Chapter Twenty-Five
Ruby
The morning passes in a blur of check-ins and forced smiles. Brent isn't here. Yet. That should feel like a relief. It doesn’t.
The phone rings. I answer automatically. “Iron House Fitness. This is Ruby."
Silence. Not the static kind. The kind where I can hear someone breathing. “Hello?”
Nothing.
A treadmill hums somewhere behind me. Someone drops a set of dumbbells. The sounds suddenly feel too loud against the quiet on the other end of the line.
“Can I help you?” Another second.
Then…. The line clicks dead.
I stare at the receiver for a moment before setting it back in its cradle. Wrong number. Probably. Still... A chill crawls up the back of my neck.
Twenty minutes later, the bell jingles as Greg steps behind the desk. Too close. I shift sideways, but he steps closer to the computer, effectively boxing me in between the counter and his arm braced beside the keyboard.
"You didn't tell me you were throwing those out."
He glances toward the trash.
The words land heavy. Does this mean Greg bought them for me? I shiver at the thought. It seems more likely than not that he did; if someone else sent me flowers at work, he’d have a full-on come-apart. He’d want to know why they were sent, who sent them, and why I accepted them.
I should ask, but I don’t. “I didn’t ask for them.”
His hand comes down on the counter beside mine, not touching, but close enough that I feel the heat of him. “You don’t have to push people away who are trying to be kind.”
“I’m not.” My voice is steadier than I feel. “I’m doing my job.”
His gaze drifts to my mouth, back to my eyes. My spine goes rigid. “You could have more here, Ruby. Stability. Someone looking out for you.”
My stomach churns. Now. I’m doing this. “I’m leaving.”
His eyes narrow like he’s staring down a snake. “What did you say? I must’ve heard you wrong.”
“After today. I’m done.”
His hand slams flat on the counter. “You can’t just walk out.”
“I already gave notice.”
“For two weeks,” he snaps. It takes everything inside of me not to jump at his sharp tone. But I’m not giving him the satisfaction of affecting me. “Not today.”
“I don’t feel comfortable staying.” The words hang between us, calm, factual, final. Whether he sent me the flowers or not, I’m leaving because this feels wrong, and I’m not staying to find out how far it goes.
His jaw flexes. “This is about him.”
The asshole. I straighten my shoulders. I’m so tired of this man making everything about another man like it’s impossible for a woman to have a thought on her own. “This is about me.”
Something flashes in his eyes. Not anger. No, it’s worse. Possession. My instincts flare. “I’m leaving.”
To hell with two weeks’ notice. Or even a full day’s notice. I step sideways, forcing space between us. He doesn’t move to stop me, but the tension in his shoulders follows me to the door.
I don’t look back.
*****
Cole Construction sits on the edge of town, a low brick building with trucks parked at angles that suggest function over aesthetics. The lot smells faintly of sawdust, gas, and diesel.
I sit in my truck, hands resting on the steering wheel. This wasn’t the plan. I planned to give my two weeks’ notice, but plans change. I’m here now because I’m not going back there. I grab my bag and open the door to Cole Construction.
The office is quieter than the gym. I’m greeted by the hum of computers, and the faint creak of a chair shifting as Xavier’s dad looks up from behind the desk.
He’s decades older than Xavier, but the resemblance is there. The same steady eyes. The same set to his jaw. His reading glasses sit low on his nose, a handheld ledger open in front of him.
He studies me for a moment before speaking. “Ruby.”
“Mr. Cole.”
He gestures toward the empty chair across from the desk. “I heard you weren’t starting for two weeks.”
I set my bag down. “That was the plan.”
“And?”
“Different plan. Things didn’t go that way at work. I know you need help, so I’m here now instead of waiting two weeks.”
He leans back in his chair, studying me in a way that feels less like judgment and more like measurement.
“Phones ring whether we’re ready or not,” he says.
“So I’ve heard.”
A corner of his mouth twitches as he stands. “You know how to answer a phone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know how to tell a client we can’t start their deck tomorrow just because they thought about it this morning?”
“I think I can handle that.”
He nods once. “Good answer.” He nods again, like that was the one he was hoping for. After moving around the desk, he gestures toward the front area. “This is the reception desk. Phone lines are labeled. Do not let Travis talk you into scheduling three jobs in one day.”
“I will not.”
“He’ll try.”
I bite back a chuckle at that. “I believe that.”
He shows me the filing system, organized in a way that makes sense only after he explains it: the delivery schedule, the client list, the whiteboard that tracks active jobs.
He’s stoic, but not unkind. By the time he explains how to log materials, the door swings open.
Xavier steps inside, a roll of plans tucked under his arm. He stops when he sees me behind the desk. Surprise flickers across his face, brief and unguarded. “Thought you weren’t starting for a couple of weeks.”
“So did I.”
His gaze shifts to his dad. Back to me. “Everything okay?”
“Yes,” I say. “I just…” I pause for a second, not willing to get into everything with his dad sitting there. “I started early.”
His father clears his throat. “Phones are yours now, Ruby.”
As if on cue, the line rings.
I pick up the receiver. “Cole Construction.”
Xavier watches me. Then he nods once, like something settled into place.