“Good, Mr. Fowler.” She seems to take a deeper breath than usual. “I’m gonna go out to the trucks next.”
Maybe it’s the lighting – the bulbs aren’t exactly throwing the tone I’d wanted. I’ll have to let Logan know I need warmer bulbs in here – but her skin looks a few shades paler out here.
“Are you feeling alright?”
“Yes, sir. I’m fine.” She shoves herself off of the table and grabs her tablet again with a shaking hand. “I should be done soon.”
“Rowan—”
My hand reaches out for her arm, but she scoots past it, heading out to the parking lot before I can say anything else.
An hour passes before I see her again, climbing out of the back of one of the still-full cargo vans, clutching her tablet to her chest. Logan follows after her, a wide grin on his face.
Did they just…?
I shake my head, sending the unwanted thought away, and I step up to them.
“Rowan, if you’ve gotten everything down, we’re all finished here.”
“Yep,” she tells me, “I got everything.”
She swipes through the app on her tablet, quickly showing me the sheer amount of items she’s written down for me. For a bullshit task, this is actually going to come in really handy for our books. She did some really solid work today.
She climbs into the passenger’s seat and I close the door behind her. When I get into the driver’s seat and turn the key in the ignition, she mutters, almost under her breath, “You acted like a frog in there.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Frog or prince,” she says. “Pick one and stick to it.”
SEVEN
Rowan
‘Today will be a good day.’
“I’m still waiting for you to do your magic,” I mumble to my empty water bottle before I slide it into my purse. “Tonight would still count.”
I heft my purse over my shoulder and head to the door before shutting the door behind me, sliding my key into the lock and turning it until I hear the lock engage.
It’s weird to be at the office so late, but I really wanted to get that list organized for Mr. Fowler before I headed out. I know he hates chaos and disorganization, and I really would rather stay on his good side than mess up again and have him snap at me like he did in that stupid empty building.
My phone’s flashlight illuminates the pathway to the parking lot as I head for my car, which desperately needs the windshield scraped off. A layer of ice has built up on it just in the time since I got to work today, though I guess that was more than twelve hours ago, now.
I toss my purse into the back seat and grab my ice scraper, using what little strength I have left for the day to take off as much of it as I can before sliding into the driver’s seat and turning the key to start it.
The engine lets out a low sputter before starting and I shift the gear into drive. As soon as I press the gas, the car up and dies. This process repeats at least three times before I get out and swing my foot at the front bumper, landing a hard kick on it.
“God damn it!” I shout.
“Rowan?” Mr. Fowler’s voice rings out behind me as he approaches, concern on his face. “What are you still doing here?”
He sets his heavy leather briefcase down next to my car and I throw my arms up in surrender. “I was finishing that list for you,” I tell him.
“You were off more than three hours ago.”
“It was important.”
He opens his mouth, probably planning to argue with me, but he decides against that and closes his mouth again, instead jerking his chin toward my sad little sedan.
