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“Because she—”
“It’s fine,” I said, spreading my hands slowly to indicate I had everything under control. My eyes found Mr. Drumm’s again, holding him in my gaze. “Trust me, I’ve got it all covered.”
“Not sure what the two of you are talking about,” said Mark, taking another bite of his candy bar. “But hey, you know me — always ready to help.”
“I don’t need help.”
He shrugged. “Really, I don’t mind.”
“You have his number?” Mr. Drumm asked.
I looked at Mark, and a shiver of displeasure ran through me. There were many reasons I didn’t like him. I kept them all to myself, however.
“Of course,” I said. “I do, and I’ll use it if I need to.” I let my gaze wander to Mark, while putting on my best false smile. “And I appreciate the offer, too.”
I waved goodbye to my boss and left, wondering how much of our conversation Mark already knew about. He was a shop steward just as I was, only he’d been there a good two years longer than me. I’d taken on more responsibilities than him, however. And it was something that ticked him off.
“But I have seniority,” I’d overheard him saying once, as I passed one of the windows that led to the break room. “And you keep giving her the best jobs.”
“She gets a lot of the more important jobs, yes,” Mr. Burgen — the foundry’s other partner — had replied without apology. “And that’s because she moves fast and her work is clean.”
Mark had frowned, and I’d gotten the hell out of there before one or both of them saw me through the glass. From that point on, Mark had only been false-friendly around me. He’d smiled and acted cooperative whenever the bosses were around, but the rest of the time we worked together he was passive aggressive and somewhat condescending.
I left the building, vowing to forget about Mark and focus on the good news: I still had permission to use the foundry after hours. I could get caught up with all the personal work I’d been putting off this past week, while trying to get my head straight after Drake. I had a show to do. I had work to finish.
And dammit, it was the holiday season! For that reason alone, I needed to smile and be merry.
Four
SLOANE
“You a little bit lost?” the man called down from the bucket loader. He smiled handsomely through a layer of dark stubble. “Or do you just like big trucks?”
I emerged from behind the fir tree, where I’d been watching him shovel pea-gravel into a concrete holding pen for the past thirty seconds. He killed the engine and jumped down.
“Sorry,” I said, turning six different shades of red. “I was watching to see which direction you came from.”
“You wandered off the path, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. Kinda.”
“Well there aren’t any trees down this way,” he smiled. “This is the edge of the masonry yard.”
The man was big, at least six-foot four and built like every lumberjack I’d ever seen in a movie, TV show, or on a roll of paper towels. He was much better looking, however than the guy with the handlebar mustache that dominated the toiletries aisle.
“What you wanna do is head back that way,” he pointed with one great arm. “Stick to the fence, and when it ends turn left. The line of Christmas trees begins there, and you can backtrack…”
He stopped mid-sentence, eyeing me over. His grin widened as he nodded toward the bucket loader. “Hell, just jump in and I’ll drive you down there. Wouldn’t want something this pretty getting run over.”
With a wink he gestured toward the series of black corrugated steps that led into the loader’s cage. Thanking him, I hopped up and slid across the seat.
“You are looking for a Christmas tree, right?” he asked.
“Yes,” I admitted. “A tall one.”
He started the machine up again with the push of a big button, then grunted over the noise it made. “Good. We’ve got plenty of those.”
Our thighs touched as the machine bumped its way over the frozen mud, heading back in the direction I’d come. I was here because the apartment was feeling especially empty, and I suddenly wanted a tree of my own. I’d gotten angry that my last tree — as beautiful as it had been — was now a compacted, splintered mess rotting away in some landfill.
