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Sighing, I toss my phone onto the kitchen table, and finally, the tears of frustration spill out onto my cheeks. Dropping down into one of the chairs, I fight the urge to full-on sob. No, I can’t. I have to be smart about this. I have to think, plan, and figure out my next steps, one soaking wet foot in front of the other.
Though I’ve lived in Blue River for a few years, I don’t have many friends here. Cole and I had moved here together, and when we split I lost most of my friends in the divorce. My sister lives in Illinois, my best friend lives in Denver, which is two hours away, and the rest of my family is scattered across the Midwest.
I suppose there is Dom, but we’ve only hung out once since I met him two weeks ago, and I’d hate to inconvenience him. Not to mention, wherever I go would have to accept Porkchop, because I’m sure as hell not leaving her behind. That means a hotel is out of the running as well.
Maybe I should call Ray. I can’t stay with her, she’s too far away but she’s a lawyer. I’m sure she’d probably be able to work her lawyer-y magic on my landlord. Groaning, I drop my head on the table. She can’t do a damn this at this hour.
At first thought, the obvious answer would be to call Logan. Especially since he more than likely knows how to fix busted pipes and water damage. However, after that day two weeks ago when we’d nearly kissed, things have gone from tense, to downrightweird.
For whatever reason, Logan has insisted on showing up at the Huxley Homes building almost every single day that I work. I don’t exactly understand why, because as far as I can see, he’s not getting much work done when he’s shadowing me. And that’s exactly what he’s doing.Shadowing me.
He tries to pretend that he’s busy. Doing menial tasks around the office. One day, I even caught him dusting the reception area, which is still going unused, despite my best effort to convince him to hire someone. He ignored me, of course, and continued to observe me while I worked. Whether it’s because he doesn’t know me, trust me, or flat out just doesn’t like me I’m not sure, but every time he comes in he remains silent, all the while keeping me in his line of sight.
It's weird, to say the least. Not quite uncomfortable, but definitely odd. Logan is a people watcher, I’ve noticed. He pays attention to things and though he’s not big with words, he is sweet, if not in his own way. Ever since that first day meeting him, he hasn’t allowed me to miss a single break or meal.
Every day, Logan makes sure that I take breaks regularly by grunting and pointing at the breakroom. The second day we’d worked together, he watched as I prepared my coffee, and now, he brings me a cup in the morning, exactly how I like it. He orders lunch, deposits it on the breakroom table, and barks at me to eat before dropping down across from me and doing the same. Staring at me the whole time. I have no idea why he’s doing any of these sweet things, but every time he does, I internally die a little bit more.
Logan’s made no effort to get to know me and despite my best efforts, I haven’t been able to get to know him either. Neither of us has spoken about the near kiss, nor have there been any more close calls, much to my irritation.
Every single day, my crush on my silent, grumpy boss grows and another pair of panties gets ruined. The tension between us, both sexual and not, gets worse by the hour. I’m in a constant state of shaky, sweaty lust and frustration that I have absolutely no cure for. So, the idea of calling him now, in the middle of the night to come rescue me, is completely out of the question.
I would die. Hands down, dead on the spot.
Just the thought of seeing him right now has my sweaty palms returning with vengeance.
Glancing down at the time on my phone, I see it’s after 2:00 am and realize that my choices are pretty damn limited. Technically, I could stay here, but then Porky would have to sleep outside and I wouldn’t be able to shower in the morning for work. Not to mention, if I had to stay in this leaky, creaky, smelly house overnight I doubt I’d be able to get any sleep.
After considering my limited options for countless minutes, I come to a decision that I’ll probably regret later. Before I can talk myself out of it, I run to my room and pack all of my necessities, for the next few days just in case. I pack a few changes of clothes, fresh pjs, my cosmetics and toiletries, towels, pillows, and blankets. I make sure to grab my phone and Kindle charger, before tucking the e-reader into my bag. I also pack up everything my dog will need, including her shampoo, because Lord knows, a bath is in order.
One sniff into the damp, dank living room has my skin crawling. Webothneed a shower, stat. I quickly load up my car before dropping the hatch of the SUV for Porkchop to hop into. Twenty minutes later, I’m lugging all my crap into the spacious breakroom of Huxley Homes. After rinsing off the dog, and taking a nice, long hot shower, I climb into my makeshift bed on the wide couch and stare up at the ceiling.
“What in the hell am I doing here?” I whisper, wondering not for the first time, why I felt this was a viable option.
Despite Logan generally being a bruting asshole, I do love my job and coming to work here every day. How the hell did that turn into me taking over the breakroom and temporarily moving in? In what world did I think this was okay? Shit, I hope I don’t lose my job.
Groaning, I breathe through another onslaught of tears and attempt to push back the bout of self-deprecating thoughts that always seem to come whenever my head hits the pillow, but epically fail. How did my life turn out this way?
I’m in my mid-thirties, single as hell, living in a crappy rental with no one for company but my giant dog. I’m not using my college degree and making half the salary I had intended when I signed up for massive amounts of school debt. I live hundreds of miles from my family, have only a few friends, and my dreams of a huge, happy home and big family are dwindling by the day.
Thought after thought, rolls through my mind, shattering my heart piece by piece. I try, I really freaking try to be strong and not let myself fall apart over the way things have turned out, but damn, a girl can only take so much. What else can the world possibly throw at me? How much more damage can my spirit take before it breaks irreparably?
Chapter Seven
“So,BigBrother.Willyou be gracing us with your presence at work today or are you still too busy staring at your pretty new assistant?” Charlie chuckles as he attempts to snag a pancake off my plate. I bat his hand away as a wave of unwarranted anger surges through me.
“Don’t call her pretty,” I bark, throwing a withering glare in his direction. Charlie stops, his fork halting midair, his brows raised in question. We fall into a silent stare-off, both waiting for the other to back down. He smiles slowly, a mischievous look spreading over his face. My pulse speeds up and my eye begins to twitch with irritation, already knowing I’m going to want to stab him over the words about to leave his mouth.
“Oh?” he murmurs. “Is she ugly?”
“Charles Robert Huxley! Do not call women ugly!” Mom cries as she brandishes her spoon like a weapon at my little brother. Charlie rolls his eyes, earning a smack on the back of his head from Dad. Stephen quietly laughs behind his cup of coffee, eyeing the scene like it’s his new favorite show.
“What?” Charlie grunts, rubbing the sore spot as he glowers at me. “It was just a damn question.”
“Well, don’t ask stupid questions,” I reply with a shrug, feigning a nonchalance I don’t feel when it comes to Shiloh. In fact, nonchalance is the exact opposite of what I feel when I think of her. My heart gives a squeeze as if to agree.
Mom smiles softly, her eyes twinkling in the way they do when she knows something before it happens. She’s not psychic. At least, I’m pretty sure she isn’t, but somehow, she always knows shit prematurely. She calls it ‘Grandma's Gift’ because apparently, her great-grandmother had the same mystical power. I fight a scoff at the thought. If only thatgifthad done its job 10 years ago, things would be a whole hell of a lot different now.
“Don’t Logan. Not today,” she murmurs. My eyes meet hers and a thick ball of emotion climbs up my throat so rapidly, I’m surprised I don’t choke on it. “Anyways,” Mom says, thankfully changing the subject. “I’d really like to meet this new assistant of yours. What’s her name again?”
