Authors: Robyn Neeley
“For Coop or for Grayson?” Gavin took a swig of his beer.
“Me. Grayson. Apparently the whole factory calls me Swanky Suit or Dipshit.”
The latter caused his brother to spit out his beer. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Dipshit. Now, that’s funny.”
“Ha-ha,” Grayson said bitterly. “Freakin’ hilarious.”
“Well, it’s only your first day. You’ll adjust.”
“I hope so. Working the line is no cakewalk. I mean, I know the work they do in the factory isn’t easy, but it’s really intense. There’s a lot going on.”
“So, did you learn anything as far as Becca’s concerned?”
Not as much as he would have liked to, but that would change tomorrow.
“Not really. It’s going to be harder than I thought to get close to her. She’s so guarded … and busy. I doubt she’s going to hang around the watercooler with her new employee engaging in idle chitchat. I’ve got to think of creative ways to spend time with her. We’re having lunch tomorrow. I’ll start there.”
“Well, you should know, while we were talking to her tonight, Macy’s manager called and wants to throw an engagement party at the house this weekend. Macy invited Becca.”
“Really?” That news motivated him to pull himself off the counter. “She didn’t say yes, did she?”
“Actually, she did. She and Macy exchanged phone numbers. Macy’s even talking about calling her later this week to see if she’d like to go shopping sometime this month. My fiancée has decided she’s going to befriend Becca and make this a little easier on her.”
Grayson shook his head. “Yeah, because any woman chosen by Dad to have a relationship with me definitely needs a support system.”
Gavin slapped his back. “You said it,” he kidded. “Nah, it’s like how she befriended Charlotte when she first came to town. She wants both of her future brothers-in-law to be happy.”
Grayson put his hands behind his back and did one of the stretches Tangie had shown him, bouncing on his toes. “Becca’s probably only going because I’m out of town.”
“Well, why don’t you come since you’re back in town?”
“Um … because she thinks I’m in Cancun.”
“Say you came home early. It doesn’t mean you have to go back to the office until September. None of your staff would even blink an eye.”
“That could work.” He pointed to his wig. “I could probably have this taken off on the weekends. Good thinking, Gavin. I like the idea of being me on Saturday and Sunday.”
Gavin finished his beer and fished in his jean pocket for his keys. “You do realize full-time Coop could blow up in part-time Grayson’s face if Becca ever finds out what you’re doing.”
“Don’t worry. That won’t happen. I’m being very careful,” he said, using Coop’s Southern drawl to illustrate just how good his disguise was.
“We’ll see you Saturday.” He slapped Grayson on the back. “That is, if the factory doesn’t wear you out. Good luck tomorrow. Oh, and stay away from Swanky Suit. I hear he’s a dipshit.”
“Yeah, whatever. See you.” Grayson said good-bye and returned to the living room, picking up his dinner.
Shoving most of it in his mouth, he put the small amount of leftovers in the refrigerator and dragged himself upstairs. Once there, he took out his contacts and peeled off his clothes. Wearing only his blue-and-white-checkered boxers, he flopped—stomach-first—onto his bed.
It
would
be great to see Becca this weekend as himself and not Coop Jackson. He rolled over and closed his heavy lids, exhaustion taking over.
That is, if his day job didn’t kill him.
Grayson rounded the corner to Becca’s office. The clock had struck noon, and he was ready to spend some quality time learning all he could about his new boss. Perhaps she’d unknowingly shed some light on why his father gave her the shares. He took a deep breath before knocking.
“Hey, Coop. I was just thinking about you. You ready for lunch?” Becca stood and pulled off her white smock, draping it over her chair.
“I sure am.” In her simple red top and black pants, she actually looked … normal, like someone he might go out with. Hmm, Becca in a pair of black leather heels. She’d carry the height well.
He noticed the vase holding the gardenias he’d sent her was missing. “Where are your beautiful flowers?”
“I took them over to my mother’s. I thought she might like them.”
Well, if she wasn’t going to enjoy his gesture, Mrs. Nash should. “Does she live in Sweet Ridge?”
“Yeah, she moved into an assisted living home on the outskirts of town this summer.” She straightened a small stack of papers on her desk. “The flowers would help spruce up the place.”
