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Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my cell, used my thumb to activate the screen and handed it to him. He accepted, call someone and spoke to them in rapid French before handing the cell back.
This man was a boss—he gave orders, not took them.
Anything he said was with finality—no hesitating.
I got all that from the short conversation he’d had—and while I didn’t understand a word of French, there was just something in the way he spoke, the tone in his voice.
Yes, Carter Finch was a boss.
I fueled up my truck then moved it behind the building—partly to hide it, partly to keep it cool from the sun. When we entered the building, I rushed to the bathroom. Usually, I would use the facilities, wash my hands and head for food.
This time, I tarried to wash my face and pat it dry with a piece of paper towel. I slid on some lip-gloss from an almost empty tube, then stared at my natural hair in the mirror.
I wasn’t nearly as put together like other women—hell, I wasn’t even close.
My flat nose and unpainted eye-lids didn’t speak of a single woman.
Frowning at my stupidity, I tossed the paper towel into the trash, ensured my outfit was set back properly then made my way out into the main area.
“I didn’t know how you liked your coffee.” Carter told me. “I paid for everything.”
“Mr. Finch you—”
“Carter.” He corrected. “You risked your life to save mine. The least I can do, is buy you a cup of gas-station coffee.”
I smiled, bowed my head and waited with him until they called his name for his order.
He’d bought us sandwiches, bottled water and coffee. I knew, somehow, that arguing with him for paying for all this would only land on deaf ears.
Sitting with him, I took that moment to get a better look at him. The suit he wore was obviously designer—while I wasn’t familiar with the names, I could tell the material was quality. His dark hair was professionally styled and the reading glasses he wore fit his face as if they were customized for him.
Those eyes—those green eyes were the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen on a man, and I had to lower my head before he realized I was staring too much.
“How do you even start driving a big rig?” Carter asked.
“Necessity?” I shrugged around a sip of coffee. “I needed a job, and it was a job.”
“Ever thought of doing something else?”
“Of course.” I replied. “Once.”
“What happened?”
“You don’t have the time for that story right now.” I managed a chuckle. “Being a trucker wasn’t the dream—but it’s been three years since I’ve been doing this—I don’t even remember what the dream was.”
“I’m sorry.”
Shaking my head, I broke off a piece of the sandwich and bit it.
“No need to be.” I told him. “It’s a job—it’s a hard one, but it keeps me busy, and it pays the bills.”
“There’s more to life.”
“Of course, there is.” I paused to stare at him for a bit. “There is—but just because there is more to life doesn’t mean we all deserve it.”
“What does—”
“Carter!” Somone hollered.
