Page 25 of Caught in the Axe
With a scowl, he crossed his arms and sat back. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“If that’s the case, then why not teach me more about the intricacies?”
“Why bother? You’re more interested in stripping this business for parts and selling them off than understanding it. It’s bigger than that. It’s more important than that.”
Oh, for the love of God. The last thing I needed was another high-handed lecture from Gus. “Spare me the talk about the family legacy today, Gus.” I huffed. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’ve put my life on hold—a really fucking awesome life, by the way—to come up here and save your ass.”
He snorted into his coffee cup. “Keep telling yourself that, city boy.”
My blood heated beneath my skin, just like it did every time we talked about this shit. “Fuck you.”
“Listen, little brother. If you could pack up so easily, leaving no one behind to miss you, then maybe your life in Boston isn’t so fucking excellent.”
His words stung. Shit. Was that what he thought of me? Maybe coming here had been a mistake. If Gus wasn’t interested in my help, then there was nothing I could do to fix this clusterfuck.
We hadn’t had a knock-down, drag-out fight since we were kids, but I was itching to drag him out to the parking lot and throw a few punches. How had we gotten so far away from one another? How had our family gotten so splintered?
And why were we all so angry at one another? Our dad was the villain. He was the one who’d fucked everything up.
Before I could stand and drag Gus out of the booth by the collar, the door chimed and Lila walked in. The world around me ceased to exist as I watched her greet the barista and several of the patrons with warm smiles, her ponytail bobbing as she waved at each one of them.
Gus growled. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. I see the way you’re looking at her.”
Ignoring him, I took in every inch of her body. She was wearing yoga pants today, and the view of her ass alone was worth the expensive latte. God, I was already gone for this girl.
“Get your fucking head in the game. We have work to do,” Gus said, sliding out of the booth. “And stop mooning over your little brother’s ex-girlfriend. It’s pathetic.”
Chapter 9
Lila
Owen hadn’t been lying when he said this was a big job. I spent the first three days cleaning out offices and file cabinets, organizing documents, and then sifting through them to determine what was important and what I could set aside.
It was fairly dull, but I cued up the new season ofCrime Junkieand listened as I scanned and filed. Folks came in and out of the office on occasion, but the massive building was mostly empty. The employees that remained were all overwhelmed with work and frazzled, but they were friendly and answered my dumb questions with patience.
Gus was here each day, and Jude was usually around, maintaining vehicles or taking inventory of equipment out in the shop. They mostly kept to themselves and kept their distance from Owen.
When Owen and Gus did end up in a room together, their interactions usually devolved into arguments.
When that happened, I’d turn up the volume of myearbuds and tune them out. Or try to, at least. The tension was so thick that sometimes it was impossible not to get swamped with it.
Owen had now been here for a few days, and other than those occasions when he and his brothers couldn’t avoid each other, he hadn’t spent any time with his family.
Sure, he could come across as grouchy and unapproachable at times, but only because he was struggling. He cared deeply for his family and their welfare, obviously. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have put his own life on hold to help. But he hid that concern well. I could see it, but based on the negative interactions he had with his brothers, I was the only one. If he’d let them see that side of him, I had no doubt their relationships would improve.
In the matter of a few days, I’d developed a new routine. I’d swing by after my shift at the diner with a latte for Owen, then post up in the big conference room and sort. We’d set up folding tables labeled with fiscal years and lined up plastic milk crates for various documents.
Despite the state-of-the-art office building and equipment, Hebert Timber had barely digitized. Most things were still done on paper, and what was available on the hard drives was disorganized.
Owen’s lawyers had successfully lobbied for the return of most of the documents and hard drives that had been seized by the FBI, so despite the mess, we were at least working with a semi-complete set of records.
I hummed as I shuffled around the table, depositing invoices and receipts, sipping my latte, and thinking this was probably the easiest thirty bucks an hour I’d ever earned.
Movement in my periphery startled me. With a gasp, I spun and slapped a hand to my chest.
Gus stood in the doorway, cringing.
I pulled my earbuds out and smiled. “Hi, Gus.”
