Chapter 4
LAWSON
Ican’t take my eyes off the strawberry blonde across the white desk—well, table—from me. Her brown eyes bore into my head, as if she can make my brain implode with her super vision.
And . . . she has every reason to hate me.
Sweet Jesus.
Carlie Lamont raises one elegant-as-fuck eyebrow as she sits unnaturally still, waiting for Nadia to leave the room. Nadia runs off to collect something she forgot when she arrived, in a flurry of apologies, five minutes late.
“What. The. Actual. Fuck.” She stabs me with each syllable, and I brace for impact.
“Nice.” I grind my molars.
“Nice? I’m sorry, are you here in an HR capacity? Or for the business management gig? Because last time I checked, you were standing in the corner, chicken shit, while I was fired from the career that took me over a decade to build.”
“I’m not HR anymore,” I offer.
“Well, that’s great news for the working folk of New York.”
“Maybe we should try for a fresh start. We have to work together.”
I look around the room that feels a hell of a lot smaller than it did when I saw it yesterday. Could possibly be due to the fiery woman swallowing up all the fucking oxygen in the room.
She can hate me all she likes, but we have to work together, so we should at least try.
“A fresh start? Yeah, that’s not happening.” Carlie raps her nails on the desk. The woman holds a grudge . . .
She continues, “Why on earth did you apply for this job? Something to atone for?”
A smirk, albeit a stunning one, tugs over her mouth.
I force my gaze back to hers. “Something like that.”
She scoffs. “Fuck my luck.”
The mouth on her.
Jesus.
I run my hands through my hair as Nadia returns, still apologizing. She hands printouts to Carlie and me and sinks meekly into her chair with a side glance at Carlie, whose glare burns into me. It’s almost as if she’s scared of her. Smart woman.
Nadia’s focus volleys back and forth between me and Lamont. “I’m sorry, do you two know each other?”
“No,” Lamont snaps as I say, “Yes.”
Fair. That’s completely fair.
Carlie forces her focus from me down as she plucks the handout up from the desk with perfectly manicured pale-pink nails. Her brown eyes scan over the page.
Nadia clears her throat, and I remember the document in front of me.
Serenity House Mission Statement.
I flip to the first page and read it quickly.
It covers the founders, the goals, and the principles that guide the shelter and various community initiatives.
Everything looks great.
This is not my first time working for a non-profit, but it’s the first that hits home, bringing up the early days of Grace coming to work for Ma, taking care of Mack. I flip the page.
Figures cover the paper, the payroll, operating costs, contract settlement amounts and such.
An area of business I’ve been missing. I guess I’m more like my old man Harry than I give myself credit for. I huff as I scan the bottom line and find it much smaller than I expected.
“Something funny, Rawlins?” Carlie pins me with her browns.
I’m as far from amused as can be when I pull my gaze from the paperwork to meet hers.
Hell, it’s like having Ruby across the table from me. Luckily for me, I know how to wind up clever, fiery women.
“Not a thing, Lamont.” I hold her stare until she returns her focus to the page in front of her.
“These are the most recent figures. The next annual report is due around Christmas, and that will fall into your scope of practice. We don’t have the funds for an actual finance department,” Nadia says with a small tentative smile.
“Oh sure. Can’t wait to dig into the numbers for you.” I give her a megawatt smile. I’d bet my folks’ ranch that I can improve these numbers.
Turning back to the page, I catch Carlie’s eye roll. Pretty sure the Mars rover picked it up.
I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised . . . I find a gig that speaks to my soul and land the job despite my lack of recent business management experience, only to find myself stuffed in a tiny office with my newest archnemesis.
This is my penance.
Well-earned. But over hell’s frozen testicles am I bowing down now.
From what Serelle told me, they need me here.
Serenity is desperate for a turnaround before they end up another organization that couldn’t make ends meet and every last woman and girl who relies on this place has nowhere else to go.
“Nadia, from a PR standpoint, which of these documents do I need to pay particular attention to?” the devil’s offspring says with a forced smile.
“Oh, the last four pages are related to our community efforts and exposure.”
“Wonderful,” she replies with the fakest damn smile, thumbing the last few pages.
I study the fine lines and angles that make up Carlie Lamont. If she wasn’t the world’s biggest bitch, she’d be the whole package. What does Rubes say?
She’s a ten but she’s got attitude.
Now, I do chuckle to myself.
Carlie looks up from under dark lashes, and the look could melt the Arctic.
Sweet Jesus. This inner monologue of mine needs to quiet the hell down before she wipes me completely. Since we need to work together and hopefully save this place, I can’t give her any reason to.
Sounds easy, in theory.
Doesn’t it?
“Well, I’ll let you two get acquainted and look over the reports.
After lunch, we have an all-staff meeting.
You can meet the rest of the team then.” Nadia rises, clutching cream folders to her chest. The ones she originally came in with.
“If you need anything, my line is six. Feel free to shout out for anything, I’m kinda the jack-of-all-trades around here, alongside manning—or is it womaning? —front reception?”
Is she asking us?
She seems nervous as she rushes from the room.
“Thanks, Nadia,” I call out after her as she slips through the glass door.
