Chapter 5- La Loca del Tape
“?La loca del tape está de vuelta!” Ignacio yelled good-naturedly as soon as she walked in. (The crazy girl with the tape is back!)
Lizzie smiled—she loved that she’d made such a strong impression, even if it had inspired the nickname “crazy”. “That’s right. Hope you’re ready! Where should I put my stuff?” She lifted her bag to show the stuff in question.
Ignacio nodded behind her. Lizzie turned—and nearly ran into Will.
“I thought I told you I didn’t like pink?” Will said by way of greeting, eyeing her pink blazer.
“I thought I told you I didn’t need you babysitting my work,” Lizzie fired back.
“Well, I guess it’s lucky that I’m the boss, and I don’t have to listen to what you say, huh?” He said in admonishment. Lizzie got the feeling that he meant this to be at least partly in jest, but it still bothered her. She also didn’t have a good response; he was right; she worked for him.
“I’ll make sure to follow that request in the future,” She said through a forced smile.
This is fine, she thought. She wasn’t going to let him make her nervous. She reached into her bag, pulled out a roll of red duct tape, and slung her bag onto a nearby desk.
“If there’s nothing else, I have to get to it. I’m being held to a pretty strict timeline. My client can’t wait to get me out of his hair.” Lizzie said this teasingly, but Will didn’t look amused. He just crossed his arms and clenched his jaw.
Lizzie worked with Ignacio’s team through the morning. She focused on procedures—cart parking, flow from heavy to light, and pickers safely stacking multiple orders. They moved inventory and rearranged aisles—efficiency porn.
She slung her blazer over a chair an hour in. By 11:30, she sent the team to lunch and dragged stuck-wheel carts into a corner. Grease, sweat, this morning’s colada powering her through—she was in her element.
This is how Will found her: sitting on the floor, wheel grease on her hands and smudged on her arms, sweat beading on her brow.
“Is this what I’m paying you for?” Will said, frown etched deep.
“You sure are,” Lizzie said, snapping the wheel back in and pushing it to test. She stood, satisfied. “That’s got to be worth some time savings, right?”
“And lunch? Don’t you eat?”
Lizzie grabbed a towel and wiped her hands. “That, you actually don’t pay me for.”
Will’s jaw clenched. “Don’t worry—I’ll grab a cafecito from the break room.
And I could afford to skip a few meals, right?
” She smiled and winked to soften the comment, but internally she hoped he felt bad for calling her chubby on the day of the pitch.
Will’s expression darkened, which made Lizzie think it struck home.
“I’d be happy to buy you lunch,” Will grumbled.
“Oh, thanks! I was half-joking—I’ve got a protein bar. But would you be open to buying the team lunch on Friday? I’m asking a lot this week. Reward goes far.”
“You don’t have to do that. They get paid to work hard.”
It was Lizzie’s turn to clench her jaw. “Yes, but kindness makes a better environment. I’ll buy it—don’t worry.” So much money and so stingy, Lizzie thought.
“No,” Will said. “I’m happy to. I just didn’t want you to think it was a necessity.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Silence. Will still loomed in the doorway.
“What’s the plan for the rest of the week?” he asked finally.
“Today was heavy lifting. Next few days: install inventory plus shipping software, train the team, install corner mirrors. Friday: dry run—see how it all clicks.”
Will nodded. “Okay. And just for the record—even this is better than the pink blazer.”
Lizzie looked down at her now-dirty black T-shirt and slacks. “What do you have against pink?” She rummaged in her bag for her protein bar.
“I don’t know,” he said. “It just doesn’t suit you. Like that club didn’t suit you the other night.”
“Is that club your normal scene?” Lizzie asked, unwrapping the bar.
Will chuckled—actually chuckled. “Hardly. I wish I never had to see the inside of one. Hate everything about places like that.”
“Then why go?”
“Because being a Pemberley is more than a last name. Obligations—to shareholders, employees…” Will appeared to be reciting some motto or slogan as he said it.
“Yeah, and you’d sound pretty spoiled complaining that the hardest thing in your life is going to a club once in a while.”
“That’s hardly the hardest,” Will said, voice low. Before Lizzie could press, Ignacio bellowed:
“?Jefa!” from the end of an aisle.
“Boss? They call you boss?!” Will asked, incredulous. Lizzie shrugged. “They don’t call me boss, and I am their boss!”
“What can I say? I have that boss energy…” She grinned. Will smiled back—a real one.
“Fair enough,” he said.
“I’d better go see what’s up. I’ll be right back.”
“No, it’s okay—I have to take this.” His phone rang on cue. Lizzie saluted and spun on her heel.
By 4:30, Lizzie measured that they’d shaved 2 hours off order processing time. Progress was good, but she calculated an extra 30 minutes that wasn’t accounted for. Learning curve or error?
I need café, she thought, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She made her way to the small cafeteria and queued. Ordered a cortadito and a pastelito. Turned—and Will was behind her.
“Fuel for the chaos?” he said, sliding a $5 bill across the counter.
“Thanks, boss,” Lizzie said.
“Don’t push it,” Will said, gravel in his voice making it almost sound like a growl. His eyes crinkled a bit, and she thought he was teasing, but something about the tone made his voice feel a little husky, and her stomach tightened a bit.
Lizzie didn’t wait to find out if he had been joking, as she grabbed her treats and headed back to squeeze in a few more fixes.
By 6:00 p.m., she called it. Nothing more today.
Grabbing her blazer, she headed for the door—and saw Will again. He’d changed: slacks, button-up. Sharp.
“Hot date?” Lizzie teased.
Will frowned slightly. “No pink tomorrow.”
“I’ll do my best to remember,” Lizzie winked. “Good night, boss.”
As she got to her car, her phone buzzed, a text from George.
I’m sure you’re killing it. Drinks tonight?
Lizzie stared at the message a second longer, thumb hovering. Then locked the screen and shoved the phone deep into her bag, as if it might burn her.
She couldn’t afford to get distracted by George Wick right now.