I uncap the bottle and take a long sip, nodding at her. “Four hours, yes. Today the traffic was a little heavy, so that added about ten minutes, and then with stops it’s—”
I have no idea why I’m telling her this, so it’s almost a relief to be interrupted by a man’s voice booming across the small lobby.
“Ms. Kennedy!”
I stand up, almost losing the bottle to the forces of gravity, but collect myself in time to turn around. “Mr. Calley.”
He’s coming in for a handshake, a short man, salt-and-pepper hair, with a big smile that doesn’t quite seem genuine, and I shake his hand and let go of his grasp as quickly as possible.
“It’s great to finally meet in person,” he says, even though I’m not sure that we’ve communicated by email…or phone…or anything before today.
“It absolutely is.”
He leans in like he’s going to tell me a secret. “I hope you still like me when you find out.”
I raise my eyebrows, keeping the smile on my face. “About what?”
“The plans for the project, Ms. Kennedy. We want to change all of them.”
Chapter Four
Beckett
Thanks to yours truly, nobody had to waste any extra time due to Jacobs’ dumbass move on Tuesday. The only thing worse than somebody getting injured during production is losing time to shit like that.
But I’m pretty sure that’s not why I have to stop at the office to pick up my check.
That only happens when they’re giving out bonuses, and nobody else is heading this way at the end of the Friday afternoon shift.
I head down the hall into the offices of Cerberus Cement, where the noise from the factory proper is nothing but a whisper. In here, you wouldn’t even know that it was happening until it stopped. The space between my shoulders tenses. Who the fuck knows—maybe they’re about to fire me. As far as I know, nobody saw me going against safety regulations and jumping between the catwalks, and I had a pretty damn good excuse.
Jacobs has been out for the last few days, too, which must mean there was something else going on with that guy. I don’t have time to dwell on that, though. I’ve got a full night of drinking planned ahead for me tonight at the bar. Fired or not, it’s still payday.
I steel myself for the sight of Eva, who works the desk in the personnel department.
As soon as she sees me when I enter the office, she greets me with a big smile that puts a funny ache in my chest. Her hair is the same shade as Sam’s. I can’t come in here without her name echoing in my head, without memories of the soft, smooth skin at her waist curving down to her hips taking over my thoughts. “Beck. Right on time.”
Shit. It’s happening again.
“Hey, Eva, how’s it going?”
“Great. I’m so glad it’s Friday, aren’t you?” She’s wearing a cardigan over a sundress, and as she speaks, she leans forward onto the counter between us. “It’s going to be so nice out tonight.”
“Yeah.” I’m not a nice guy. I pick up women in the bar on a regular basis and then conveniently forget their phone numbers after a one-night stand. Messing with Eva like that is not on my agenda, not now, not ever, and the way she’s flirting with me right now puts a cold pit in my stomach. I don’t want a knock-off. I want— “I got a note that I should pick up my check here. Do you have it?”
Eva’s usually the one who holds the checks when they’ve decided not to direct deposit, and even though that usually means a bonus, it strikes me as complete bullshit that they make you walk all the way over here to pick it up.
She frowns. “Actually, I don’t. Mr. Greenfield said that he would be here to meet—oh, here he is!” She smiles over my shoulder, and I turn to see Cliff Greenfield, the manager above Ward. He’s got an indulgent smile on his face that makes me want to roll my eyes out of my damn head, but he’s coming at me with his hand extended to shake, so I don’t really have another option.
“Beckett Taylor,” he says, and thank God, because now we both know what my name is.
“Mr. Greenfield.”
He steps back and looks me up and down, and I’m not sure what the hell that’s for. I need to scrub the fine particles of leftover dust off my face. I need a fucking shower. A real shower, and not with the shit soap they have in the locker room. The sooner we could get this little ceremony over with, the better.
“Well, I wanted to take a minute to congratulate you.” This guy is looking satisfied as hell, and I have no idea why. Then he pulls an envelope out of his pocket and hands it to me. It’s about the size and shape of a paycheck. “On behalf of all of us at Cerberus Cement, we’d like to thank you for your dedication.”