She shrugs. “Normally, in my own experience, if somebody just pisses you off, if their very presence and existence bothers you, a person doesn’t notice details like cute dimples or stylish scruff.”
She's laughing, and I feel the heat flooding into my cheeks. I can't deny that Liam Anderson is a handsome man. He's ruggedly good looking. I wouldn't say otherwise. But, that's hardly the point. It's what he stands for and what he does that bothers me. It bothers me down to my very core.
“You're really reaching, Sky.”
Her grin only widens. “Am I?”
“Yes, you are,” I say. “Like, a lot.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
“Fine,” she says, still grinning. “No need to be so defensive and worked up about it.”
“I am not –”
I close my mouth and look at her, trying to stifle the laughter that's begging to burst out of me. The last thing I want to do is encourage her. A moment goes by though, and I can't contain it any longer. The laughter erupts from my throat and all I can do is roll with it. Well, that, and give her the finger, which I do.
“Fine,” I say when my fit of laughter finally subsides. “He's a good-looking man. Happy?”
“Not nearly as happy as I'll be when you bed him.”
“Skyler!” I gasp. “That's so not happening.”
She shrugs again. “Okay,” she says. “But, maybe if he's as good looking as you say he is, I'll give him a go myself.”
“You do that,” I say. “Have at him. He's all yours.”
“I just might.”
“I think you should.”
Skyler laughs and jumps off the stool. “I have to get back to the Grill,” she says. “I'll leave you to your daydreams about Mr. Gatsby. And just so you know, if your little fantasies get to be too much, call Marcia. She can hook you up with some amazing vibrators.”
“Get out,” I say, through another burst of laughter. “Go back to work and get out of my shop.”
She heads for the door, blowing a kiss over her shoulder to me. “Love you, girl.”
“Love you too,” I call back. “Thank you for lunch.”
“Anytime, hon.”
The bell over the door tinkles and like that, she's gone. I watch her head up the street toward her restaurant, her long, lustrous hair swaying as she walks. As I stand at the front windows, I feel my eyes moving of their own accord. Knowing where they're headed, I try to stop them, but can't quite seem to make it happen.
My gaze settles on Sapphire Hill in the distance and the house that sits upon it. Liam Anderson, or Mr. Gatsby, is in that house. I think back to my exchange with him. Maybe Sky is right, and I came at him too strong. Maybe, I read the situation all wrong. Maybe, he was just a convenient target for me to unleash all my bottled-up frustration and anger on.
All of that is possible, of course. I'm a big enough person to know that I make mistakes. He hasn't come around to the store, trying to get me to sell to him. And I guess, if I'm being completely honest with myself, the fact that Mayor Goodrich hasn't brought him around to try and strong-arm me into selling should tell me that I might be wrong about the situation.
Maybe, it's like I said to Skyler before – he's just a guy that wants some privacy and quiet.
I sigh and tug on the ends of my dark hair. The more I think about it, the more I start to think that I was in the wrong up on that trail. That I shouldn't have jumped to the conclusions I did without knowing his story. Not that I'm all that interested in hearing his story. But, still. He probably didn't deserve the tirade I unleashed on him.
I guess I'm going to have to suck it up and apologize.
Chapter Nine
Liam
“That's fine,” I say. “Just have the contracts emailed over to me. I'll look them over and if it all looks good, I'll sign off and send them back.”
I'm sitting in front of the computer in my office, skyping with Ted Arnold, one of my project managers. We just acquired a large strip center in downtown Seattle and are in the planning stages of building a larger mixed-use structure with a row of shops on the bottom and high-end lofts above. It's a project that I feel pretty strongly about, and think will go over big.
“You know, this would all go a lot quicker and smoother if you were here in the office to look everything over,” Ted says.
I shrug. “I'm pretty sure the time it takes to shoot an email over to me isn't overly burdensome, Ted,” I say. “Last I checked, email moves pretty fast. Christ, it's not like I'm asking you to send it on the back of a mule.”
“I just don't understand what's going on with you lately. I don't get why you're working from home now rather than coming into the office,” he says and laughs. “I guess you prefer lounging around all day in your pajamas sipping cocktails? Finally given into that fat-cat, CEO lifestyle, have you?”
A surge of white-hot anger rushes through me as I stare at the man through the computer screen. Ted is a good guy and an excellent project manager. I know that he's joking with me, but I don't appreciate having my work ethic questioned. Not by Ted, not by anyone.
I do not want people within my company getting the idea that I've become lazy, and that in turn, it's okay for them to slack off and do the same. I work hard, and I expect my employees to work just as hard. I pay them very well to do just that. I don't want to be in the city for a while and I don't need to be there to run the company. And I don't feel the need to explain to anyone working for me why that is.
“I will come into the office when I need to be there,” I say. “And I don't need to justify myself or my work habits to you.”
“No, Liam, that's not –”
“I do not appreciate having my work ethic questioned,” I say, my voice growing colder with each syllable. “Furthermore, I am still very much involved with every detail of every project. I know everything that we are doing inside and out. Probably better than you, Ted. Nothing is overlooked, and everything is done in a timely manner.”
“I know, Liam,” Ted stammers. “I was just –”
“How I choose to run my company is up to me,” I cut him off again. “And it is not for you or any of my other employees to question that. If you do not like how I'm running my company, I'll be happy to provide you with a reference on your job search.”
“I apologize, Liam,” Ted says, sounding incredibly uncomfortable. “I didn't mean to offend you. It was a poor attempt at a joke. I'm sorry.”
“Have the contracts emailed to me,” I say and end the call.
I lean back in my seat and let out a long breath. Hemingway pads over and lays his head in my lap, so I scratch him behind his ears. I'm not all that angry with Ted. Like I said, I know he was joking with me, and ordinarily, I can take it. I like to keep things a little loose around the office and I'm fine with people having some fun. I don't believe the workplace needs to be a silent, solemn place where people spend eight hours a day, dreading each minute they're there.
I want my office environment to be a place that people can enjoy. Where they can have fun – within certain limits, of course. But, in my experience, people who enjoy their job, and enjoy their workplace, are far more productive and more likely to give you one hundred and ten percent.
So, no. I know that my anger at Ted was misdirected. I lashed out at him and I shouldn't have, and as a result, I feel like a bit of an ass. But, it's not like I can take it back now.
Hemingway looks up at me with his soulful eyes and gives me a wag of his tail. His presence comforts me and always calms me down. It's crazy and I know most people don't understand, but Hemingway helps restore the balance in my own mind and keeps me on an even level.
Usually, anyway.