Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(43)

I clear my throat. “Sebastian? Oh yeah. All charm.”

“If he’s mean to you, let me know. I’ll punch him. Thumb on the outside.” She winks and holds up a fist before shifting on her feet. It seems we’re both uncomfortable after last night but won’t give voice to it. We can’t talk about it.

I can’t, at least. Or I’ll say something I shouldn’t. I’ll have to stick to action.

She doesn’t need another boss perving on her. And I don’t want to be perv-dad-boss.

So, I fall back on an old faithful—teasing her.

“You sure? Looks like you still don’t know how to make a proper fist. And you’re no good to me with a broken hand.”

She rolls her eyes. “There he is. Ford the dick is back.”

I hate being a dick to her, but I just don’t know how else to act. So, I grab the envelope in front of me and hold it out.

“What’s this?” The tips of her fingers brush against mine when she takes it, and I cover the shiver that races down my spine by shifting in my seat.

“A signing bonus. Employment contract is in your email. I’ll need your direct deposit information for future payments.”

When she opens the envelope, her lips pop open, and her eyes go wide.

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking your permission, Rosie.”

With a quick peek up she says, “Let me clarify: hell no.”

“Hell yes,” I reply impassively.

Her head shakes, but her eyes stay latched on the check, pinched tight between her fingers.

“Nah.” She glares at me head-on now. “It’s too much.”

“No, it’s not. I pay my employees well. Always have.”

She shakes her head. “This is a start-up. It’s not in the budget. I’ve been working on those spreadsheets. I know.”

I tilt my head and give her my best are-you-fucking-kidding-me look. “Rosalie. It’s in the budget.”

“You don’t give people with zero experience a signing bonus like this. I don’t even have references.”

My molars clamp down at the mention of her fucking references. “I do.”

Her lashes flit rapidly, like she’s trying to keep from crying. And god, I hope she doesn’t cry. If she cries, I’ll be up and out of this chair faster than you can say, Stan Cumberland is dead.

“I don’t deserve this.” Her lips wobble as she stares down at the check again.

“Rosalie.” I say, and she takes a deep breath. Our eyes lock, and I give her a moment to get her bearings.

Then I tell her the simple truth. “You are worth every penny.”

Her jaw pops as her teeth clamp down, and her shoulders do this little shimmy as she pulls herself up taller and one hundred thousand dollars richer.

I thought it was enough to help her situation without making it seem like a handout.

Truthfully, it didn’t seem like that much to me. Which is bizarre and wholly out of touch if I let myself think about it.

To Rosie, it seems like this might be a lot of money. But from where I’m sitting, she deserves so much more.

“Ford, I?—”

I lean forward, hanging on to her every word.

But that’s when Bash comes stomping back, announcing, “You’ve got mold.”

Rosie mouths a silent but carefully pronounced thank you as she clutches the check to her chest and wipes at the corner of one eye.

And I spend all day wondering what she was about to say.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


FORD





Tonight is a night I would have chosen to spend away from Rosie. I need to create a little distance. My train of thought constantly reorients to her, my eyes constantly search for her, my body turns in her direction without me even thinking about it.

It seems I’m attuned to her no matter what I do.

So it tracks that I was both thrilled and devastated when I walked in to Cora announcing she and Rosie were playing a game of Monopoly. I tried to leave them to it, but participation wasn’t optional. Now I’m stuck spending my downtime trying not to stare at Rosalie Belmont.

My body doesn’t seem to recognize that she is now my employee in an official capacity. But my brain does. My brain is painfully aware that not only is Rosalie Belmont my best friend’s little sister, but she’s also someone I can’t cross professional boundaries with.

“Oh my god! Another one?”

At the kitchen table, Rosie rubs her hands together with an evil grin as she places yet another hotel on the Boardwalk. “Listen, little storm cloud, I told you I was good at this game. I always have been. Ask Ford. I kicked his ass at this game as a teenager.”

My lips flatten. “No, you didn’t.”

“Ha! Yes, I did. It’s actually incredible that you became as successful as you are with how truly terrible you are at Monopoly.”

“I’m not terrible. I just have different priorities.”

Rosie leans back with a smug look on her face, reminding me that when we’re not at work together, it would appear all professional pretenses evaporate.

“Well”—she leans back in her seat while thumbing through the colorful play money in her hands—“from where I’m sitting, it appears your priority is losing.”