“Sounds like real work.”
“It is. Honest work but I love it. I just don’t get to do much of it.” She hesitated, then shrugged. “I’ve worked with my boss almost five years. He’s trusted me with one small remodel. I think I only got it because the clients were difficult. Most days I run the office and handle customer service. It kind of sucks, but gotta pay my dues, right?”
“Fuck that.” The thought that she’d been shafted into some bullshit gender role pissed me off. Customer service, my ass. “Your boss sounds like an asshole.”
“No.” She shook her head at me like I didn’t understand. “He’s not that bad.”
“Really? Because to me, it sounds like he’s using you.” I didn’t bother dressing it up. “You’re a pretty face that keeps the clients happy. I’ve met plenty of guys like him. They don’t have the balls to give a woman a real chance in their business.”
Her shoulders squared. “So, what, I’m just a pretty face? Nothing more?”
Shit.
“No.” I met her gaze and held it. “I’m saying you’re wasted where you are. You’re smart. You’re capable. And given the chance, you’d probably run circles around half the men in your field. Maybe all of them.”
She studied me for a long beat. “I know how good I am, Eric. But he gave me a job—one that I really needed. I was grateful for that.”
“Fair. Doesn’t change the fact that you deserve better.”
“Maybe.” Her attention drifted back to the room, fingers tracing the edge of a table like she was grounding herself. “Maybe not.”
I took the hint, shutting my mouth and letting silence do the work.
A smaller cluster of photos on a side table gave me something else to focus on.
All three were of the same little boy. Dark-blond hair. Brown eyes. The family resemblance was obvious, but the pictures were newer, and he didn’t appear anywhere else.
My mind ran through the possibilities—a younger brother, a second family, a secret that explained the tension she’d warned me about.
Or I was inventing problems that didn’t exist, and the photos didn’t mean a damn thing.
Speculation without facts was useless, and I wasn’t about to ask. Not after proving I had a talent for saying the wrong thing around her.
I stepped back from the photos just as Jamie came up beside me.
She looked down at them and froze. The color drained from her face, her hand lifting to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears, too fast to hide them.
So much for the photos meaning nothing.
Instinct took over, the room narrowed, and my attention locked on her. I didn’t know the cause, but I knew my role.
She wasn’t handling this alone.
“Hey. Come here.”
I took her hand and guided her to the couch, sitting first and drawing her down with me. The armrest boxed her in, close enough that retreat wasn’t an option.
It still wasn’t close enough.
I caught her at the knees and pulled her legs across my lap, turning her toward me until there was nowhere else for her attention to land. Whether the contact was for her or for me didn’t matter. It felt necessary.
“Look at me.” With a finger under her chin, I urged her gaze up to meet mine.
She held there, breath shallow, pain sitting just under the surface. I wanted to take it from her. All of it.
“Listen.” My grip eased, thumb sliding along her cheek instead. “You were there for me this morning. And we made a deal, remember? No more pretending. You don’t have to hide how you feel.”
She nodded, swallowing hard, but stayed silent.
