Page 25 of Forty and Fighting Dirty
“The designs you just threw in the trash?”
“You threw them in the trash, Darling.”
In the quirk of his lips and the blackness of his eyes, I saw the real Rhett. The man who would gladly make my life a living hell in order to make me leave here as soon as the job was done. He was definitely doing it on purpose. He wanted me to trip and fall on my face so he could let me go without being the bad guy. And Rhett would do anything to avoid looking like the bad guy. He had his precious reputation to uphold.
I would love nothing more than to give him what he wanted—but I needed this job, and the man across from me held all the power. So I took a deep breath, let it out, and then nodded. “Sleek, minimalist luxury,” I said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Rhett’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing more as he stalked out of my office and out of sight.
As the afternoon rolled around,Mila stopped by my desk with a smile. “You coming out with the team for a Friday drink?”
That meant more time in Rhett’s presence, which was not going to happen. He’d already dumped a presentation in my lap just before the weekend. He wasn’t going to take up any more of my time. Fridays ended around 2:00 p.m. in this office, apparently, which meant I’d have an hour or so to myself before the boys got home. I could have a bath, or a glass of wine, or I couldsit on the couch and stare into space, and no one would need me. Glorious.
No self-important fraud like Rhett Baldwin would get in the way of that, even if it meant I had to skip team-building drinks with the rest of my coworkers.
“I’ve got to pick the boys up from school,” I told Mila, which was the truth—just not the fact that I’d have a bit of time to myself in between.
She tilted her head in understanding. “Next week, maybe. Any plans for the weekend?”
“Mostly just trying to find us a new rental,” I said.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Is your place no good?”
“It’s great,” I replied, grabbing my purse to start packing up my things. It felt wrong to be leaving work so early, but I slipped my phone into my purse and smiled at Mila. “My landlord can only do a three-month lease, and we’re already one month in. She does short-term rentals for the winter.”
Mila hummed, wrinkling her nose. “I can’t blame her—the money’s crazy with tourists coming in to ski and snowboard. But still. You’d think people would care about locals having somewhere to live.”
“Not sure I qualify as a local quite yet,” I said, wrapping up my charging cord and stuffing it in the smaller outside pocket of my purse—only to feel paper crunch against my fingertips.
“You’re here to stay, aren’t you?” Mila asked brightly. “That makes you at least halfway to local in my books.”
I smiled, warmth and sadness blooming through me at the same time. No matter how much my boss hated me, I couldn’t deny that everyone else I’d met was wonderful. My boys werethriving. The town was gorgeous. If I eliminated Rhett from the equation, I loved it here.
But I’d messed up my chance to keep Rhett on my good side the very first time we’d met. Now I had the tiniest bit of leverage—his reputation, and his need to get the lodge open. I couldn’t afford to look weak to him, or I’d lose what little power I had in this situation.
Mila, Todd, my landlord, Ms. Diane—they were all good people whom I’d love to get to know. I’d love to put down roots here, but it felt like there was already a clock ticking over my head, counting down to the moment I had to leave town again.
I hid my melancholy behind a smile. I glanced down at the paper I pulled out of the side pocket of my purse, thinking it was an old receipt I could toss on my way out. Instead, I found a crumpled raffle ticket. Mila was still waiting by my door, and I didn’t want her to see how sad her comment had made me. I lifted the ticket. “Maybe this is my winning ticket,” I told Mila. “Won’t need a rental at all, because I’ll win a house.”
“Not if I win it first,” she said with a wiggle of her eyebrows, then waved and headed out the door.
My Saturday morningwas spent viewing three apartments with the boys. Two of them were completely uninhabitable, and the third was way out of my price range. Dejected but trying not to show it, I put on a cheery face and loaded the boys up into the car to leave the beautiful home that I’d never be able to rent.
“What do you say we stop at that market we saw on the way here?” I asked, glancing at the two of them in the rearview mirror.
“Can I get a funnel cake?” Nate asked.
“I’m not sure they have them,” I replied as I started the car.
“Do they sell Hot Wheels?” My boys were obsessed with the toy cars.
I hummed. “Probably not.”
The boys groaned, obviously not enthused by the prospect of a Hot Wheels–less, funnel cake–less farmer’s market. But the alternative was going home and trying to entertain two little boys in our too-small rental with no backyard, so the farmer’s market it would have to be. At least until I figured something else out.
I pulled into a free parking spot on the street and herded them toward the market, smiling at the old woman sitting near the entrance and resting on her walker. There was a coffee truck with a long line on one side and a stack of hay bales for seating on the other. A few decorative pumpkins added to the fall decor, the whole thing framed with the changing leaves of a gigantic tree. I inhaled the scent of autumn and let my shoulders drop. A few snowflakes fluttered around us, falling to the ground and immediately melting.
“Whoa!” Nate said. “Look! Beef jerky!”
