The Dare Collection July 2019. Nicola Marsh
it. He frowned harder. He wasn’t wrong about telling her not to paint without him. He knew he wasn’t.
But...maybe he could have approached it differently?
“Fuck,” he breathed. He wasn’t equipped to tiptoe around another person’s feelings. If he was, he’d have been better at the client-facing part of this business. Trish wasn’t a client, though. He couldn’t just end a meeting and cease having to deal with her. She’d be in this office, day in and day out.
He had to apologize.
Cameron played through his options a couple times, but there was really only one reality. If she was pissed, it would make the office unlivable. What was more, it made her a whole lot more likely to go ahead and paint the damn boardroom—and potentially hurt herself—when he wasn’t around. Since he wasn’t a fan of either option, he pushed slowly to his feet and went in search of her.
Unsurprisingly, he found her in said boardroom. The chairs around the old table had disappeared somewhere, and she stood on the table, in the process of changing out the overhead light fixture. Cameron froze, not sure if he should rush over to catch her in the event that she fell or that damn light fixture came undone and crashed down on her head.
Trish glanced over and gave him a brilliant smile. “This thing is so coated with some gross combination of dust and time that I’m calling it a wash and tossing it.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. A smiling Trish was not what he expected. Was this a trap? “You seem...not mad.”
“Why would I be mad, Cameron?” Her tone was as sweet as honey, but her use of his name might as well have been a hook in the gut.
This was most definitely a trap. He cleared his throat. “Earlier, I didn’t mean to—”
“To question my competence? To treat me like I’m a child in need of tending?” Every single word was that blend of sweet and sharp, until it was a wonder he didn’t bleed out on the floor at her feet. She turned to face him, the light fixture in her hands, as regal as a queen despite the streak of dust over the shoulder of her shirt and what appeared to be a cobweb clinging to her curls near her face. Trish looked down her nose at him. “If you have a problem with the way I do my job, that’s fine. You’re my boss. You’re more than entitled to correct and/or punish me as you see fit.”
He got hung up on the word punish and had to force himself back to task.
She wasn’t done, though. “That said, if you ever talk to me like that again, I’m out. I took this job as a favor to Aaron and, yeah, I kind of need it, but I don’t need it badly enough to put up with that level of disrespect. I get that you don’t handle people well, but at some point you’re just making excuses for bad behavior that’s inexcusable...” She trailed off, her breath coming too fast, and seemed to realize she was yelling at him. Trish clutched the light fixture closer to her chest. “So...there.”
God, she was something else. Fired up and willing to put him in his place, though she had to be truly pissed to have let the peppy sunbeam mask slip. Cameron leaned against the doorjamb. “I’m sorry.”
“Why, you—” Trish blinked. “What?”
“You’re right. I was out of line. I’m sorry.” He stepped farther into the room and held out a hand.
Looking dazed, she took it and allowed him to guide her off the table. He finally managed to relax a little once her feet were both firmly on the floor. Trish gave him a suspicious look. “Why are you being so agreeable?”
“Contrary to what your brother thinks, I can see reason on occasion. I was worried about you falling again, and so I overreacted. But you’re right, I’m your boss.” He almost choked over the words—the reminder—but powered through. “Talking to an employee like that isn’t okay.”
“Exactly.” She still didn’t look convinced this wasn’t some kind of trick.
That made two of them.
Cameron...didn’t do this. He didn’t do interpersonal relationships. Too damn bad. Going to have to figure it out as you go, and it’s one hell of a learning curve. He didn’t move from his spot. “I respectfully request that you either hire out for the painting or wait until after hours when I can help you.”
Trish opened her mouth like she was going to snap back but seemed to consider. “It’s an unnecessary expense to hire such a small job out when I’m more than capable of handling it. For that matter, there’s no reason for you to take time away from your...whatever it is you do for leisure...to help me. I have it covered.”
She had it covered all the way to an ER visit with a broken arm. Or worse.
He met her gaze steadily. “When are you buying the paint?”
Cameron could almost see the gears whirling in her head as she tried to find a way out of this. He could have told her there was no way out. He wouldn’t let her paint this room by herself, and her little stunt this weekend had shown her hand—if she thought she could get away with it, she’d do it behind his back to avoid dealing with him.
If she was anyone else, he would have found her independence a relief. It meant he could focus on his job and let her do hers. But Trish wasn’t anyone else—she was Trish. He needed to keep her safe, even if that meant keeping her safe from working herself to the bone.
Finally, she sighed. “I’m going to pick it up after work.”
“Pick it up tomorrow.” He didn’t bother to keep the command out of his voice. If she went and got it after hours, she’d be right back here the second he wasn’t looking.
She’s not a wayward puppy, asshole. She’s a person.
Yes, she was. A person who had excellent work ethic and showed every evidence of being just as stubborn as her older brother—the same older brother Cameron would have to answer to if something happened to her. That was all. It was simple, really. Not in the least bit complicated. He certainly didn’t have any ulterior motives.
Trish narrowed her eyes. “You can’t tell me what to do after hours.”
“It concerns this job, so I sure as hell can. We’ll take a long lunch tomorrow and paint the damn boardroom. You can pick up the paint late morning beforehand.”
For a moment, it seemed like she’d keep arguing, but then she gave him a brilliant smile. “Sure thing, Mr. O’Clery.” Trish turned on her heel and marched out of the room.
Okay, that was definitely a trap.
TRISH ALMOST SAID to hell with it and bought the paint anyway. She got so far as to leave her apartment and start in the direction of the store... But common sense reared its ugly head. Cameron might have been kind of an ass with his command for her to wait, but he’d also apologized and he wasn’t being completely unreasonable with wanting to help. It might even be kind of nice for the job to go faster.
Honesty, Trish.
She huffed out a breath and turned in the opposite direction. “The honest truth is that I’m pissed that when he said we’d talk, he meant he’d treat me like a child instead of kissing me again.” She shot a look around her, half expecting Cameron to melt out of a nearby shadow and call her on her idiocy. There was only the normal foot traffic at this time in the early evening, and they were obviously all NYC natives, because they didn’t so much as blink at her talking to herself like a crazy person.
She grabbed dinner from the little Chinese place a few blocks down and carted it back to her apartment. Behind locked doors, she finally sighed. Okay, my pride was hurt. I let it get the best of me. We both agreed that the first kiss was a mistake that shouldn’t be repeated...but that