Chapter Sixteen

Trig

Two days later, I barely recognize Maggie when she walks into my garage. Her hair is copper-colored and hangs, straight as a pin, down to the small of her back. She wears an outfit she must have borrowed from Jane. A skirt and sweater. A skirt. I never thought I’d see the day Maggie would wear something other than jeans and a hoodie. With her hair out of her face she’s gorgeous. Fucking gorgeous.

Five seconds after she walks in I know… Hiring Maggie is an epic mistake.

All work grinds to a halt. The men draw closer and stare at her like they’ve never seen a female before. Maybe I should introduce her to them but the way they’re eyeing her pisses me off. Instead, I take her to the office to show her around. Not much has changed since I took over from my father. I have the basic equipment and all she needs to do is answer to phone.

“Are you going to give me some sort of training?” She slips out of her jacket.

It’s hard not to stare. Jane’s conservative and too-big clothes can’t hide the fact that Maggie has curves. “Answer the phone. Be polite. Don’t cuss. Don’t touch anything.”

Moving to the window that overlooks the shop, one of my men is hanging around like a pup looking for a scrap of bread. I glare at him, a silent command to get back to work. He lifts his brows, grins at me and strolls back to his bay. The rest of the men seem to be busy. Maybe the lecture I gave them yesterday about staying away from Maggie will be enough. If not, I’ll call another meeting this evening and make my point a little clearer.

“Answer the phone and don’t touch anything,” she muses while she looks around. “That sounds pretty complicated. Maybe I should write it down.”

“Also, don’t be a smart-ass or talk to my men.”

She smiles at me and my blood heats. Great. I’m going to leave my office with a raging hard-on.

“I can do more, for you, Trig.”

Jesus.

“Wes told me about the accounting software you use and I read up on some of the basic stuff.”

She folds her arms across her chest, accentuating the curve of her breasts, breasts she’d kept hidden under her bulky hoodie. Jane’s clothes fit her, sort of. My sister-in-law was rubbing off on Maggie which was a good thing. Maggie needed that motherly influence. Like Wes I see Maggie becoming more like Jane, Soon she’d start with some of Jane’s expressions. I tried to imagine Maggie muttering good gravy… hunky-dory… okey-dokey…

You would think this image of Maggie, the good, Christian girl, would ease my throbbing cock, but strangely, it’s no help. I’m too far gone.

“I can do more than answer the phone, Trig. I know Wes asked you to give me a job, so don’t pretend it was your idea. I’m pretty smart and I’d like to prove it to you.”

“Thanks, but this is your first day. Let’s just keep it simple.”

She purses her lips and I just know she’s forming some argument but she says nothing.

I take a step closer and her scent hits me. It’s different. Soft. Floral. Everything’s different from her make-up to her attitude. My thoughts spin and I fight to regain control. Maggie’s here in the garage, working for me, wearing normal clothes and looking just like a regular, young woman. A fucking hot, young woman.

In the last five months she’s crept into my heart and I can’t push her out. I realize now, now that I’m already committed to it, that her working here is just a small part of my problem. Seeing her every day, looking like she does, acting the way she does, saying things the way she does, not about sex explicitly, but in ways my mind spins into images of hard, punishing sex, will likely destroy my ability to focus on anything else.

I can’t get away from her and I can’t get enough of her. Anytime I go a few days without seeing her, I get wound up, easily pissed off. When I see her again and get my sweet Maggie fix, I feel better.

She looks different and yet the same. I know her ways, her habits. When I leave the office, she’ll sit down, grumble and start reading the book she had tucked under her arm. While she reads, she’ll twist a strand of hair around her finger, just like I’ve seen her do dozens of times.

A flush creeps across her skin as the silence stretches between us.

“I need next Friday off so I can go to orientation,” she says, quietly.

“That’s fine.” I point to a file on the desk. “We need to treat this like a regular job. I want you to fill out the application and personnel paperwork. Social Security and all that. Citizenship.”

I turn to leave the office and as I pull the door open, she replies.

“I have a Green Card.”

“What do you mean a Green Card?” I half expect her to laugh at her little joke, but she’s dead serious.

“I was born in Ireland. I came to the U.S. when I was three months old.”

The news stuns me. “Huh.”

She shrugs. I’ll get my citizenship automatically when I turn twenty-one.”

The way she rattles that off makes me think she’s explained it a time or two before.

“How did I not know this about you?”

Her lips curve into a smile. “I never told you.”

“But you can work here?”

“The Green Card allows me most rights of a citizen, except for voting and running for office.”

“Okay. Just so long as you’re legal.”

“I am legal, Trig. Completely.”

Her tone returns to her usual sassy style. She sits down, looks up at me and bats her eyelashes.

“Don’t do that. Remember? Our talk?”

She loses the playfulness and pulls the file closer. “Right. Sorry.”

I shake my head, turn and leave the office. The other men focus on their work but the whole vibe here in the garage is changed. Charged. There’s a woman working here and that’s fucked up the balance. I keep my head down and work like hell to not think about her, and make sure to stay out of the office for the rest of the day.