Hard Working Hero (Hard Working Hero 1)

Page 4

What the hell? Why did my father invite him in?
Pouring a glass of wine, I down it quickly, and pour another one. My eyes dance around the room, refusing to land on him again. Yet, they do. They find him despite my resistance and determination to avoid him.
“He's cute,” my mother says over my shoulder.
“Who?” I gasp, startling.
“Oliver.” She gives me a grin and bounces her brows. “I think he's single too.”
“Mom, stop. He works for Dad.” And he hates me, I think privately.
She holds her glass up and crosses her arms over her chest. “I'm just saying he's cute. It isn't a crime to say he's cute, is it?”
“No, but I know what you're doing.”
“Narissa,” she says, giving me a nudge, “I'm not doing anything, but it isn't going to kill you to maybe try to get out a little more. Have some fun for once.”
“I have plenty of fun.”
“Do you? With who? I haven't seen you with any of your friends since you were back in high school. When do you ever go out anymore?”
“I'm here, aren't I?” My head twinges like a migraine is coming on. I don't want her to remind me of how bad I am with making friends. “Thanks for the advice.” I walk off, heading to the window that overlooks the pool in the backyard.
Over the music I hear the footsteps of someone approaching. I think it's my mother again, but then an exciting scent fills my nose. “Hope you’re ready for what's ahead,” Oliver says over my shoulder as he steps up and looks out the window with me. “I'm not going to go easy on you. You're going to actually work.”
I hold my breath, sputtering out a response. “Did my father send you over to remind me?”
“No," he says, giving me a wink. "I just want you to know what to expect tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow. You think I have time to wait around until your schedule opens up?” he asks, not waiting for my answer. “I don't. You're on my time now.”
“Who the hell—” I start to say, when the room collectively starts to sing “Happy Birthday.”
Oliver smiles, taking a small sip from his glass, then turns and walks away.
And I'm left wondering why he's gone from acting like he wants to avoid me... to treating me like he can't wait to get me alone.
I wonder what time she'll decide to stroll in. . . If she strolls in at all.
That girl isn't going to last one hour here. I'm sure she'll be afraid of the dirt or breaking a nail, maybe she'll complain the sawdust is irritating her delicate skin. I chuckle to myself as I imagine her cringing and whining about having to work.
Her poor beautiful face, smeared with sweat, making her makeup run. My mind wanders, picturing the sweat trickling down her face and neck until it disappears inside her shirt.
The image of her skin glistening, begging to be licked from head to toe, is in my head. I can't lie, she's gorgeous. Never in my life did I expect Ethan Thayer's daughter to be this beautiful. I was left slack jawed when I saw her behind the wheel.
Her nipples were poking through her shirt, her jeans tight, hugging her around the hips. And when she bent over to check out the damage on the front of her car, her black thong peeking out of her jeans made my dick twitch.
Even now, just thinking about her bold green eyes and heart-shaped lips is making my blood run hot. My cock jumps in my pants, thickening instantly as I imagine her wrapping her mouth around my dick and sucking my length.
I shake the thought away, focusing my attention on the cabinets I need to remake . I still can't believe they were destroyed like that. It took me weeks to get them just right. The only saving grace I have is that I know exactly how to recreate them.
The workshop is quiet and dark as I flip on the lights. I can smell the sawdust, and it relaxes me immediately. I love creating and working with my hands. There's nothing in the world that calms me more than holding raw wood and making something beautiful from it. It fills me with a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction, being able to build something completely unique and from scratch. Taking a client’s vision, sketching it out roughly on a piece of paper, and then delivering it their home, weeks later. One of a kind. Nothing you can buy in a big box store. I offer something special.
I drop my keys and phone on the long table against the back wall and walk to the stack of wood on the racks across from me. My eyes scan the racks until I find the cherry wood slats I used to make Mr. Thayer’s cabinets.