Читать книгу Stay with Me Forever - Farrah Rochon - Страница 10
Оглавление“Paxton? What are you doing here?”
The shock on Sawyer Robertson’s face was laughable. If this were a laughing matter.
It was not. There was nothing even remotely funny about this.
The moment her eyes popped open that morning, Paxton knew she would live to regret not checking her phone to make sure she’d set the alarm. She and Belinda had stayed out at the bar much later than originally planned, getting the last bit of odds and ends done before tonight’s reopening. By the time she fell face-first onto her pillow, Paxton could barely move, let alone check the alarm on her phone. When her mother knocked on the door of her childhood bedroom that morning, Paxton discovered that she’d overslept by more than an hour.
To make matters worse, there was only one bathroom in the single-wide trailer where she’d grown up, and, as per usual, she had to fight Belinda over bathroom time.
Why did she allow her mother to talk her into staying at home instead of at Belle Maison? Not only was the quaint bed-and-breakfast closer to the Gauthier Law Firm, but Bolt-Myer would have footed the bill for it. Instead, Paxton had to make the twenty-minute drive in from Landreaux, which didn’t help with getting in to work on time.
Not the best way to make a first impression.
Paxton gestured to Sawyer’s desk. “I wanted that table,” she said. Then, remembering that she had to share this space with him for the next four weeks, she added in a more amiable tone, “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” he replied. He stared at her for a moment before his eyes widened. “Wait.” He picked up one of the documents from his desk and, pointing at it, said, “You’re P. Jones?”
“Since birth,” Paxton answered.
The combination of bafflement and amusement remained on his face as he tossed the papers back on the tabletop and rose from his chair. It was downright mystifying how this man could make a simple pair of gray slacks and a plain white button-down look so good. The unassuming clothes fit his tall, solid frame to perfection, the sleeves of his shirt folded back at the cuff, giving the barest glimpse of his powerful forearms.
Sliding his hands into his pockets, he sauntered toward her.
Paxton braced herself for the onslaught of longing that never failed to pummel her whenever she was around him.
Breathe through it, girl.
“This is a surprise,” Sawyer said, a hint of a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “I knew you worked for Bolt-Myer, but I never put two and two together. I assumed the P stood for Paul or Patrick.”
“Oh, wow! Really?” she asked with exaggerated exuberance. “Your 1950s mentality makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”
He held his hands up. “The only thing the paperwork had on it was P. Jones, which you have to admit is a pretty common name. But I shouldn’t have automatically assumed it was male. If it makes you feel better, I’ll burn a couple of bras to make up for it.”
She flat-out refused to smile at his quip.
Sawyer crossed his arms over his chest, and for a moment she forgot to breathe. She had a thing for arms, and could remember all too well what it felt like to have his wrapped around her.
He leaned his hip against the larger conference room table. The way the material pulled across his firm thigh made Paxton want to bend over and bite it. She resisted. Barely.
“Now I understand why Bolt-Myer chose to send someone from their Little Rock offices instead of picking a project manager from Baton Rouge,” Sawyer said, completely unaware of her vampiric thoughts. “You probably know this area better than anyone in the entire company.”
“Hmm.” Paxton did her best impersonation of Rodin’s The Thinker, dipping her head and fitting her fist strategically underneath her chin. “You know, there’s actually a chance that they chose me because I’m one of the best project managers they have.”
“Come on, Paxton. I apologize, okay?”
“And what are you apologizing for? Assuming I was a guy, or for insinuating that I’m here because it’s convenient instead of my skill to get the job done?”
“For both,” he said. “Can’t you find it in your heart to give me a break?”
“I’ll give you a break when you get out of my spot.”
She set her briefcase on the larger conference table next to his leg. Which, yes, she still wanted to take a bite out of. Dammit.
“How is this your spot?” Sawyer’s voice oozed incredulousness. “I was here first.”
“No, I was here first. I claimed that spot on Friday when Carmen and I set up this conference room.”
He looked over his shoulder at the folding table, then turned back to her, one corner of his mouth tipping upward in a self-satisfied grin. “Maybe you should have left a sign on it,” he said.
