Page 7 of Working For Her Curves

“Together?”

“I know this system better than anyone on site. You need me.”

Her lips part and she exhales sharply, her eyes flicking to me. “Yeah,” she says. “I do.”

We both reach for the Q2 binder at the same time, and our fingers tangle. The sharp gasp that comes from Poppy’s mouth shoots straight down my spine into my cock.

For a long moment, neither of us move. She’s an inch away, the scent of her shampoo mixing with the scent of her, and I nearly lose my mind. Every hair on my arm is standing at attention, aching for her to stroke me.

“Marty.” Barely a whisper.

I set the binder down and pull my hand back, dragging the contact out because I cannot make myself end it fast.

I know why I shouldn’t touch her, but my body wants her more than any woman I’ve ever met.

I am so fucked.

CHAPTER 4

POPPY

How was your day, sweetheart?” Grandpa tears a hunk of cornbread in half, then passes the other half to me.

“Long. Hot.” I take a piece, trying to make myself stop thinking about Marty. “This chili is amazing, though.”

“Benji sure can cook. I go to his food truck more than I’d like to admit,” he says, laughing and patting his stomach.

Grandpa’s house is frozen in time. We’re eating at the scarred oak table I ate at when I was ten and visiting during the summer, the cast-iron skillet still rests on the back burner where my grandmother always left it, and the faded curtains with the blue flowers my grandmother picked out still hang in the windows. Grandpa’s added nothing since she died except a microwave and a coffeemaker that produces something closer to motor oil than caffeine.

“You mentioned a pattern in the invoices,” Grandpa says.

I put my fork down. Hopefully, numbers will drag my attention back from Marty. “Every Green Valley order since March shows a gap between invoice and delivery. Three to six days, consistent. And the quantities are off. Some invoices are ten to twenty percent higher than what actually shows up on site.”

“How much are we talking?”

“Eight to twelve thousand so far this year. Marty’s been helping me sort through purchase orders and invoices and delivery receipts.”

His eyebrows lift, and he nods at me. “Marty’s good.”

“I noticed,” I say, trying to keep it casual, but my voice betrays me by coming out too soft. Grandpa looks up at me. “I want the documentation airtight before I give you a full report. We should have it all figured out within another week or so, then I can present everything to you.”

“Smart girl.” He stands to refill his coffee, and the chair groans when he sits back down. His forehead creases when he looks back at me, the lines around his mouth tightening as he wraps both hands around the mug.

“You’re still planning to come back.” He stares into the coffee. “For good.”

Not a question. The please is missing, but I can hear exactly where it was.

“I told you I would.”

The words come out surer than I feel. Because there’s a version of this where my degree leads to a firm in Portland or Seattle or somewhere in California, and I become my father and Grandpa loses another person he raised. My throat aches. I will never say that to him. But I’m also not sure about moving back to Forge Creek and Colorado permanently.

“Your father told me that too.”

My chest squeezes tight. Grandpa doesn’t say it often, but I know it was a deep wound when my dad didn’t join the family company. Legacy means a lot to Grandpa, and I know he wants to keep Briggs Construction in the family. His jaw works beneath his beard, and his wet eyes wreck me worse than if he yelled at me. He lost his son to a city and a career that mattered more than Forge Creek. I don’t think he’d survive losing me the same way.

But I can’t promise him my whole life at this table just because I love him enough to want to.

I reach across the table and put my hand on his wrist. His skin is warm and rough. “Grandpa. I’m not Dad.”