Interesting. Shouldn’t her mother be too young to need assistance? No wonder Becca had been so guarded when he mentioned her at the Silver Spurs and then the night of the Battle of the Bands. He made a mental note to stop bringing her mother up in conversation. If anyone understood the pressure of coping with an ailing parent, it was him.
He followed Becca down the hall but stopped in front of the building’s exit. “Oh, shoot. I totally left my lunch on my kitchen table.” Truth be told, he hadn’t made it.
She waved him off. “I’m sure we can find something for you in the refrigerator.” She started to head to the break room.
“Wait,” he called out, and she spun around.
“Everything okay? If you don’t want what’s in the refrigerator, I brought a turkey sandwich. You can have that.”
“Um … I really don’t want to eat anything that belongs to someone else. Plus, I’m a … a … vegetarian.” He nodded to the corporate building. “Roselyn told me there’s a nice cafeteria on the first floor. Why don’t we go there?”
At the speed Becca shook her head, he almost felt bad suggesting it. “Bad idea?”
“Horrible.” She paused and gave him a small smile. “I mean, it’s not
horrible
. We can go there if you’d like.”
“Great.” He pushed open the door and held it for her. “So, how was your night?”
“My night?” she repeated.
“Do anything fun?”
“Not really. Visited my mother and then went grocery shopping. How about you?”
“It was low-key.” He lifted his knee and flexed his foot, showing off the shoes Meg had brought over for him. “But I did manage to pick up a pair of these.”
“I noticed. I’m sure they’re much more comfortable.”
“I thought you said cowboy boots were comfortable.”
“I did?”
Oh, shit. She did say that, but not to Coop. She’d said it Saturday night while they were dancing. “Um … I thought you did. Oh, you know what? It was Tangie who said it.”
“Well, she’s right. They are comfortable. It takes time to find the right pair, but when you do, it’s magical. Kind of like buying a car.”
“Really?” Somehow he didn’t think he’d get the same adrenaline rush from purchasing a pair of cowboy boots like he did the day he’d driven his Mercedes convertible off the dealer lot.
“Have you settled into your home?” she asked.
He blinked. Where did Coop Jackson live? He decided to play it safe. “Actually, I’m staying at Grayson’s.”
That admission got a smirk back. “Have you heard from him?”
He nodded, happy that she’d asked. They’d reached the building, and he, once again, held the door open for her. “As a matter of fact, he called last night. He’s coming home soon.”
Her eyes went wide at that news. “He is? Why?”
“I guess he had enough fun in the sun.” He pointed to the left and then right, pretending he didn’t know which direction the cafeteria was in. She motioned to hang a left.
“Will he be back in the office?”
He wasn’t sure how much to reveal, but if Coop wanted to get in her good graces, feeding her information on Grayson’s whereabouts might be the way to do it. “He mentioned he’s still going to take the rest of the month off. Get some things done around his condo.” He chuckled. “Which probably means I need to start looking for my own place pronto before he puts me to work.”
“Yeah, I can’t imagine he owns his own toolbox, let alone knows how to use anything in it.”
Ouch.
As a matter of fact, he did have a toolbox and he was quite handy around his condo. He’d built onto his back porch last summer while Gavin and Gage sat on their butts and watched baseball, drinking all his alcohol. What kind of wuss did she think he was? “You’d be surprised what skills Grayson has,” he said flatly.
They reached the entrance to the cafeteria, turning the heads of several of his marketing executives sitting at a nearby table.
“I think this was a bad idea,” she said, turning to leave. “There’s a McDonald’s down the road. They have salads there.”
“What’s up with all the looks?” He touched his black shirt. “Am I wearing the wrong thing?”
“It’s not you. It’s me.” She turned to the counter line, grabbing two brown trays and handing one to him. “You know what? Let’s stay. They’re going to see more of me soon anyway. They might as well get used to it.”
Atta girl.
Wow, had he just given this woman a mental cheer? Last week, he would have encouraged his employees to give her the stare-down if it intimidated her enough to give up her shares, but he was beginning to feel differently. What that feeling was he wasn’t quite sure, but he wanted to explore it.
“There must be a story there,” he said, taking his tray.