Oh, how she wished she didn’t find the smugness on his face attractive as hell. Seriously, who in their right mind was turned on by cockiness?
Anyone who encountered a cocky Sawyer Robertson.
“Just think of how much confusion could have been avoided,” he continued. “I would have known that the P in P. Jones stood for Paxton. I wouldn’t have been surprised with the Queen of the Tardy Slip showing up late on the first day of the job. And I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to fall in love with this desk and its perfect view of the park.” He leaned forward, as if getting ready to impart a deep, dark secret. “I have to be honest, Pax. It really is the perfect view. You’ll be sorry you didn’t get here early enough to claim it.”
She bit the inside of her mouth to stop herself from smiling. She’d prepared herself for this. She would not allow Sawyer’s teasing to throw her off her game. Because Lord knew if any man could fluster her, it was this one.
“Don’t call me Pax,” she said.
His brow arched. “So, it’s like that?”
“Yes, it’s like that.” she said. She couldn’t handle him calling her by her nickname. It brought up too many memories of the numerous times he’d whispered it throughout that night they’d shared three years ago.
Don’t think about that, Paxton silently chastised herself.
“And bringing up that Queen of the Tardy Slip thing is just wrong,” she said.
She’d earned that title back in high school, when she would routinely show up late for homeroom. Unlike most of her classmates who had the luxury of going to bed at a decent hour on school nights, she was often helping Belinda out at Harlon’s. It made her chances of getting to school before that 7:10 a.m. bell nearly impossible.
Her best friend, Shayla Kirkland, used to joke, saying that the snooze button was Paxton’s real best friend.
“No need to get upset,” Sawyer said. “It’s just nice to see that you’re still living up to your name.”
Paxton let out an aggravated sigh. “Why did Ray Burrell have to quit?”
He slapped a hand to his chest, his dark brown eyes wounded. “I’ll try to pretend that doesn’t hurt.”
She gave him some serious side-eye action before walking over to the other desk, the one that faced a wall. A wall. Why hadn’t she set her alarm?
Sawyer followed her. Great.
He assumed the position he’d taken on the other side of the long conference table, crossing his arms over his chest and perching himself on the edge of it.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you were the project manager?” Sawyer asked.
“When would I have gotten the chance to tell you? I only came into town a few days ago. Besides, I didn’t think I had to. I figured you would have run across it while you were reviewing the information you were given when they transferred you to this project.”
“I haven’t had much time to review the materials. I was out of town this weekend. A family thing.”
“That’s what I was told during the meeting on Friday,” she said.
“It was a party for my aunt Lydia,” he explained. He paused for a moment before continuing in a slightly lower tone. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard or not, but I’m no longer married.”
Paxton put her hand up. “Not my business.”
His head jerked back a bit. “So it really is like that?”
“Look, Sawyer, it’s not my business where you spend your free time or who you spend your time with.” She moved her briefcase to the desk and turned to him. Mimicking his pose, she crossed her arms over her chest and said, “As long as you understand that between the hours of 8:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m., your time is my time.”
He made a production of looking at his watch. “Is that the case even when you come in at eight forty-five?”
She’d placed the ball squarely on the tee for that one.
Doing her best to maintain a calm, professional air, she said, “I apologize for being late. As project manager I should be the one setting the example.”
“I was only joking, Pax.” She continued to stare at him. Waiting. “I mean Paxton,” he corrected himself with a pinch of annoyance.
“Thank you.”
The laugh he huffed out was devoid of all humor, but Paxton would not allow it to affect her. The only way she would get through these next four weeks with her sanity intact was if she stayed within the boundaries she’d laid out in her head the minute she had learned Sawyer would be replacing Ray Burrell as the state’s civil engineer on this project. Allowing Sawyer to speak to her in such familiar terms crossed those boundaries.
“I’m just trying to be professional here,” she explained.
“Yeah, I get it,” he said, pushing himself up from the table. The traces of humor that had colored his voice earlier were nowhere to be found. “I would, however, appreciate a call if you know you’re running late. Just, you know, as a professional courtesy.”
