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The Dirty Series 2(159)



What the—

“You’re…welcome.” I don’t know what the hell else to say, but Greenfield is looking at me like it’s my turn to make a speech. What is this about?

“Three years today, and we hope you stay on another three years, Mr. Taylor. You’ve been a great asset to Cerberus.”

Well, thanks for finally throwing me a fucking bone. Three years at this place, and all I can see when I look into the future is three more years here. As long as Ward doesn’t catch me saving the day by risking my damn neck. Even then, even if I got fired, what the hell would change? Nothing. I’ll just go to another factory somewhere else, another plant.

“I’m glad to hear it.” This has got to be the most awkward fucking conversation in history.

“Of course, we hope you’ll consider applying for some of our management roles. It’s unusual with someone of your level of education to remain on the floor this long.” Then Greenfield winks at me. “Think about it. I know we’ve got some positions opening up in the next month, and your name would be highly regarded.”

“Great. I will.” When can I get the hell out of here? I force a smile onto my face and put the envelope into my pocket.

“Have a great weekend, Mr. Taylor.”

Then Greenfield, in his fancy-ass slacks and button-down, disappears into the hallway, leaving me standing there with Eva.

“Congratulations, Beck.”

I give her a look. “Three years working at a cement plant. A real achievement.”

She cocks her head to the side. “It is. It’s really good.”

Sam never would have been impressed with this kind of shit.

“All right. See you around.”

“Bye, Beck.”

I get out of there before she can say anything else.

I have to go back out through the administrative offices to get to the employee parking area located around the side of the complex, and my boots are loud on the industrial carpet. I want to get the fuck out of these work clothes and into the bar, and as fast as possible. The extra money in my pocket is a reward for wasting my goddamn life, but I don’t deserve anything more than that. I don’t fucking deserve recognition.

I’m almost to the entrance when a woman steps out of the office suite that the owner, Calley, stays in when he’s here, which isn’t often, according to people like Ward. I wouldn’t know. I’m not on that level. Thank God. She comes out right in front of me, so close that I almost run into her, and she’s saying something back through the open doorway.

“—I’ll be here on Monday to review what we’ve—oh!”

She whirls around as I step away, just avoiding a collision, and when her green eyes meet mine, my heart stops. Just stops, like I’ve been hit by a car.

I can’t believe I didn’t recognize her.

Because it’s Sam.





Chapter Five





Samantha



“I’ll be here on Monday to review what we’ve—oh!”

It’s been a long four hours, so I’m backing out of Mr. Calley’s offices with a huge smile and a desperate heart. There’s a movement in the air next to me, and someone steps out of the way, their footfalls loud on the carpet, and my body jerks me out of the way even though we didn’t actually collide.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, hating the words even as they come out of my mouth. I swore this would be the year when I stopped apologizing automatically, but the follow-up “excuse me” dies on my lips as my heart leaps into my throat.

The man in front of me doesn’t look like the Beck Taylor I used to know. This man has three days’ worth of stubble and muscles so firm they’re shaping the t-shirt he’s wearing with jeans running thin at the knees. The cut jaw belongs to a man, not a twenty-year-old kid, and so do the rough calloused hands.

It’s his eyes that I’d know anywhere. A light blue that’s hard like a winter sky but deep like the ocean.

Beck.

My stomach does a slow turn inside my gut. Every breath is a struggle, my throat tight and hot, but I can’t look away. I don’t ever want to look away. Heat cascades down from the back of my neck, and I’m thankful as hell that my hair is pulled up in a bun, because I’d have to lift it away and fan myself if it wasn’t.

Holy God, he looks good. He looks better than good, and there’s an electric hum between my legs that I can’t ignore. His gaze is an arrow piercing right beneath the professional cover I’ve put on for this meeting. The shield crumbles like it was made of dry sand. I can’t look away, but half of me wants to run.

He still hasn’t said anything.