Chapter 9
“ D on’t even think about it,” came the harsh whisper in her ear that had her hand going still inches from the nail gun that was going to make her life easier.
Dylan opened her mouth as she glanced over her shoulder only to close it, wince when the sunlight hit the scar above Quinn’s eyebrow just right, and murmured, “Fair enough,” at the reminder of what happened the last time she got her hands on a nail gun.
“What are you doing here?” Quinn asked as he picked up the nail gun and placed it on a higher shelf, ensuring that it was out of her reach, which again, considering what happened the last time that she got her hands on a nail gun, was understandable.
“I’m nobody’s bitch. Unless I’m in prison. Then, I’m Big Bertha’s bitch as long as she treats me right,” Dylan said with a firm nod that had Quinn rubbing his hands roughly down his face as he muttered, “Jesus Christ.”
“Exactly,” she said, nodding solemnly.
“That doesn’t explain why you’re here or why my men sent me texts threatening to quit when they saw you reaching for a tool belt,” Quinn drawled as he looked pointedly at the tool belt that she’d helped herself to that was currently hanging off her hips.
“Because they’re easily intimidated,” Dylan said with a sniffle and a firm nod as she reached down and grabbed hold of the aforementioned tool belt when it started to slide down her hips and yanked it back up.
“Or,” Quinn said, reaching for the buckle that was supposed to secure the tool belt to her hips and released it, “they’ve heard the horror stories passed down over the years about the summer that you destroyed everyone’s will to live.”
“First off,” Dylan said with a heartfelt sigh, “I was an invaluable asset that summer.”
“You made five grown men cry,” Quinn drawled as he pulled the tool belt loose and placed it on a shelf above her head.
“It was six, but that’s neither here nor there,” Dylan said, waving it off as they made their way out of the tool shed.
“Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here,” Quinn said as he closed the doors behind them.
“Did I not just mention that I’m nobody’s bitch?” Dylan asked, blinking up at him.
“I believe there was something mentioned about that,” Quinn drawled as he moved to head towards his office only to sigh when Dylan sent a wistful look at the food truck. “You really are a pain in my ass.”
“A pain in the ass that needs a job,” Dylan pointed out as they made their way to the food truck so that she could take in the lovely selection of snacks, sandwiches, and other tasty treats that were going to go a long way to make this day better.
“You have a job,” Quinn pointed out as she focused her attention on the assortment of baked goods on display.
“Not anymore,” Dylan said as she debated between a double chocolate donut and a jelly donut.
“She can’t fire you,” Quinn said, grabbing a pair of tongs and-
Sighed when she cleared her throat and looked pointedly at the double chocolate donut. With a muttered, “Pain in my ass,” he placed the donut in the bag and-
Sighed again when she cleared her throat with a pointed look at the jelly donut.
Once he placed the jelly donut in the bag, Quinn moved to place the tongs down only to narrow his eyes on her, mutter something unintelligible to himself, and grabbed another jelly donut.
Pleased by this, Dylan helped herself to a lemon danish, an egg sandwich with bacon, another danish, and, because she was feeling a bit peckish today, a meatball sub.
“She didn’t technically fire me,” Dylan said as they made their way to the cashier.
“Then, what did she do?” Quinn asked, pulling his wallet out of his pocket only to glare at her when she reached for hers. When he narrowed his eyes on her, she reluctantly dropped her hand away with a murmured, “Thank you,” deciding that there were definitely perks to being married.
“She reminded me that B.T. Construction would no longer be building houses next year, and as a result, my designs wouldn’t be needed, but no worries because she offered to let me be her office bitch,” Dylan assured him with a solemn nod, watching as his expression turned from furious to confused.
“What the hell is an office bitch?” Quinn asked, frowning as they made their way to his trailer.
“Exactly what it sounds like,” Dylan said as they walked into the meticulously organized office and sighed because she could make this work.
“Be at her beck and call and see to her every need?” Quinn guessed correctly.