“Yeah, there is,” was all she said before heading for the salad buffet while he decided to grab his favorite BLT sandwich. It took all his willpower not to say hello to the friendly server, Lee, who’d been making his lunch for the past ten years.
Taking his plate, he spotted Becca at an empty two-top near the window. He couldn’t help but grin. He’d often sit there if he wanted to quietly read the
Wall Street Journal
while eating. How ironic she’d picked his normal spot.
He joined her at the table and set his plate down. Her phone buzzed, and she apologized for having to send a quick text. While she did that, he dug in to his sandwich and took a bite, savoring the taste of the crispy bacon.
“Sorry about that.” She put her phone away and picked up her fork, freezing in midair. “What are you doing?”
“What?” He took another enormous bite.
She pointed at his BLT with her fork. “I’m pretty sure the strip inside that sandwich you just ate came from a pig.”
Oh crap. He’d blown his lie. “My vegetarianism comes and goes. Mainly it’s about eating healthy.”
“Because I’m sure that sandwich loaded with bacon and mayo is good for you,” she scoffed.
“Hey, it’s also got lettuce and tomato, and bread isn’t all that bad.”
She smiled wryly and went to work on her own nutritious salad.
“So, why don’t factory employees come here?” he asked, more than a little curious.
“You have to ask?” She glanced around. “It’s not like the people in this room would be purposely rude or mean, but my group is different. I mean, look at us in our casual work clothes and rubber shoes. We don’t exactly fit in with their fancy suits and designer shoes.”
“But wouldn’t your workers like to spread out and have a meal they didn’t have to prepare? I mean, the break room works, I guess, but it seems a little cramped, and I’d hardly call that small prep area a kitchen.”
She shrugged her shoulder. “We’re used to it. Although …”
“What?”
“We came over here once as a group. It was a total disaster.”
What disaster? That was news to him. “Why was it so bad?”
“Well, two years ago, we all got a flyer in our mailboxes that Guac Olé was having a holiday lunch on December twenty-third. Families were invited to attend, and they’d hired a Santa for the kids to meet.”
“Cool.” He did remember that event. He’d popped down for a few minutes while his dad said a few words. The cafeteria had been packed with staff and all of their families, kids running around everywhere.
“We thought it would be fun, and so many of my gang brought their children. This place was a full house.”
“Sounds like a success.”
“For those who could stay, I’m sure it was. We were told to come back in two hours after the corporate employees and their families ate.” She shook her head. “It was so humiliating for us to have to leave.” She sighed. “Franco had even brought his five grandchildren. By the time we could eat, the Santa they’d hired had left because he had another party to get to.” She frowned. “The kids were so disappointed.”
Grayson’s throat tightened, and he took a sip of his soda. His dad would have hated to know that had happened. Franco, Becca … none of the plant employees deserved to be treated like second-class citizens. “That’s why no one eats here.”
She nodded. “One of the reasons. Now do you understand?”
More than she knew.
“I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. The one who should be sorry is your roommate. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was the one who’d ordered us out.”
He turned his head, staring out the window at Becca’s beat-up trunk in the parking lot. She was wrong. This was the first he’d heard about it. Maybe that was the problem. In his years of breezing in and out of employee events and not spending time in the plant, he’d picked up plenty of corporate-speak and not enough real conversation.
It was probably the reason they’d all given him the cold shoulder last year when he came in to wish everyone a merry Christmas. Man, had he earned the nicknames they’d given him. He
was
a dipshit.
He pushed his plate off to the side, his appetite gone. “So, you’re not a big fan of Grayson?”
“He’s all right.”
He would have believed her if she hadn’t stabbed her tomato while saying it.
“I mean. I don’t really know him, but we’ve been forced into each other’s worlds as of late.”
“Are you working on something together?”
“God, no.” She sighed. “I’m sure Grayson will fill you in when he gets back. The short story is that his dad left me fifty-percent controlling shares in the company, beginning in September.”
“You’re kidding.”
She laughed bitterly. “Sometimes I wish I was, or that I’ll wake up any minute and realize it was all a dream.” She pulled her arm up and pinched it. “Not sleeping.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “It’s why we got the stare-down earlier. Everyone knows.”