Chapter 20
Humans Are Assholes
Eli
Monday morning comes too fast. It’s an abrasive arrival, especially after being jolted awake by the intrusion of Max’s work emergency.
This is exactly why I usually keep women in the guest wing, regardless of the arrangement.
I value my silence, and I value the solitude of my mornings.
One week or not, sharing a bed feels like crossing a line I don’t trust myself to uncross.
Sleeping is intimate in a way sex isn’t.
It’s too honest—too close to pretending something permanent exists when it doesn’t.
Still, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that having her tangled in my sheets made this morning’s disruption feel less like an annoyance and more like a price I’m suddenly willing to pay.
She’s spent time with my mother. My best friend already seems to like her. And now, I’m taking her to the equivalent of meeting my kids: my work.
Another layer of contact. Another level of familiarity.
Another place I usually don’t let the others reach.
But it’s fine. Everything is fine.
Gray light presses through the windshield as I drive us into town, the road still slick from overnight frost. Max sits in the passenger seat, bundled up in clothes that actually make sense for February in Canada now. And I can’t shake the way this all feels comfortable.
Sunday dinner felt easy with her, too. I made my famous beef truffle stew with jalapeno cornbread, and I nearly came undone at the sounds she made over every bite.
I’m thinking about how this woman has my mind spinning in a dozen different directions, pulling me back toward a center I hadn't realized I’d drifted from—and then her voice cuts straight through it all.
“Don’t you think we need some ground rules for working together?”
I glance over at her. She’s watching the road ahead, not me.
I’ve never worked with any of the women I’ve entertained. Never had to draw lines that weren’t already implied. So, this will be interesting.
“Probably,” I say after a beat. “Yeah.”
She nods like she’s satisfied I didn’t brush it off. “I just don’t want things to get…messy.”
“Right. So we keep work at work,” I say. “I’ll get you set up with a desk, you can interview my staff and access any data you need. And when we’re at home—” My voice cuts off the second the word leaves my mouth. She stiffens too.
Home.
“At the house,” I correct. “We are…”
“Us,” she offers.
I smile despite myself. At the implication. At how easily it lands.
I nod. “Us.”
It’s important for me to keep my work and personal lives separate. Vanessa and I met because our industries are adjacent. We were business associates who were mature enough never to blur the lines or mix up our roles. I don’t plan on starting now, regardless of Max being in the picture.
“Do you think your staff will have a problem with me coming to help out? Will it cause any issues?”
I know she’s asking about more than that. She wants to know if they’ll suspect anything between us or have anything to say.
“Drake sent out an email letting everyone know last night so they should be expecting you. But they won’t give you a hard time, if that’s what you’re asking. My team is respectful and they know I wouldn’t bring any drama to the office.”
“Do they know about Drake’s plan? About Vanessa?”
“They know Vanessa and I used to have a business relationship and she now runs a firm that competes with mine, so bringing you in as a consultant will make sense to them. You can relax, Max. The team will treat you like family.”
If Vanessa wins this pitch, I don't believe for a second she’ll do what’s best for the people.
For her, it’s always been about the profit.
For me, winning this is about more than a bottom-line number.
It’s about honoring the commitment I made to these communities.
That’s ultimately why I went along with this ridiculous plan.
I…We actually need Max.
“Okay, then,” I say, settling it. For her, but mostly for myself.
I glance over and catch her fidgeting again. Which means she’s about to—
“So,” she says, right on cue, “what makes you so passionate about the environment and the world?”
I smile at how predictable she already is. At how easily I’m learning her.
“Humans are assholes.”
She smirks. “I mean, that’s a bit obvious but, I’m not sure I follow.”
I exhale slowly. Smirk. She wants to know me.
“Senior year of college, I took a trip to South America with some friends,” I say. “It was supposed to be fun. A boys’ trip.” I keep my eyes on the road. “But I ended up meeting this little girl selling crafts with her mom and brother.”
My grip tightens slightly on the wheel. “They invited me back to their place. Made me dinner. Treated me like I was somebody important.”
She smiles and nods, encouraging but quiet.
So I continue.
“My friends went out partying while this single mother and her two kids were stretching nothing into something. Most of what they owned—furniture, materials, tools—came from American waste. Stuff we throw away without a second thought.”
I swallow.
“Some people were surviving off it. Making a life from it. And others were being buried by it. I knew I couldn’t change the world.
Not on a massive scale. But I also knew I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t seen a possibility to make a difference.
RootHaus came from trying to do better. Even if it is small. ”
“Wow,” she says quietly.
I don’t tell that story often. And when I do, I’m careful. That family still matters to me. I won’t turn them into a talking point.
“What happened to them?” she asks. “The mother and her two kids?”
I smile because no one ever asks that. “Ruby. She’s our head of sustainability now. Helps lead our recycled material designs and sourcing. We have offices set up near her home in South America so she didn’t have to relocate and she visits us here once a quarter.”
Her expression brightens. “That’s…really amazing, Bear. Kind of intimidating, to be honest.”
I turn onto Main Street, the busiest stretch in town. “Intimidating how?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know if I fit in with all that do-good energy. I’m more… every man for himself.”
“I doubt that,” I say easily. “And even if you were, give it time. This place has a way of getting under your skin.”
Just as you’re getting under mine.
As I pull into the team’s favorite coffee shop, I say a silent prayer that this isn’t the worst idea Thaddeus Drake has ever had.