“Which is why I was once again forced to tell her to go to hell,” Dylan said with a satisfied sigh as she thought about that one perfect moment where she kept her gaze locked on her sister, grabbed another coffee roll, took a bite and turned around, making her exit and ensuring that her sister knew without a doubt that she couldn’t push her around.
The fact that her sister lost interest while she took that bite, focused on her phone, and mumbled, “Good talk,” before she walked away didn’t matter. What mattered was that her sister would think twice before pissing her off again.
She-
“What are you going to do now?” Quinn asked as he made his way to his desk while Dylan stood there, taking in everything from the neatly organized kitchen to her right, to the neatly organized coffee station next to it, the color-coordinated binders neatly organized on the shelf above the filing cabinets, and the oversized leather couch that was going to make her life easier as she took in his desk, noting that everything was in its place and nearly sighed.
He clearly needed her.
“Make you an offer that you can’t refuse,” Dylan announced with a heartfelt sigh, knowing without a doubt that he was moments away from thanking God that he married her.
“Are you ready to talk?” his father asked as he dropped down on the chair across from him and-
“Is…is that Dylan?” his father asked as Quinn finished going over the supply requests.
“Probably,” Quinn murmured, making a quick note of everything that they were going to need to start on the Anderson house next week.
“Why is she dragging a bag of concrete mix?” his father asked as Quinn double-checked the list of equipment.
“Probably because she couldn’t find a wheelbarrow,” Quinn said, making one final note before he looked up just in time to watch his wife stop to adjust her hold on the bag, bend her knees and-
“What exactly is she doing?” his father asked as they watched Dylan slip, stumble, and then promptly fall on her adorable ass.
“Taking a more active role in the company,” Quinn said, feeling his lips twitch as he watched Nolan pluck the bag of concrete off the ground, throw it over his shoulder and promptly step over the small woman currently sprawled out on the ground and struggling to catch her breath from the looks of it.
“Why?” his father asked as they watched Lucan stop next to her, adjust the post over his shoulder as he leaned down and rolled her over onto her side with his free hand before he stood up, adjusted the post again and kept going.
“Brooke decided to start cleaning house before she took over B.T. Construction,” Quinn drawled, glancing back at his father to find him watching him.
Clearing his throat, his father said, “That’s probably for the best.”
“Dylan needs a job,” Quinn pointed out, wondering how far they were willing to let Brooke go with this before they put a stop to it.
“It looks like she has one,” his father said with a pointed look that had Quinn following his gaze to find Dylan getting back to her feet, stumbling before she managed to stop herself and then stumbled back towards the bags of concrete stacked near the supply sheds, grabbed another bag only to fall over again.
“Yeah, she’s a natural,” Quinn drawled as they watched her get back to her feet, stumble, right herself, nod to herself for some reason before she turned around and made her way back towards the house while he sat there, thinking about the moment when the little pain in the ass gave him an ultimatum.
Give her a job as his personal assistant or be prepared to be impressed with her construction skills. Curious, he decided to see how this ended.
“How long do you plan on letting this play out?” his father asked while they watched as John, a new hire who didn’t know any better, went to hand Dylan a hammer only to have five of his cousins tackle him, taking him to the ground and wrestling the hammer out of his hand before Dylan could get her hands on it.
“Until she curls up into the fetal position and gives up,” Quinn said, watching as Dylan stood there for a moment before her shoulders slumped in defeat and she turned around and made her way back to the bags of concrete.
“You don’t want B.T. Construction, Quinn,” his father said, taking him by surprise.
“What gave it away? The fact that I’ve been working for you since I was twelve or the fact that I put in sixteen-hour days, seven days a week?” Quinn bit out as he glanced back at his father and-
“Because you don’t love it,” his father said with a heavy sigh as he stood up.
“What makes you say that?” Quinn asked as he glanced back at the window in time to watch Dylan move to grab another bag of concrete only to fall onto the pile and stayed there.
“Several reasons,” his father murmured as Quinn watched Dylan release a shuddering sigh before he glanced back at his father to find him watching him curiously as he paused by the door.
“Brooke’s going to destroy B.T. Construction,” Quinn pointed out as he glanced back at the window and-
“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”