One Hot December. Tiffany Reisz
sleeping together.”
“So? It was just a prank.”
“You didn’t hang them on my bumper. You welded them on my bumper. Giant. Metal. Testicles.”
“Your truck needed a new bumper, anyway, and you know it.”
“Flash...” She could tell he wanted to say something but wouldn’t let himself say it. Well, she knew how he felt. She’d wanted to say something for six months now. If only she could weld her mouth shut.
“You’re welcome,” she said.
“Wait, I didn’t thank you for anything.”
“I assumed you were going to thank me for leaving. I know I’ve been a...” She paused, searched for the right word. “A complicated employee. I know you’ll be more comfortable at work with me gone.”
“I’d rather be uncomfortable and have you here.”
“I’d rather work for a woman I respect.”
“Than work for a man you can’t?” he asked, meeting her eyes. His jaw was clenched again, tight. She’d hurt him.
“I respect you,” she said as softly as he’d said her real name. “I do. What I mean to say is...I’d rather work for a woman I don’t have feelings for than a man I do. I shouldn’t have made it about respect. I do respect you. I don’t like you very much, but I respect you.”
“I came on your back.”
“I wanted you to come on my back. How would us having very good sex make me lose respect for you? I’m not a man. I don’t lose respect for someone just because he has the bad taste to sleep with me. I consider it one of your finer moments actually. I respect you more for fucking me.”
“I think about it sometimes. That night.”
His eyes met hers for a tense moment before glancing away again.
Flash placed her hand on Ian’s chest, over his heart.
“Welcome to the club,” she said. She patted his chest and dropped her hand to her side. “I’m gonna go before I do or say something stupid. I’ve been known to do that. Examples include the truck nuts incident and that time I welded your desk drawers shut.”
“Wait. You what?” He ran around to his desk. Every one of the desk drawers opened.
“Made you look,” she said.
Ian hung his head, slammed the top drawer shut so that all his pens and pencils rattled.
“You’re evil,” he said.
“Just giving you a hard time,” she said. “Gotta go, boss. I mean, ex-boss. Have a nice life.”
She hopped off his desk and headed for his office door.
“What are your plans now?” he asked.
“Dinner at Skyway,” she said. “Clover says they have truffle fries.”
“No, I mean, you know we don’t have any work scheduled until January fifth. Your two weeks’ notice is kind of meaningless considering you didn’t have to work this month, anyway. Are you starting with Clover next week?”
“Clover’s is closed until March, and she doesn’t need me to start until January. I’m going to enjoy the rest of the month off. It’s December, remember? Baking Christmas cookies, decorating Christmas cookies, eating Christmas cookies, lather, rinse, repeat. Basically eat cookies all month is what I’m doing. And sculpting. You?”
“No cookies. Work,” he said. “I bought a new house. A new old house.”
“Cool. Where at?”
“Government Camp. An old ski chalet.”
“Govy? You must like snow.”
“Love snow. We have two feet up there already. Great view from my new kitchen.”
“Sounds nice.”
“It’s a fixer-upper. I’m spending all month fixing and upping.”
“A ‘fixer-upper’ ski chalet is still a chalet, Bossman. It’s like saying you bought a ‘low-end’ Rolex or a ‘used’ private plane.”
“Fine. You win. I’m a spoiled brat, and I always will be. I didn’t earn what I have, but I’m trying to be worthy of it, okay? Which is why I didn’t want to keep sleeping with you, because when someone gives you power over someone else, you don’t abuse it. And whether you like it or not, I had power over you. More than you know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. “I’m only saying I have the power to hire and fire. I shouldn’t sleep with someone I can fire. I did it for you.”
“Well, thank you very much for dumping me. It was very chivalrous. Good luck remodeling your chalet this December. You have to weld anything?”
“A couple things.”
“Clean your metal. Acetone’s good. If you don’t have any in the house, you can borrow my fingernail polish remover.”
She gave him one last little look, maybe the last one she’d ever give him, and left his office. She kept her head up and her shoulders straight as she marched down the generic beige hall on generic gray carpets to the parking lot. Everyone was gone. No surprise there. Last day of work before the holidays, and everybody had shipped out the second they could.
The only car left in the parking lot was Ian’s new black Subaru, which she was pretty sure he bought because he couldn’t look at his old car without picturing the truck nuts she’d welded to the bumper. She headed to her red ’98 Ford Ranger, which had seen better days, trying to convince herself she was happy about leaving. And she was. She was excited about her new job. Clover Greene was about the kindest, friendliest woman she’d ever met, and she had a quirky green-haired teenage girl working for her as an office assistant—her kind of people. The nursery itself was like a well-manicured Garden of Eden. Everywhere she looked Flash saw inspiration for her metal foliage sculptures. Great people, safe place for women to work, nice location, good pay, good benefits and fuel for her art. So yeah, she was thrilled about the new job.
But.
But...Ian.
It wasn’t just that he was good in bed. He was. She remembered all too well that he was—passionate, intense, sensual, powerful, dominating, everything she wanted in a man. The first kiss had been electric. The second intoxicating. By the third she would have sold her soul to have him inside her before morning, but he didn’t ask for her soul, only every inch of her body, which she’d given him for hours. When she’d gone to bed with him that night she’d been half in love with him. By the time she left it the next morning she was all the way in.
Then he’d dumped her.
Six months ago. She ought to be over it by now. She wanted to be over it the day it happened but her heart wasn’t nearly as tough as her reputation. The worst part of it all? Ian had been right to dump her. They’d both lost their heads after a couple drinks had loosened their tongues enough to admit they were attracted to each other. But Ian had a company to run and there were rules—good ones—that prohibited the man who signed the paychecks from sleeping with the woman who wielded the torch.
She pulled her keys from her jacket pocket and stuck them in the lock.
“Flash? Wait up.”
She turned and saw Ian walking across the parking lot toward her. He wore his black overcoat, and combined with his black Tom Ford suit, he looked more like a Wall Street trader than the vice president and operations manager of Asher Construction. Ian told her once he’d started out doing cleanup at his dad’s construction sites twenty years ago. Then he’d gone to college, come home, and clawed his way up the ranks the hard way: by working his fingers