Paxton acknowledged the slight sting from his words. She guessed she deserved that.
“I agree,” she said. “But I don’t have your number.”
The moment the words left her mouth the mood in the room shifted. Sawyer’s gaze caught hers and held. Her admission was almost laughable, considering their history. She had knowledge of his body in the most primitive, elemental way, yet she didn’t even know his phone number.
“I guess that’s something we’ll have to rectify,” Sawyer said.
“Yes.” She cleared her throat. Nodded. “I’ll need your number in case I need to get in touch with you about something for the project.”
His gaze remained on her. Probing. Penetrating. It took everything she had within her not to squirm.
One brow peaked over his dark brown eyes. “Is that the only reason?”
“Yes,” Paxton said. “That is the only reason I will need your number.”
He released another of those irritated breaths, running a hand down his face before assaulting her once again with that intense stare.
“Trying to pretend it didn’t happen doesn’t erase the fact that it did, Paxton. You know that, don’t you?”
The subtle drop in pitch of his already decadently deep voice caused a million butterflies to take flight in her belly. Her body reacted to the mere memory of hearing that voice. She could still feel it on her skin, the goose bumps that rose as he whispered the sexiest words imaginable into her ear as his body slowly entered hers.
Paxton sucked in a deep breath. She could not do this to herself. Would not.
There was too much at stake to get distracted by Sawyer and his seductive voice, or the subtle dip in his chin that begged for her tongue to lick at it, or those deep brown bedroom eyes that saw too much. She needed to remain focused. She had a coworker back in Little Rock who tried to show her up every chance he got. Clay Ridgely was on a mission to take Paxton’s spot as the leading project manager, and she’d be damned if she let him do it.
That’s why she was determined to ignore the hormones spinning around inside her. She had too much riding on this project to allow anything to get in the way of it, especially an out-of-control libido.
With a will she didn’t realize she possessed, Paxton reined in her body’s reaction to him and focused on the myriad reasons why it was important they keep things strictly professional.
“It’s obvious I will have to set some ground rules on how things will work over these next four weeks,” she said.
“Ground rules?”
“Yes,” Paxton answered. “We are here to do a job, and that’s the only thing I plan to discuss while we’re here. This conference room is small enough. We don’t have any room for our personal lives to invade it. Are we clear?”
“No,” he said.
Her head jerked back. “Excuse me?”
“I disagree. I think it would be better for both of us if we tackled this issue head-on instead of allowing it to hover over us.” He shrugged. “Like you said, this place is small. We don’t have room for that eight-hundred-pound gorilla you refuse to talk about.”
Just the knowledge that they were both thinking about those hours they spent together caused a tingling sensation to travel up and down her back.
This would be a long four weeks.
But she would get through it. There was no way she would allow that one ridiculously delicious indiscretion she’d succumbed to one night several years ago to derail her plans.
“I’m here to do a job, Sawyer,” Paxton repeated. “And so are you. Unless it has something to do with this project, I have no intentions of discussing it. End of story.” She straightened her spine and lifted her chin just a touch. “Now, I’ll ask you again. Are we clear?”
His eyes bored into hers with an intensity that made her breathless. Finally, thankfully, he relented. Hunching his shoulders, he said, “Fine. You’re the boss.”
Those words, coming from his mouth, set off a different reaction within her, one of pride.
She was the boss. Her. Little Paxton Jones from the wrong side of Landreaux Creek.
What she wouldn’t give to go back in time, to return to that reticent, unsure girl she was twenty years ago. The girl who’d secretly longed for the man standing across from her, just as every other girl had. Back when he was the star quarterback, student body president and the most handsome human being to grace the hallways of Gauthier High School.
Paxton wondered what that girl’s reaction would be if she told her that she would one day be the boss of Sawyer Robertson. Her teenage self would likely laugh and give her a snide get real sneer.
But that’s okay. Because this Paxton knew better.
