, I have to go. I’ll call you later. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I hang up the phone and drive home. When I arrive, it’s daylight. I finished early today, being a Friday. Thank God. After another run-in with Terrence, I more than needed the early finish and the weekend to get myself together. Slade is wrong—the man is just a pig and for whatever reason, he has it in for me. Today, he abused me in front of everyone because I put the wrong shade of white paper in the printer.

The hell?

White is white.

Turns out it isn’t; he likes the dull white with the slight yellowish tinge because it’s recycled. Not the bright white ‘fake’ paper that he doesn’t like having to use.

Whatever.

I get out of my car and am already thinking about taking a bottle of wine over to Steph’s house when I hear a little voice to my left. I glance over to see Ryder standing by my cabin, smiling at me. Gosh. He’s cute. Not like his father.

“Hey, buddy.” I smile. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Do you want to come see the fort I built?”

The hope in his eyes makes my heart melt. I couldn’t say no to him. Not ever. “Of course! Let me put my purse down.”

I walk over to the porch and place my purse down, and then I kick off my heels and shrug off my jacket and put my hands out. “Ready. Where are we going?”

He smiles huge and reaches over, taking my hand and leading me toward the trees. We go down a small, well-worn path, and I wonder if he did this himself. Over a few fallen trees and around a few rocks, we arrive at a little fort made of things that have only come out of the forest. Bark woven together, sticks tied, tree logs, rocks.

And together, it makes a little cave-slash-fort.

It’s gorgeous. And clever.

“You did this all on your own?” I ask, impressed.

“Yeah,” he says, tugging my hand. “I love building things. Come inside.”

He crawls in first, so I drop down to my knees, hiking my skirt up so it doesn’t restrict me, and crawl into the small fort. It’s dark, but he’s got an old blanket laid out, a small lamp, and a book. It’s cute. Gosh, I’d come and read in here, just to be alone. Why did I never think of building my very own fort?

“This is super cool, buddy. I can’t believe you made this on your own.”

“Slade helped me.”

I still find it interesting he calls his father Slade. Maybe, when I get to know Slade better, I’ll ask him why that is.

“Well, you did a great job. Aren’t you worried some animal might try and come make a home out of it?”

He grins at me, flicking on his little lamp. “That’s kind of what I’m hoping. It would be really cool to see an animal in here.”

“You think?” I smile.

“Yes, only if it’s a mother animal, maybe she can keep her babies safe in here.”

God. This kid. Gorgeous.

A throat clears from outside, and it takes me a moment to realize I’m on my hands and knees, skirt hitched up, ass in the air, halfway in Ryder’s fort. I scurry backward quickly, shimmying my skirt back down, and look up at to see Slade staring down at me, brows raised. Oh, God. He just saw my ass. My panties. All of it.

My cheeks burn.

“Ah, Ryder was just showing me his fort.”

“Can see that,” Slade murmurs.

Oh. My. Lord.

I push to my feet and Ryder climbs out, smiling up at Slade. “Did you bring it?”

“Got it, little buddy.”

Slade hands him a little carving knife. Ryder squeals happily and rushes off to find a log to carve. I glance over at Slade and adjust my skirt again, just to be sure. “Well,” I say, stepping past him, “nice to see you, Slade.”

“How’s your knees?”

I stop and glance over my shoulder. “Fine, thanks for your help.”

He nods, holding my eyes. “Good.”

“Right,” I whisper. “Well then, I better get going.”

I rush back down the path and up to my cabin, sliding in and shutting the door.

God.

Why is every encounter I have with that man intense?

And why do I like it?