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The sound of liquid splashing on the floor coincides with the moment the towel is removed from his head. Cooper stares back at me, a grin growing on his face as he takes his time wrapping the towel around his waist.
“You’re spilling your coffee,” he remarks.
Oh god. I’m standing here gaping at him while I pour the coffee that I forgot I was holding onto the floor.
I wonder if it’s too late to get my Night Brooms job back?
CHAPTER
SIX
COOPER
Maren’s mouth hangs open. The way her ears and cheeks turn red is fascinating to watch. It’s not like I planned to flash her. She wasn’t supposed to be here for another hour.
The expression she wore while she looked at my body—like she’d love to eat me alive—morphs into one I’m more accustomed to seeing on her face. Anger. Without a word, she spins around and stalks out of the room.
Damn it. This might be a record for the shortest time I’ve kept an employee. A few sounds come from the front office, and I don’t hear the door close while I’m getting dressed so at least she hasn’t left.
I’ve barely stepped back through the office door when she exclaims, “What the hell was that? If that’s your idea of full benefits, you can fuck off. I am not?—”
“You’re the one who barged in early,” I interrupt. “I said nine.”
“You said you wanted to open by nine. And in what universe does showing up to work early mean the boss is going to be swinging his dick around in the office?” My hand can’t cover my mouth fast enough. “It’s not funny!”
“I’m not laughing.” I’ve got to get it together before she walks out, but watching her eyes drift back down like she might be able to see it again through my pants makes it difficult. Don’t get me wrong, her complaint is valid, but she’s yelling at me because she’s embarrassed at her reaction. I suppose I owe her a coffee at least.
“First of all, I wasn’t swinging anything, and I wasn’t in the office. I was in the back, in the shower. I apologize for forgetting to lock the door.”
“Why were you showering here anyway?” she demands.
“Because my trailer doesn’t have heat or power.”
Her arms fold across her chest. “Are you living in this trailer then?”
God, she’s infuriating. I know what she’s getting at. “Why? Do you want to run and tell on me?”
“You’re supposed to be in trailer eighteen. That was the sentence.”
“What’s the matter? You don’t think I’m suffering enough? Go tattle all you want, sweetheart. I’m doing what needs to be done without freezing to death in the meantime. Now, are you ready to work or not?”
“Don’t call me sweetheart,” she snaps, then glares at me. For a moment it looks like she may have changed her mind about this job. Pure frustration lives on her face, and I watch as she swallows it down. “Yes. If you can remain professional.”
“Fantastic. I managed to get things somewhat cleaned up in here, but we need to get the office functional. The desk is yours. You can start by getting the laptop set up.” She accepts a sheet of paper from me. “Here are the programs and the sign in information we’ll be using. Log into the Happy Haven email account. You can find your tax form and health insurance sign up forms in the accompanying cloud drive. I’ll need to get them to my accountant as soon as possible.”
While she’s unboxing the laptop, I lay another list on her desk, along with the signup sheets from the meeting. “This is what I want you to start with. I need a list of all the tenants and their lot numbers to get the rent waivers printed. I’m sure some didn’t attend the meeting. The waiver document is also in the drive.”
While she works on that, I unpack the printer, load it with ink, and plug in the shredder. The cell phone I bought yesterday has already been activated. “What’s your phone number?” I ask, and she hesitates a moment before reading it out. It gets added to my contacts on my personal phone, and the new phone. “This is the office phone,” I explain, setting it on the desk. “It’s the number I gave out at the meeting, and you can give it to the tenants or anyone needing to reach us during office hours. It can stay in the office. I didn’t see the point in a landline.” Then I call her phone from my personal phone. “Now you have my number.”
“Got it,” she mumbles, returning to the laptop.
The office door opens and Dylan steps inside. “The tailgate is still on your truck. That’s a good sign.” It took both of us to pull it out of the dry pool and reinstall it.
Maren’s lips twitch with a smile for the first time today as she peeks up at him over the laptop screen.
His comment reminds me of what the woman with the bird told me, and I ask, “Did someone actually have an entire porch stolen or was one of your neighbors just screwing with me?”
“It was stolen. But it was his ex-wife that did it.”
