Page 8 of Restored By the Mountain Man
“Absolutely not,” I say, gently grabbing her arm. “You need to remove that. Immediately.”
“Excuse me?” she sasses.
I pin her with a serious look. “We are surrounded by a facility’s worth of high-powered, highly flammable machinery. And you are a walking incendiary hazard waiting to happen.” Letting go of her arm, I step away. “Follow me. You can clean up in my office.”
“Ezra,” she begins.
“Zoe? Please.”
Her name on my tongue is too enticing. The last thing I need is to be in a room with this woman, alone. But the fear of something happening to her, on my watch, at my business, takes over. My sole focus is to eliminate the threat.
I walk ahead, leading us to my office. The sound of her heels clicking close behind me settles me, knowing she’s following. I saw the stubborn tilt of her nose. She’s not one to let any man, any person, tell her what to do. Not even her boss.
Fuck. I’m her boss now.
That shouldn’t feel complicated, but that nagging in my gut tells me I should prepare. A storm is coming.
CHAPTER 4
ZOE
My heels click against the polished concrete as I follow Ezra through the distillery, trying to keep up with his long strides. Workers glance our way as we pass, their expressions curious but respectful. They clearly know better than to question their boss when he's moving with this kind of focused intensity.
The whiskey-soaked fabric of my dress clings uncomfortably to my skin, the amber liquid creating sticky patches that make me hyperaware of every step. But it's Ezra's behavior that has me truly unsettled. This isn't the controlled, professional man I met during my interview. This is someone else entirely. Someone who looks like he's seen too much, lost too much, and can't bear the thought of losing anything else.
"Ezra," I try again as we reach his office. "I'm really fine. It's just a little spill."
But he's already moving toward a closet, his large frame cutting through the space with purpose. "You don't understand," he says, his voice rough and strained. He pulls out a red flannel button down, holding it out to me like it's a lifeline. "You're soaked in alcohol. You're a walking fire hazard," he repeats.
I take the flannel, noting how it dwarfs my hands. It's going to be massive on me, but I suppose that's better than walking around in whiskey-soaked clothes. "A fire hazard? Ezra, I'm not planning on lighting any matches. Besides, you have whiskey on you too."
My words clearly don’t register as his eyes meet mine. Something in expression looks dangerously close to panic. "You don't know what could happen. Static electricity, a spark from equipment, someone's cigarette." His hands hover near my shoulders as if he wants to touch me but doesn't dare. "Please. Just get that alcohol off your skin."
The concern in his voice is so raw, so genuine, that it stops my protest cold. This man is clearly fighting demons I can't see, and for whatever reason, my whiskey-soaked state is triggering something in him that goes far beyond normal workplace safety concerns.
"Okay," I say softly, trying to inject calm into my voice. "What do you want me to do?"
Relief floods his features but the tension doesn't leave his shoulders. He nods toward a door in the corner of his office. "The bathroom's through there. I have a shower in the en-suite. There are towels, soap, whatever you need. Just... please get that alcohol off your skin."
There's something almost desperate in his request and I find myself nodding before I fully process what I'm agreeing to. This is definitely not how I imagined my first day would go but something about Ezra's distress makes me want to help, to ease whatever pain is driving this behavior.
"Alright. I'll be quick."
I head toward the bathroom, pausing at the threshold to look back at him. He's standing rigid by his desk, hands clenched at his sides, staring at nothing. Whatever battle he's fighting right now, it's entirely internal, and he's losing.
The bathroom is surprisingly luxurious for a distillery office, with clean white tiles and modern fixtures. I set the flannel button down on the counter and lock the door behind me then lean against it for a moment, trying to process what just happened.
My hands shake slightly as I reach for my phone. I need to talk to someone who will understand how completely insane this situation is. I need Laurel.
I dial her number and wait, tapping my foot impatiently as it rings.
"Hey, Zo! How's the first day going?" Laurel's cheerful voice fills the small bathroom.
"Laurel," I whisper, keeping my voice low. "I need you to listen to me very carefully and not freak out."
There's a pause. "Okay, now I'm definitely going to freak out. What happened?"
"My boss got me naked on my first day of work."
