Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 99981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Before I knew it, I wasn’t just fixated on the cerulean blue of her eyes; I was mesmerized by her soft, pink lips. I thought about the way they moved when she opened her mouth to spout sarcasm and sass. I thought about the way they curled up at the corners when she smiled or laughed. And I thought about the way they looked, right then, when her teeth pressed into her bottom lip as she searched my steady gaze.
Fuck. Those lips of hers have become a serious problem for me.
One I don’t have any time to contemplate right now because shit has really hit the fan in the hotel build. More supplies have been delayed, two workers quit, and the city pulled two of the permits we need to make any progress.
I am a raging bull, and everything in my path is a china shop.
I know flipping out doesn’t necessarily help the greater good, but if I don’t hold myself rigid as steel, the stress will snap me in two. At least, that’s what it feels like.
For the first time in this build, the delayed supplies are the least of my worries. Quincy’s got a few connections with different suppliers and some work-arounds, so we’re not totally dead in the water there.
But it doesn’t matter. We can have all the shit we need and all the workers we need, but without permits, we’re fucked in a way that we don’t ever grow our hymen back.
“Sarah, where’s George on the permits? Has he spoken with the city? Do we know why they pulled them?” I fire off rapidly.
Sarah pulls out her phone and dials immediately, her hand shaking ever so slightly. I pull my eyebrows together, and I find myself dipping down a little to try to see if she’s got a retainer in her mouth.
“I’m not sure yet, sir. I know George went down to the municipal building to find out. I’ll get him on the phone.”
My phone buzzes, and before I know it, one of those damn advice texts is staring me back in the face.
Unknown: Smile. And say thank you. People mind an asshole a lot less if he says thank you.
Instead of getting angry this time, I implement it without even thinking.
“Thank you, Sarah,” I say softly, letting the corner of my mouth curl up. “Just let me know when you hear from him.”
Sarah looks dumbstruck, and when I spot Greer from across the room, she looks impressed—eyes wide and cheeks plump with an approving smile.
My chest feels warm, like melted chocolate is being infused through a port.
Well, fuck.
New Orleans me, it seems, has thrown another wrench in the system—caring what Greer Hudson thinks.
It’s almost sickening how easily my body slides into the new plan as it gets a little hit of a high from Greer’s admiration.
“Also,” I say, looking at a shell-shocked Sarah with new eyes. “You don’t have to call me sir. Trent is fine.”
Records scratch, and activity drops off to nothing. Several sets of eyes on are on me with an intensity that makes me wholly uncomfortable.
“All of you,” I amend. “All of you should just call me Trent.”
Greer, thank God, finally breaks the ominous silence. “Will do, Captain Trent.”
I laugh, and the rest of the team stare at me like I’ve suddenly grow an additional head.
Time stands still. A fly drops dead midflight. Mouths gape like open wounds.
Have I really never fucking laughed at work before?
“Captain, huh?” I look at Greer. “Okay, I kind of like that.”
Instantly, she shakes her head with a cheeky smile. “Sorry. One-time thing.”
“Ah, well.” I shrug and smirk. “I guess it was fun while it lasted.”
After that, five more minutes with the pod people formerly known as my staff is all I can take.
Apparently, I am going to need to pace myself when it comes to softening my fist from iron. If not, I might not have anyone left in a week.
For today, though, I’ve decided to remove myself from the situation completely. It’s not like I don’t have other important shit to do, and as much as it seems I’d like to, I can’t stand around staring at Greer’s approving smile all day.
Wait a fucking minute. Hold. The. Phone. My mind starts to replay how the entire interaction went down.
Talking to Sarah.
Text advice from that fucking unknown number.
Magically, I use said advice and say thank you.
And Greer smiles—admiringly.
Well, I’ll be damned… That’s quite the coincidence right there…
I glance at Greer one more time, finding her already back to work and holding up linen samples near a freshly painted wall, and I make a mental note to look into this revelation.
Later, though.
Because right now, my focus needs to stay on the job. There are crucial permits we need to obtain because, without them, none of us will have jobs to come back to.