My phone buzzes as I sit down, and I answer to a number I don’t recognize.
“Chris. It’s Paulie.”
In the club I’m known as Viking, and it stuck as a nickname in the military. The use of my given name has me sitting up straight.
I worked with Paulie for a few years until he left the military. Last I heard, he was running a security firm, hiring out private contractors for work in the Middle East.
“I’m in need of a reliable man for contract work.” Paulie cuts straight to the point. “It’s a six month contract. Good money. All expenses paid.”
My gaze darts to Sydney. She stares at her computer and twiddles a pen between her fingers. I promised I wouldn’t leave again. And I meant it.
“Sorry, Paulie. I’ve got something going on back on the mountain.”
“The pay’s good.” Paulie continues as if I haven’t just turned him down. “You work a couple of contracts for me, and you’ll have your mortgage paid off.”
Something stirs inside me. That kind of money could give me security. It could set me up for life. I’d never worry again about where money was coming from.
Sydney stirs at her desk, and my gaze locks on her. She keeps her gaze on the computer screen as she lifts up the coffee mug and takes a sip.
A smile creeps across my face.
“Sorry, Paulie. The answer’s still no.”
Paulie chuckles. “I’ll text you what I’m offering, then you tell me if it’s still a no. I’ll leave it open for a week.”
The next day as I’m pushing open the door to the office with Sydney’s coffee balanced in one hand and a chicken sandwich in the other, the door to the meeting room bursts open. They must have finished early.
I place the plate and mug on Sydney’s desk, and when I turn around, she’s right behind me. It’s the closest we’ve been since she showed me around last week, and I suck in a sharp breath as I catch the scent of her perfume, Coco Mademoiselle. I’d pick that scent out anywhere.
Her gaze locks on mine, and she murmurs, “Thanks.”
The spatter of rain on the skylights makes us both look up. When I glance down again, she’s sitting down at her desk with her back to me.
“There’s a storm coming in. I’d better go check for leaks.”
She doesn’t respond, and I make my retreat. But an hour later, the coffee cup is empty.
I come in early on Thursday to help secure tarps over our outdoor silos. They’re predicting gale-force winds by the weekend, and most of the guys are out helping secure the place.
Raiden leads a team up the mountain to check in on the locals and see if anyone needs help to prep for the storm.
I duck away at three to get Sydney’s coffee, but I’m needed with a jam in the loading bay, so I don’t have time to see her drink it.
I’m securing the bolt on the sliding door when my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Paulie.
I’ll add an extra 15%
Two days ago, he sent through an eye-watering number that he’s offering me for six months’ work. I hover over the text, thinking how one six-month stint could set me and Sydney up for the future. But there will be no future if I leave her again. Even if we were at the stage of talking, let alone talking about a future together, one hint that I’m leaving will have her shields going up, and I’ll lose any ground I’ve made.
But how do I know there will ever be anything with Sydney?
I ignore the text from Paulie and instead type a text for Sydney, asking her to meet me to talk. My finger hovers over the send button.
Sydney made it clear that she doesn’t want to talk, and if I force the issue before she’s ready, I risk losing the progress I’ve made this week.
I delete the message without sending it and slide my phone back into my pocket.
Friday arrives with winds so strong my motorbike sways on the mountain roads, and I dig my thighs in to keep her under control. Any sensible guy would take a car, but the bike is all I own.
