"Resign! Take the woman up on her offer."
Zac has a point. With the non-compete clause in my contract not worth the paper it's written on, there's nothing to stop me working with Burt's Pet Food.
While it doesn't make up for the salary that I'd lose by resigning from MC&S, it'll be enough for me to survive on until word gets around. I don't allow myself to think about it.
While Zac drags his suitcase up to our room, I give Caroline Burt a call as she's requested. Ten minutes after that and I've received a formal offer in writing from her, and tendered my resignation with MC&S.
In his return email Jason is 'devastated', with me not buying it thanks to his letter writing skills being right up there with his creative ones. If I close my eyes, I can see him dancing around his office with whichever intern is at hand.
While part of me is sad to have walked away, another part of me is dancing just as exuberantly as Jason. The difference is that he won't be dancing when he realizes I've poached Burt's Pet Food away from him, and there's nothing he can do about it.
That sorted, I'm soon thundering up the stairs yelling out, "I hope you're not dressed, because I want to celebrate!" While this would often involve champagne or chocolate, it's not my drug of choice these days.
On reaching the bedroom, I find Zac striking a dramatic pose, his eyes alight with lust and laughter. "I'm just a piece of fluff to you, aren't I?"
While he's joking, it's still a question that has me peering at him. Is that what he thinks, subconsciously? My brain then goes where it has no right to. Is he trying to figure out where he stands?
This has me questioning how I feel about him. Then he drags me tight against his hard body and all questions and thoughts scatter to the winds.
I can worry about those later. Much later, if his arousal lasts as long as it always does.
ZAC
As I work on packing my lunch for work, Kelly sorts out our breakfast. It's scary how easily we've fallen into a routine, comfortable both in our skin and around each other.
Despite my worries that Kelly would be resistant to me foisting myself on her thanks to the flooding, nothing could be further from the truth. As well as welcoming me with open arms, she's made Sand 'O' Sun as much my home as hers.
If I'd had any doubts, those vanished the afternoon she'd handed me the TV remote along with a plate of sliders for the big game. Not even my mom spoils me like that.
My cooler next to the backdoor, I join Kelly in the breakfast nook, helping myself to eggs and bacon. "I should be finished early today. We're close to finishing up at the Finnegan job." After downing another mouthful of eggs, I hurry to swallow. "I'll call in at my place on the way home."
Rather than pull me up for referring to her place ashome, Kelly nods. "I'll be flat out today working on the packaging concepts for that new cat food."
Rather than appear depressed by the thought of working on so mundane a product, Kelly is buzzing, and I love it. I understand how exciting a new project can be. And she sure hadn't been excited about her old job when I first met her.
In some ways, I'm the same with Lucky Break. While I love working with the team, it doesn't float my boat. I come from a family of woodworkers, so to bash in nails for a living is hardly a challenge.
Give me a piece of oak and some fine-grit sandpaper and I can lose myself for hours to the process. And nothing beats seeing the joy on a client's face when I show them whatever I've restored for them.
In the end, the day turns out okay, with Tyler getting me to reinstall the vintage cabinets at the Finnegan place. Once complete, the kitchen could be mistaken as original to the house. That was until you found a state-of-the-art fridge hidden behind pantry doors straight out of the 1930s.
Leaving work at four, I make for my place in the valley. On my last couple of visits, I'd driven straight past, able to see from my truck that the house was still awash. Today is different.
While there's still water in the yard, it's confined to puddles meaning, I can get the insurance assessor in. My never having missed a premium payment, they'll pay out soon enough.
It's on leaning over the fence to talk to Charlie that I start to have doubts.
"What do you mean, they turned you down?"
The old guy shrugs as if to say he doesn't share my surprise, although he soon adds, "I shoulda read the fine print."
It's an offhand comment that has me storming inside my place.
Desperate to find a copy of the policy, I wrench open the bottom drawer of my desk. I then have to jump back to avoid being splashed by the water that fills the solid-wooden drawer to the brim.
Any fine print on the insurance papers is now beyond reading. The same goes for any other documents. Most are now closer to papier mâché than anything admissible in court.
Of course, I don't need a hard copy, not when the insurance company had also emailed one to me. At first glance, my laptop looks to have escaped the flood waters. However, on opening it up and seeing the silt that clogs the keyboard, I know this isn't true.