“Good,” she said to Sawyer with a curt nod. “Now that we’ve established that, would you please consider switching desks with me? I really want that spot by the window.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “It’s only fair that I get to keep it. If you knew you wanted a certain desk, you should have gotten here early enough to claim it.”
She stopped just short of growling, but Paxton decided not to push him on it. This was a battle not worth fighting. In fact, it was probably for the best. Without the beautiful view of Heritage Park to distract her she would be more inclined to keep her head down and work harder. This phase of the flood protection project was slated to last for four weeks, but the quicker they worked, the quicker it would be over.
And the quicker she could get away from all this temptation.
As she went about setting her things out on the table that sat underneath a portrait of an old patriarch of the Gauthier family, Paxton laid out the ground rules.
“My team at Bolt-Myer has spent the past six months designing the initial concept package. The next four weeks are basically a state-required bridge between the concept proposal and the design phase, with an out-of-town trip to tour another flood protection system scheduled toward the end of this phase.
“A detailed report of the ICP has been at the courthouse for residents to review since mid-September. The only thing we have to do is present it at the stakeholders’ meeting in a few weeks and address resident concerns, review whatever questions have been posted to the website we set up for public input and finalize the preliminary implementation plan.”
“You don’t have to explain, Paxton. This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve worked on enough public–private partnerships to know how this works.”
She turned and faced him. “Well, I just want to make sure you understand how a project that I’m managing works. We have a timetable that we need to stick to in order to get this done on time, and I intend to adhere to it. Are you on board with that?”
He nodded. “I am.”
“Good, then let’s get to work.”
* * *
It had been nearly four hours since Paxton arrived at the office, but it had taken Sawyer less than twenty minutes to get a clear picture of what the next four weeks would be like for him.
Pure. Unmitigated. Torture.
Even though she sat on the opposite side of the conference room, he was acutely aware of her every move. Every key she hit on her computer, every time she moved her chair the barest inch, every second she took a damn breath. He felt it all. And it was both intoxicating and agonizing.
His body was still suffering the effects of the jolt it had received when she’d walked through the conference room door, her slim black skirt gently hugging her delicately curved hips. The impact of staring into those rich hazel eyes again hit him with the force of a tornado. Her hair was shorter than it was the last time he’d seen her. The pixie cut made her cheekbones even more pronounced. She was the entire package: beauty, brains and just enough sass to drive him wild.
His aunt Lydia would say this was his just due for making a sexist assumption that he would be working with a male, but in all fairness, most people would have done the same. Construction, especially on this level, was still a pretty male-dominated arena. It hadn’t even occurred to him to ask the full name of the project manager listed at the top of most of the documents simply as P. Jones.
Sawyer wondered, just for a moment, what he would have done if he had known that the P stood for Paxton. Would he have tried to come up with an excuse when his supervisor at the Army Corps assigned him to this project last week?
No, he wouldn’t have made excuses. He had never been the type to run.
She had been the one who ran away.
Sawyer tipped his head back and closed his eyes against the hurt that still pierced his chest whenever he thought about that morning when he’d woken to find her gone.
It had been three years since that night the two of them had ended up in bed together, turning one of the most harrowing days of his life into one of the most memorable. Sawyer could still recall to the minute detail how it felt when he held her in his arms, contemplating the start of something new and wonderful with the girl he’d had a thing for since their days together at Gauthier High School.
Unfortunately, Paxton hadn’t felt the same way. She’d slipped out of his bed in the wee hours of the morning, and when Sawyer had finally caught up to her days later, she’d apologized to him.
Apologized, for goodness’ sake.
He could still see the regret in her eyes as she told him that they shouldn’t have slept together. She then avoided him like he was something filthy on the bottom of her shoe.
And now, three years later, she didn’t even want to discuss it.
Bullshit.
Oh, they were going to discuss that night, along with her disappearing act that followed the morning after. Sawyer would give her a day, maybe two, but there was no way in hell he could work this closely with her for the next month with all these questions still lingering between them. He deserved some answers, and he planned to get them sooner rather than later.
