Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(73)

Like I went out, but may have left the stove on.

Like I just got to the airport, but may have left my passport at home.

I feel like I went to the city with Cora and left something incredibly important behind.

A piece of myself.

I only managed to get any sleep with my hand wrapped around the key at the end of my chain.

She told me I was one of the good ones, but that doesn’t count for much when I feel so damn awful.

So, when I walk in through the open sliding barn doors, I expect to feel relief. I plan to lay it all out in an organized and logical fashion when the right moment presents itself. To tell Rosie there’s nothing complicated about the two of us if she doesn’t want there to be. That I don’t care about the mess. There’s no one I’d rather be messy with.

But when I walk in to see Scotty leaned up against Rosie’s desk, laughing his way through some dumb story about his weekend, all logic flies out the window. She’s wearing a dark purple pencil skirt with a matching blazer and a pair of nude stilettos, like this is the damn city or something.

Never have I seen her dressed so formally for work since she started here with me.

Never has a pencil skirt looked so good on a woman.

I turn my eyes on my desk, breezing into the space and doing my damndest to avoid staring at her. From my periphery, I see Rosie shift over to peek at me, around the painter guy. He doesn’t bother acknowledging my presence, or he’s so busy staring at her that he hasn’t noticed me.

I have no doubt she feels the animosity rolling off me. She’s always been especially attuned to my moods—she’s always been one to call me out on them too.

There’s been no tiptoeing where Rosie Belmont is concerned, and I decide I’m done tiptoeing too.

I sit woodenly against the edge of my desk facing them, cross my arms, and clear my throat.

When Derek Scott finally turns, he shoots me a predictably dopey smile. “Morning?—”

I match it and cut him off with, “Derek, your work here is done. You can leave.”

“What?” In his defense, he sounds genuinely shocked.

“You have five minutes to pack up your things and get out of my office.”

“Dude. Man. I was just taking a quick coffee break. I’m getting back to it right away.”

I pin him with my coolest glare. I’m well aware I’m being a dick, but right now I don’t care. I’ll paint the place myself so long as it stops him from ogling her. “Derek. Dude. Man. You’re fired. Get out.”

Behind him, Rosie leans back and crosses her arms. It does nothing but accentuate the swells of her breasts. Even the way her tongue pokes at the inside of her cheek in annoyance distracts me.

The guy mumbles something about being almost done, but I don’t drop Rosie’s stare from across the room when I address him. “That’s fine. I’ll pay you for the entire thing. Just leave.”

He scoffs and keeps mumbling to himself as he packs up his paint and ladder and whatever else he left lying around. Rosie and I face off like we’re having a staring competition while he does. She looks like she’s going to kill me, and I hope she tries.

I hope she gets right up in my face and gives me a piece of her mind.

“Later, Rosie,” he says as he takes one last long look at her before stepping through the wide-open doors.

“See you around, Scotty.” She doesn’t drop my gaze when she says it, and I see him cast a curious glance my way.

Then he leaves. Fucking finally.

And we face off.

“Welcome back,” is how Rosie breaks the silence. She stands and smooths her hands down over the front of her pencil skirt. In the next moment, she’s moving across the office, heading straight for the doors. With a tug, she slides one side closed. “You’re in fine form this morning,” she adds before closing the other as well. “Real charming, boss. Charging in here like a feral dog, pissing all over the place.”

“Why are you closing the doors?”

She strides toward me, looking tall and powerful and royally pissed off. “So that I can tell you what a raging dick head you are without risking anyone overhearing me.”

My head quirks. “Oh, okay. Are we keeping things work-related now? Or is there a chance this rant you’re about to go on is personal?”

She steps closer, the pointed toe of her shoe almost butting against my leather boot. “Don’t pull that shit with me, Ford. You forget how well I know you. You fired a capable painter because you’re acting like a jealous little boy. You can’t behave that way in a town this size. It’s a bad look. Just get this tantrum out of the way so we can get back to work.”

I say nothing, so she sighs, hands on her hips, chin dropped like she’s as tired as I am. “I thought we turned over a new leaf.” Her eyes flit, only for a moment, to the chain around my neck before she licks her lips and adds, “I’m busy. And so are you.”

I stand and glare down my nose at her with a dark chuckle. All she does is tip her head up. Doesn’t give me an inch.

“You might have turned over a new leaf in a matter of days, but I’ve been watching this one grow for years. I don’t think I’ll be turning it over at all.”

She rolls her eyes. “Ford?—”

My hands dart out, land on her waist, and tug her against me. “Don’t Ford me, Rosalie.”