She ducks and waves, her blue eyes lit up, before disappearing across the staffroom floor and around the corner.
“Good lord, you utter suck-up.” Sharp words snag my attention.
Carlie is standing, the papers in her hand. Her crisp white work shirt, that looks more designer than it should in a place like this, is tucked into a fitted navy skirt that hugs her frame, finishing before her knees over cream heels.
I slide my hands inside my pockets. The white shirt and blue tie I’m wearing over navy slacks with black dress shoes has me feeling underdressed next to her.
“Right, if you’re done staring, we should go over this page by page and makes some notes, review last fiscal year’s efforts, and plan from there,” Carlie says, her gaze traveling the room, looking anywhere but directly at me.
“Fine.” I roll up my sleeves like I mean fucking business and drag my chair closer to hers at the other end.
“What are you doing?” she snaps, her eyes alternating between me and the chair I hauled around the table.
“I’m not shouting across the damn table.”
Her face is unreadable as she turns back and rifles through her handbag, an oversized tote, and produces something like . . .
Tape?
She walks to where I stand with my hand still on my chair. Flicking a hand at me, she waits, glaring, as I push the chair back and step out of her way. She leans over, running pink fucking tape across the center of the table.
You’ve got to be joking.
She spins back, as if reading my mind, and points to her chair. “This is my side. That is yours. Never shall the two converge. Got it?”
That’s the last damn straw.
This she-devil can kiss my sweaty nuts. From everything I learned at Carlson’s, she was efficient, productive, and handled people with grace and style. I can only figure this version of her stems from what happened in that last meeting in Carlson’s office.
“Whatever you say. Just . . .” I push my chair back to my end of the table and sink into it.
I lean back, propping my hands behind my head and crossing my ankle over my knee, the epitome of undeterred.
“Next time, put it in writing. An email will suffice. If we’re going to have that kind of relationship, Lamont. ”
Clearly, the woman never opened the last one I sent her.
She stalks to where I sit, and I tilt my head up as she bends down, hands on those damn hips. “Not now, or at any time, will you and I have a relationship, Rawlins. Professional or otherwise.”
I resist the urge to run my gaze over her incredible fucking curves, planting my somewhat feigned glare on her pouty fucking lips.
“Don’t go makin’ any promises you’ll regret, darlin’.
” I give her my best Harry and watch with utter delight as her face twitches when the Montana accent I grew up with and the vernacular my father spouts on the daily lands.
She stands, frowning, before stepping back and squatting to run the tape over the floor, cordoning off my half of the office from hers. I sit up, leaning on the desk, realizing the door is in her half. “And how am I supposed to leave?”
She turns back from tucking the tape back in her bag. “You’ll figure it out.”
A soft knock catches both our attention.
Nadia.
She’s trying her best not to stare at the flaming fuchsia tape over the desk and floor. “Um, Lawson, would you be able to help me with something?”
“Sure,” I say, rising from my chair and crossing the stupid pink line.
Carlie folds her arms, narrowing her eyes and burning a hole in my back as I follow Nadia from the office. I leave Carlie seething as I wander toward the supply room with Nadia.
“What do you need?” I ask.
“Oh, the copier paper got stuck, and I can’t manage the top half up while I remove the wedged-in paper. All the other guys are in a project meeting. Could you hold it for me?” Big eyes look up at me.
I shift on my feet, realizing we did, in fact, pass two other guys in the staff room on our way here. Nadia shuts the door, and I fold my arms over my chest, putting a few feet between us. “You sure one of the others can’t help?”
“I-I can’t ask Bob for help, I’m not really . . .” Her face and neck flush as her gaze sinks to the floor.
I raise a hand. “It’s fine. Show me what to do.”
She swallows and nods at the lid. I try to lift it, but it doesn’t budge. Her hand moves along the underside, brushing against mine before she clicks a lever and the top pops open.
“It won’t take long,” she says softly.
I lift the lid and hoist it up. It’s heavier than it looks. The watch my folks gave me moves on my wrist as I adjust my grip, forearms flexing. Nadia leans into the machine, tugging at a pile of jammed papers.
“How long have you worked here?” I ask.
A muffled “Huh?” escapes the printer cavity as she bobs up, hitting her head on the lid.
“Shoot.” She rubs her head with a hand, smudging ink over her forehead.
“Geez, sorry.” I push it open further. “Was asking how long you’ve been working here. Now, you’ve got something . . .” I point to her forehead.
“Oh, almost six years.” She wipes at her face with her clean hand and glances at me before diving back in and removing a destroyed wad of paper. “Thanks.”
I lower the lid, and it clicks shut. The machine whirs back to life as she hits the power button and I give her a nod before heading for the door.
“Lawson?”
I turn back.
“Um, thanks.” Her sheepish look and ink-stained hands clutched in front of her pull a genuine smile from me.
“You’re welcome.”
I open the door and head back to Medusa’s lair made of glass and neon-pink tape.
Time to stake out my territory.
I may only technically be able to claim half of that office, but I’m going to make it mine. And she is going to work with me to see this place thrive and drop the damn attitude while she’s at it.