They worked in their separate corners for most of the morning, staying out of each other’s way. Sawyer was encouraged by the fact that once he made the concerted effort to focus, he was able to put thoughts of her out of his head and actually pay attention to the work in front of him.
His stomach’s low growl reminded him that they had yet to stop for lunch. He looked down at his watch, surprised to see that it was nearly one o’clock. Just as he turned to ask Paxton what she planned to do for lunch, there was a knock at the door. Carmen poked her head in.
“Hey, guys, not sure if you ate already, but Matt’s meeting with the parish council just ended and there are leftover sandwiches, potato salad and sweet tea from Catering by Kiera if you want any.”
“That sounds perfect,” Paxton said. “I didn’t have time to pack a lunch this morning.” She turned to him and pointed a finger. “No comments from you.”
Sawyer held his hands up. “I didn’t say anything, Queen Tardy.”
“Queen of the Tardy Slip,” Carmen said with a laugh. “I remember that!”
Paxton rolled her eyes at them both. Who knew it would be so much fun to tease her?
Carmen returned a minute later with a small platter of sandwiches on croissants, a pint of potato salad, two bags of chips and a half-gallon jug of tea, along with paper plates, forks and plastic cups. She set it all in the center of the still-empty conference table and backed out of the room.
Paxton took a seat at the table. “Do you mind this being a working lunch?” she asked him. “Jeffery Melber, the lead engineer on the project, just sent me an updated material’s list. We can go over it while we eat.”
“That’s fine,” Sawyer said. “I’d made some changes of my own to the old one. Let me print you out a copy, and we can get to work.”
Ten minutes later, Sawyer was positive that she was going to demand a new engineer be put on this job.
“You cannot be serious about this line item,” Paxton said, pointing to the titanium valves he’d added to the list, replacing the fortified aluminum valves that had been suggested by Bolt-Myer.
“The titanium valves are of much better quality.”
“They’re thirty thousand dollars each,” she said. Her arched eyebrows formed perfect peaks over her wide eyes. “That’s four times as much as we budgeted.”
“But they’ll last much longer than the aluminum valves. It may be more money up front, but we can make the case to get the better valves because of what it will save in the long run. You’ll have to replace all of those aluminum valves in thirty years. The titanium can last for twice as long with proper maintenance.”
“It’s not going to happen, Sawyer. The fortified aluminum has been through rigorous testing. They exceed the state regulations.”
“These are better.” He stabbed the materials list with his finger. He refused to budge on this. “Look, Paxton, I’ve seen what happens when corners are cut to save a few dollars here and there. It turns out costing more in the long run. Why not just build it with the best now and avoid headaches down the road? Not just headaches, but it could prevent something catastrophic from happening.”
“Now you’re just fearmongering,” she said. “The budget does not have room to spend over a million dollars just on valves.” She dusted the flaky crumbs of her croissant from her fingers and pressed a napkin to the sides of her mouth. “I understand that someone like you isn’t used to worrying about pesky little things like staying within budget, but for those of us in the real world it is a necessity.”
That was a cheap shot, and it hit its mark.
Sawyer tossed the pen on the table and sat back in his seat. He folded his hands over his chest and studied her. “So you’re going to go there? Really?”
“The truth isn’t always comfortable to hear, but it doesn’t make it any less true.” Paxton said. She straightened her slim shoulders, lifting her chin slightly as she stared him down. “There is no blank check for this project. I was given a specific budget, and I intend to adhere to it, which means you will have to work within it, too, as hard as that may be for someone like you.”
Sawyer had not imagined the sneer in her voice when she said “someone like you.”
It didn’t take a degree in rocket science to uncover the true meaning behind her words or the tone in which she’d spoken. Paxton Jones resented that he had been a rich kid; she always had. As if it was his fault that his father owned the lumber mill that employed a good number of the laborers in town.
The fact that she grew up in Landreaux, one of the poorest areas of Gauthier, did not help the situation. Differences in status or class had never been a huge issue in this town, mainly because other than his family and the Gauthiers themselves, most of its residents were hardworking, lower-middle-class folks. There were those who fell below the poverty line, but instead of deriding them, the people here quietly did what they could to help.
