It’s like a massive warehouse situated right on the harbor. The walls are made of brick, but the large windows let in plenty of natural light. Inside are three boats that look like they’re waiting for repairs. They are secured with ropes and positioned on some sort of rails. The floor slopes steeply downward, with the rails leading into the water. It looks like the front part of the warehouse that meets the harbor has a movable wall, similar to a boathouse.
The whole thing is spacious and impressive. In the back, there’s an area that appears to be designated for the fishermen, complete with a break room, lockers, and other amenities. There’s an open stairway leading to the upper part of the yard,seemingly housing offices with a glass front. Those working up there can clearly oversee the yard, but when you look up, it’s mirrored, making it so no one can look inside.
Tim wasted no time after Tally’s phone call and arranged an interview for me. The bosses seemed eager for me to come in as soon as possible. It looks like they’re urgently searching for a replacement, and my chances of getting the job aren’t too shabby despite my lack of experience with boats. I hadn’t even had time to change.
It’s not the most ideal outfit for an interview, but they’re looking for a mechanic, not another beautiful secretary like the one currently leading me up the stairs to the offices, dressed in a pencil skirt, blouse, and high heels.
We finally make it up the stairs, and the brunette knocks on the glass door that remains opaque from this side. After a brief moment, a deep voice from inside says, “Come in.”
“Mr. Jones, your appointment is here,” the secretary informs him in a much higher and sweeter tone than she used with me.
She steps aside, allowing me to enter the office after her. As I enter, I raise my eyes to the man sitting behind a large desk, cluttered with papers, at the center of the room. But when I see who it is, I freeze, and my polite smile falls off my face.
No fucking way.
In front of me sits Business Guy, the asshole BMW driver, looking impeccably styled in a gray suit and light blue shirt. His deep brown hair is styled up and away from his face but almost in a relaxed way, like he combs his fingers through it often. His piercing blue eyes briefly scan me from my dirty sneakers to my face, then back down. The initial neutral expression remains, but the coldness in his gaze tells me he is far from pleased to see me.
I have to clear my throat before I can manage to speak. “Hey, I?—”
“Stephanie, what is this supposed to be?” he interrupts, addressing his secretary and dismissing me with a passing glance.
Stephanie responds without hesitation, “Your ten o’clock appointment, Ms. Sloan Wilson.” With a hint of amusement, she adds, “I’ll leave you to it,” before she steps out and closes the door.
I’m left alone in the office with him, feeling somewhat out of place and distinctly unwelcome.
“We’re done here,” he declares dismissively, returning his attention to his papers.
The pure audacity of this man leaves me momentarily stunned. “I’m sorry, what?” I ask, my voice tinged with disbelief.
His eyes reluctantly come up to meet mine, and he sighs in annoyance. “I was told a Mr. Wilson would be looking for a job as a mechanic.”
My gaze narrows, and I can’t help but retort, “Well, that’s true. The only thing that changed is that I don’t have a dick. But it seems like you’re a big enough one for both of us.”
He sits up straight in his chair, biting on his bottom lip before delivering his response, “We’re looking for someone who can handle the dirtiest job in this whole yard. Someone who can maneuver around boats that weigh tons, who can get down and dirty with oily boat motors. Someone who can handle the stench of the bait boxes. I need a damn mechanic. Not Barbie, the mechanic doll.”
I choke on my spit, shocked by his condescending tone and words.
Did he just call me a dumb blonde?
“Look, I get it, the cute little game you have going with Nash,” he continues, a mocking tone in his voice. “But he isn’t even here. He works on the boats. You don’t have to try this hard.I can assure you, he would fuck you again if you begged nicely enough.”
He shifts in his chair, his intense blue gaze fixed on me. Tears start welling up in my eyes, and I have to clench my fists at my sides.
Fuck, Sloan, stop crying.
“But spare me and yourself this charade,” he continues with a tone of disdain. “I don’t have time for that shit. You may be good for a quick fuck, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Much prettier women have tried to snag themselves a Jones, with far better arguments.”
His gaze falls to my chest, causing me to instinctively cross my arms over it. The humiliation and anger swell inside me as he speaks. “Get out. Let my little brother have his fun with you until he’s bored of your cunt, for all I care. But you won’t see one penny from us.”
The first tear runs down my cheek as I turn on my heels, but I come to an abrupt stop in my tracks. Saylor is standing next to the door, his expression apologetic.
I storm out of the office, humiliation and anger burning inside me. Trying hard not to run down the stairs since there are fishermen lingering in the yard, I finally escape the hellhole.
“Well, that went well,” Saylor remarks from beside me in a playful tone as I close the door to the shipyard with a little more force than necessary.
I stomp my way back to the campground, seething with anger. Tears are still streaming down my face, and I can’t seem to unclasp my fists. It takes a lot of willpower not to just stop and yell at Saylor, but I’m not about to unleash my frustration on thin air in the middle of town. So, between clenched teeth, I mutter, “You could have told me that this is your family’s shipyard.”
“You were already in there and getting your ass whooped when I got there,” Saylor shares, sounding at least a little bit sorry. “North is a fucking thundercunt most of the time. It’s not you. He’s that bad I called him that more often than his name.” I let out an exasperated laugh. “He has his reasons, though—” Saylor begins.
