Page 6 of You Can Leave Your Hard Hat On
CHAPTER THREE
Afew chuckles and guffaws sounded around them as her words vibrated in the air.
Chest heaving, Sam stared down at the unwelcome blast from her past as white-hot anger whipped through her. As if the shock of seeing Teague again wasn’t enough, the nerve of the man to humiliate her in front of everyone on the job site was unforgivable. She’d had no choice but to fire him.
He stood looking up at her, his green eyes mocking beneath his hard hat. He was still tall and lean, but his body had filled in with solid muscle. His broad, bare chest was slick with perspiration, highlighting a long, angry scar on his shoulder and flattening the dark hair that converged over the planes of his stomach and disappeared into the waistband of his raggedy, faded jeans.
She held her breath, waiting for him to respond. Moving with languid indifference, he reached over to pick up the shovel he’d dropped, propped it on his thick shoulder, then touched his hand to his hard hat. “No offense, ma’am, but you can’t fire me.”
She lifted her chin. “Yes, I can.”
“No, you can’t,” he countered quietly. “Because I quit.”
Soft laughter sounded around them as he climbed out of the trench with the ease of an athlete. He walked by her without a sideways glance, so close that she could feel the heat rolling off his half-naked body. He whistled and out of nowhere a chocolate-colored Labrador appeared and fell into step next to him as he strode toward a black king cab pickup.
Sam straightened her shoulders and addressed the frowning workers standing around. “Now, can anyone tell me where I can find Mr. Langtry?”
Finally a young woman removed her hard hat and stepped forward. “He didn’t show up today, ma’am.”
Sam nodded curtly. “Thank you. Listen up, everyone. Until Mr. Langtry can be located, I’m in charge. My name is Samantha Stone—I’m the architect for this building and I’ll be overseeing the excavation.” She scanned the workers, a bit dismayed to see that no one seemed particularly impressed or attentive. Admittedly, though, she probably looked ridiculous covered in mud. She took a deep breath and summoned strength, pointing to the deep, wide channel that Teague had been digging. “I want that ditch filled.”
The workers looked at each other, then back to her.
“Beg your pardon, ma’am,” one of the workers said, “but Teague said that’s where one of the retaining walls should be.”
Sam bit the inside of her cheek, then gave the worker a flat smile. “Well,Teaguewas wrong. Fill it in.”
She turned and made her way back across the job site with as much dignity as she could muster. Teague’s truck was gone, and just the thought of him filled her with fury all over again. What ghastly luck to cross paths with him again on this, the most important project of her career. Tears pressed on the back of her eyes, but she clenched her jaw to keep them at bay. She had vowed never to cry on the job, and she wasn’t going to start today.
When she reached the taxi, the driver jumped out. “What happened?”
“I fell.”
“I have a tarp in the trunk,” he said, then sprang into action. After he spread the blue plastic tarp on the back seat, Sam crawled in, feeling utterly miserable. How had this day gone so badly, so quickly?
Teague Brownlee, that’s how.
She leaned her head back on the seat and exhaled. Good grief, where had he come from? The man was like a bolt of lightning, striking without notice and leaving her scorched—again. She still tingled from their encounter and wondered crazily if she had conjured him with her wayward thoughts on the return flight from New York.
She dug her cell phone out of her waterlogged briefcase and dialed the number for Mr. Langtry. When he didn’t answer, she dialed her assistant.
“Samantha Stone’s office, Price speaking.”
“Price, it’s Sam,” she said, squeezing the bridge of her nose where the pressure of a headache had begun to throb. “I’m back.”
“Hi, boss. How was Manhattan?”
“Let’s just say I wish I’d stayed there.”
“What’s up?”
“I just stopped by the Carlyle site, and it’s chaos.”
“Yikes.”
“Don’t say anything to anyone,” she warned. “The last thing I need is for everyone at the firm to think things have started badly.”
“What can I do?”