Paxton, however, had never accepted help easily. Neither had her mother, even though Belinda Jones had swallowed her pride a time or two when things had become too much for her to handle. Sawyer was positive that Ms. Jones had never told her daughter about the instances when she had availed herself of the financial assistance the Cheryl Ann Robertson Foundation, which his father had set up in his mother’s memory years ago, supplied to needy families in Gauthier. Belinda Jones was too proud.
Like mother, like daughter.
As far as Sawyer was concerned, when it came to this project, Paxton could choke on her resentment. Her hang-ups about his money didn’t make a lick of difference to him. Making sure this flood protection system was the very best it could be was more important than worrying about the chip on her shoulder.
“I’ve worked in this field for a long time,” Sawyer said, trying like hell to keep the resentment out of his voice. “I understand budgets. I also understand what happens when people allow budgets to compromise good design.”
“Forget the titanium valves,” Paxton said, slicing the tip of her red pen through the line item. “I’ll give you these,” she said, pointing to the alternative barrier reinforcement he’d suggested. “But keep in mind if we choose to stick with this design, we’re going to have to cut corners somewhere else.”
“Stop taking such a hard line,” Sawyer said. “Budgets get blown all the time. The last three projects I worked on for the state all were over budget by at least 30 percent. The extra money is already figured into the state’s budget, because they know the projects will go over.”
“Not on my projects,” she said. “I don’t know how you state boys operate, but one of the things that makes me a good project manager with Bolt-Myer is my accuracy for hitting my budgets and my completion date targets. This project in Gauthier will be no different.”
“You’re determined to make this difficult, aren’t you? Are you doing this just to spite me?”
She turned her chair toward him, her face full of haughty indignation. “How much weight does that giant ego add when you step on your bathroom scale in the mornings?”
Sawyer ran both hands down his face. It was a conceited thing to say. It was also unfair. Within the first hour of working with her Sawyer had already determined that she was, above all else, a professional.
He held his hands out to her. “I just don’t want everything to turn into a fight, Paxton. I want you to be open to hearing my side of things.”
“I am open to hearing your side. This isn’t a dictatorship,” she said. “As long as you understand that when it comes down to the final decision, it’s my ass that’s on the line. You get to return to your safe government job, but my job security is tied to my performance.
“I have more riding on this project than you can possibly know, Sawyer, and I will not allow anything to interfere with it. Are we clear on that?”
The intensity in her stare matched the seriousness in her voice. He wanted to refute her words, but they were true. He didn’t have as much at stake when it came to his job. He would be fine no matter what.
But this wasn’t his typical project. His concern superseded his personal well-being. This was about Gauthier.
“We’re clear,” Sawyer answered. “This isn’t just a job to you. I get that. But it isn’t just a job to me, either. I don’t go into work every day just to collect a paycheck. As I’m sure you know, I don’t need to,” he said before she had the chance to throw it in his face. “However, when it comes to this particular project, I am just as invested as you are. The people of Gauthier deserve the best flood protection system we can provide, and as long as I’m the engineer on this project they’re going to get it. You need to keep that in mind when you think about your budgets. Now, are you clear about that?”
She held her jaw so rigid Sawyer was certain it would shatter. Several long, intense moments passed between them, sending the tension in the small conference room into the stratosphere.
Paxton was the first to break. If she’d waited two seconds longer, he would have beaten her to it.
Dammit. He could not take an entire month of these showdowns. He would go crazy.
“I’m willing to compromise on some issues,” she said. “If you can prove that they will make a significant difference to the overall effectiveness of the system. You don’t get to just throw something out there because it’s this cool new technology that you’ve been dying to use.”
It irritated the hell out of him that she would assume that he could be so frivolous, but Sawyer wasn’t up for yet another face-off so soon. He was still catching his breath from the last one.
“Fine,” he said. “So, are we going with the titanium valves?”
She popped a potato chip in her mouth, dusted off her fingers and said, “No. Next item.”
