Chapter 7 Jude
JUDE
Glancing in the rear-view mirror as I pull out of the driveway, my eyes linger on Olena’s quickly receding form, frozen in place beside the yellow Jetta, my business card in her hand.
My hasty exit was probably not my smoothest or most professional move, I realize with a grimace.
If there hadn’t just been a downpour, I would have literally left her in my dust. You know, like an asshole.
I run a hand through my hair and blow out a long breath, stretching my neck from side to side as I grip the steering wheel. Shake it off, Sharpe, I think to myself with a frown. You have a job to do.
I turn on the radio. The weather forecast is wrapping up.
“More rain to come,” the voice says.
A flash of memory from the roadside hits me: Olena’s soaking wet jacket, her hair and face dripping as she gives me hell in the rain. Explain yourself, her voice echoes in my mind, her eyes so full of fire. I find myself smiling.
Later, watching her as we toured the property with Charles, she was much more reserved.
Even slightly awkward. She was obviously thrown off by finding me there after having chewed me out so thoroughly on the side of the road.
I have to admit, it had been satisfying to watch her scramble to apologize and explain. I enjoyed watching her squirm.
I wonder what else might make her squirm…
Get your mind out of the gutter, my rational brain reminds me.
She’s probably got a boyfriend anyway. I try to shut down the lewd images served up by my animal brain.
God, I must be hard up. It’s not usually this difficult to shake off attraction.
Must be because it’s been months since I’ve been with anyone.
I guess I haven’t scratched that itch in a while.
The inane banter of the radio personalities starts to grate on my nerves and I turn off the chatter.
I open the window for some fresh air and take a deep breath.
The cool wind whipping into the cab is refreshing, helping to clear my head.
And I need a clear head. I need to focus on the job.
What I don’t need is anything complicating my work. Or my life, for that matter.
Driving the familiar route home, my brain goes into autopilot.
I try to focus my thoughts on the new project, but thinking about work does nothing to get Olena off my mind.
Having looked at her portfolio, there’s no denying those before-and-after photos were truly impressive—unlike anything I’ve seen before.
And I’ve worked with plenty of designers.
Those images were not what I was expecting.
Or, if I’m honest, what I was hoping for.
What I was hoping for was to be able to justify ignoring the undeniable pull drawing me to Olena, from the first moment she stalked angrily over to my truck in the rain to her rambling apology after Charles left.
I was hoping to discover she was, well, uninteresting.
Just a pretty face. I’m a grown man with self-control, after all, and I’ve been around plenty of beautiful women without losing my senses.
On top of that, I know professional relationships need to be kept at an arm’s length so the job runs smoothly.
But a stunning woman with a stunning mind? That’s going to be much harder to ignore.
If anything, knowing she’s brilliant just makes me want to stand a bit closer, stare a bit longer…
It makes me want to get to know her, to figure her out.
I think about watching her absentmindedly fidgeting with her pen while Charles talked, as well as the adorable way she couldn’t shut up when trying to explain all the reasons she’d lost her mind this morning in the rain.
I’m smiling again now, picturing that fiery intensity under very different circumstances.
Realizing with a jolt that I’ve nearly missed my turn, I pull the truck sharply onto the sleepy rural road that leads to my house in the woods. Fuck. Get it together, man.
I run a hand over my beard. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
I’ve driven this route home from the Harwoods’ on Dogwood Road a thousand times.
I give my head a shake and blow out a breath.
Right, the Harwoods… Thinking of John and Susan, I make another mental note to thank them for the referral.
This is going to be a pretty lucrative project for me and my crew.
And with Olena’s unique talent on board…
Olena. She flashes in my mind again. Her flushed cheeks as she bit her lip… My rational brain is failing miserably at keeping my thoughts professional.
Oh God. I’d only met her this morning and I already want to do unspeakable things to her.
I pull the truck into the driveway of my secluded log cabin home and kill the engine.
I take a moment to look at the place, wondering, before I can stop the thought, what Olena would think of my house.
It’s beautiful here, overlooking the river’s edge.
Would she like the rustic, cabin-in-the-woods vibe?
I shake my head. Why does it matter? She’s just your colleague.
Gathering my notes and sketches, I climb out of the truck and exhale a long breath, rubbing my forehead. I’m going to have to find a way to work with her—very closely, as Charles had said—without letting myself get distracted. For weeks.
Locking up the truck, I head for the front porch. My ten-year-old Golden Retriever, Murphy, lumbers toward me slowly from his semi-permanent perch there. I crouch down, giving him a good scratch behind the ears.
“Thanks for waiting, buddy. Let’s go get some lunch.”
He yawns.
I unlock the front door and Murphy trails inside behind me.
I hang my keys on the hook and kick off my work boots, heading to the kitchen to grab some leftovers.
Leaning against the counter, I cross my arms over my chest as I wait for my food to reheat.
The microwave buzzes, the dish inside rotating hypnotically.
I stare past it, frowning, trying yet again to get my head on straight about this new job.
Lunch in hand, I settle onto the couch and let out a sigh as I look around the room. I like my routine here, just me and Murphy. Our life is predictable and comfortable. Uncomplicated.
But, after this morning, something tells me I’ll need to figure out how to keep Olena from becoming a major complication.