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I lift my cup and down the rest of my coffee, lifting my gaze past the monitor on my desk. Although Hank loves to complain, today, his grievances are justified. I don’t like dragging my guys to work at dawn. Most of them take meds to help them sleep, and I don’t need anyone on the job who isn’t fully alert. Someone might get hurt.
“Look at the order and take a wild guess why we’re here.”
Hank scans the form, his drowsy eyes drifting back and forth, trying to find the smoking gun to clarify my decision. He looks at me and shakes his head, still clueless about my reasons. “It’s a big order and a little more money, but we get these things all the time without having to come in early and traipse into the suburbs.”
“Look at the name,” I groan, quickly losing my patience and annoyed that I have to explain my decisions.
“Wren York? Who is she?” He stares into the distance, his brain struggling to turn on the lights. A beat passes before his eyes widen with surprise, and he points to the paper in his hand. “Is she related to the Yorks?TheYorks?” He repeats himself, accentuating the name as he grasps its meaning.
“She’s Franklin York’s granddaughter. The old man called me personally and offered to pay twice our fee to take special care of his only granddaughter. He also called five references and had someone perform background checks on everyone here. But he promised to pass our information to his friends and employees if we treat his granddaughter right,” I say, cautiously optimistic about our future. I’m horrible at networking, but this opportunity landed in my lap, and I’m not passing it up.
Hank flips through the pages of Wren York’s invoice and whistles loudly. “This chick lives on 89th Street between the park and Columbus Avenue. It must be nice having a billionaire grandfather. The most expensive thing my granddad ever bought me was a dress shirt for my high school graduation.”
“Well, luckily, Miss York got our info from a friend and asked her grandfather to hire us.” I push my chair away from my desk and stand, grabbing the lifting belt I keep on a hook nearby. While I fasten the brace, tightening it like a girdle, I gesture to the rest of my crew to close in for an announcement. “I want everyone on their best behavior. Franklin told me his granddaughter is young, fresh out of college, and particularly fussy about her things. No ogling or flirting allowed. I don’t care if she’s a brat, keep your cool and do your job. Everyone is getting bonus money, so keep that in mind when you consider snapping back at any complaints.”
I stop and turn to face Hank. “I’m looking at you, man. If she gives anyone flack, just send her my way.”
One by one, everyone nods—even Hank, who hesitates before bobbing his head like a robot. He’s a great worker, but I don’t trust his temper. I’ll have to keep an eye on him.
I clap my hands and point to the cardboard coffee carrier and a box of muffins on a table near the lounge. “Make sure you grab a cup of expensive coffee and a gourmet muffin, courtesy of our client. It was delivered minutes after we opened.”
“She sent treats?” Hank’s eyebrows shoot up, shocked by the thoughtfulness of her gesture.
I’m surprised, too. Typically, our clients hardly breathe a word to us. If we’re lucky, a few offer us a glass of water. Snacks are non-existent.
“Maybe, she’s not so bad,” he mumbles through a mouthful of muffin.
The horde moves toward the table, and three hungry men devour multiple muffins, spilling crumbs down the front of their shirts. I grimace and point to their chests, reminding them to clean up before we arrive at Franklin York’s Park Avenue townhouse, looking like sloppy amateurs. They take the coffee to go as we head to the trucks.
The four of us take FDR Drive along the East River toward the Upper East Side, with Hank and I at the front and Chuck and Fred following close behind. It takes forty minutes with traffic, and thankfully, we arrive within minutes of our appointed time. I jump off the driver’s seat and exhale with relief. We have a reputation for punctuality, and I do not want to leave this client waiting.
“It looks like the Park Avenue princess is already waiting for us.” Hank taps my shoulders and points at the lone figure standing atop the stoop.
Adjusting my lifting belt, I casually glance at the door with no more interest than acknowledging her presence. It’s quick, and my eyes don’t have time to focus before I turn back to the truck to grab my clipboard. It will be a long day, with multiple locations and over sixty items. I want to make sure we remain organized from the beginning.
“Hello, I’m Wren.” A soft voice on the other side of the vehicle catches my attention. There’s nothing sultry or melodic about the sound, but something in the inflection makes me lift my head and look through the passenger side window. It’s hard to make out the source. She’s so close to the truck, only the top of her head is visible.
“I’m Hank. It’s nice to meet you,” Hank stammers, nervously chuckling as he extends his hand to greet her. He runs a hand through his hair like he’s suddenly self-conscious about his appearance. Instantly annoyed, I frown, quietly grumbling profanities when Hank and Wren transition to friendly banter. He’s flirting after I explicitly warned everyone not to put the moves on our client.
Needing to end this before it gets out of hand, I slam the truck door and walk around the front end, schooling my features to disguise the angry scowl that matches my mood. I approach them with my eyes cast down, silently repeating the prepared speech I always give at the beginning of a job to ensure things go as smoothly as possible.
“You must be Ford Shaw. Thank you so much for accommodating my request.” Wren extends her arm and I stare at the hand being offered. It’s tiny with perfectly manicured nails and adorned with a delicate pearl ring. My heart skips a beat, and my tongue ties into knots as I lift my gaze and glimpse into the pale-blue eyes of Wren York.
I stare, stunned by her beauty and paralyzed by the electricity coursing through my veins. She blinks rapidly, parting her lips to speak, then clamping them shut, her eyes widening in tandem with mine.
Hank interrupts the awkward silence with a joke before announcing the arrival of the second truck. But the beat of my thundering heart echoing in my ears, muffles the sound. I’m too focused on Wren to hear anything but gibberish.
“Are you okay?” Wren speaks, leaning forward and angling her head with concern. My eyes drift down and roam aimlessly, mesmerized by every curve of her petite body. Her high ponytail, braided and embellished with a red bow, hangs over her left shoulder, lightly grazing the tight white t-shirt that leaves very little to my active imagination. Her sun-kissed legs peeking out from her starched white shorts make it difficult to breathe. I stare so long, I’m sure she notices, but that doesn’t deter me from looking my fill.
I nod and swallow the lump in my throat, fearing my awestruck expression has made things weird. “Yes! I’m Ford,” I yell, clumsily thrusting my hand into hers and squeezing it much tighter than I intended. When she winces, tensing with pain from my iron grip, I release her hand, horror-stricken I’ve hurt her.
“Forgive me. I’m Ford, and we’re here to move you into your new home. Are you ready?” I clap my hands and stare at the space over her head, too nervous to look her in the eye. I'm not sure what’s gotten into me, but I’m mortified by my unprofessional behavior.
This is not who I am. It’s as if I’ve been possessed by the unrepentant ghost of a gigolo.
“Yes, here’s a list of the items being moved from this house. I have everything labeled inside, coordinated by size and weight. Hopefully, it makes things more efficient,” she chirps, smiling shyly as she bounces on the balls of her feet. She’s so short she almost tilts her head at a ninety-degree angle to look me in the eye, batting her lashes before turning to Hank, perhaps searching for someone who doesn’t ogle her figure like an escaped convict hoping to make up for lost time.
While she chats with Hank, moving on to welcome Chuck and Fred, I stride to the back of the truck, pretending to fix an unbroken latch while I gather my thoughts and calm the beat of my racing heart. She’s young, beautiful, and way out of my league. And she’s the granddaughter of one of the most powerful men in the city. It'll be a long fucking day if I don’t straighten up, fly right, and get my damn cock under control.
