Page 9 of More than Fiction (Misty Springs #1)
Corbin
This morning, my driver, Hank , was once again in a chatty mood as he drove me from the hotel to the Misty Springs office. He blabbered incessantly, despite my very obvious lack of enthusiasm, and my attention focused solely on checking emails on my phone.
Dull driver choices aside, I had to hand it to Andi. She picked a hell of an office space.
The building was an unassuming two-story structure with a weathered brick exterior, standing tall against the sleepy town's nature-rich skyline. The layout was divided into two distinct office spaces, one on each floor, with a polished, black staircase running down the center.
The first floor of the building was vacant, a perfect opportunity to generate revenue as a commercial rental space—Andi was always thinking one step ahead.
Upstairs, where our offices resided, had a rich, industrial feel—tall ceilings, exposed brick walls, and rustic, well-built furniture made the scene feel like a combination of a cigar lounge with a brightly accented feminine touch.
It was clear Andi had her hands in it—her vibrant, larger-than-life personality bled into every corner. A neon yellow rug beneath a vintage leather chair, mismatched pillows scattered across a deep purple velvet sofa, and wall art were pieces just as bold as her.
She achieved a lot, with minimal oversight from me. A flicker of hope spurred in my chest—maybe I wouldn’t have to be here as much as I initially thought .
Andi and I had discussed this being a “trial run” for her.
Ned may put up a fight when I announce her being the manager here—he’d be reporting to someone much younger than him.
But I barely knew Ned and felt more than confident in Andi’s ability to take over this branch.
Besides, Gram's sentimental attachment to this place would make it impossible for me to hand it over to a stranger.
After giving myself a tour of the space, I claimed the larger of the furnished offices to start chipping away at my inbox.
I had just set my bag on the oversized desk when the loud clang of the heavy steel entry door echoed through the space. I stepped out of my new office just in time to see a man—roughly my age and about the size of a Mack truck—walk in, his view of me obscured by a set of rolled-up blueprints.
He dropped the prints onto the large table in the common area, then jolted slightly when he noticed me.
“Shit, sorry. Oh, shit, I didn’t mean to say shit.” He heaved a large breath appearing to regain his composure. “Andi asked me to drop these off. She said no one would be here this early,” he said as he motioned toward the rolled-up blueprints.
He brushed his hand against his jeans to dust them off, though the denim appeared dustier than I imagined his hand was. He closed the distance between us in a few long strides.
“I’m Brent,” he introduced himself, stretching his hand. His smile barely visible beneath the thick bristle of red facial hair.
“Corbin,” I replied as we shook, still unsure who this massive stranger was.
Brent let go of my hand, lifted the brim of his royal blue ballcap with faded letters that read Chase Construction , and ran a hand through his shaggy rust-colored hair before fitting it back on.
“I’m your contractor. I've been working with Andi on the remodel. I was dropping off plans for the ground floor.”
“Ah, I see. Well, the place looks great, Brent. I look forward to seeing what you do with the rest.”
“Thanks. Andi’s been great to work with, though she’s got my entire crew like putty in her hands.
Plus, she’s terrifying to negotiate with.
She’s whittled every change order down to nothing.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen my dad back down from a disagreement so quickly.
” He crossed his arms, making his domineering presence even larger, but something about him didn’t come off as threatening despite his size.
“She is a force to be reckoned with,” I agreed, knowing all too well what it was like to be on the receiving end of Andi’s determination.
“We’ve had a great time and appreciate the opportunity to work on the next phase. It’s nice to… change things up.”
Something in his tone hinted at an underlying meaning, but I didn’t care enough to read too much into it. My phone buzzed in my pocket—the relentless monster demanding my attention.
I pulled it out and glanced at the unread messages assaulting my inbox.
“You’re busy. I should get going.” Brent shook my hand again, flashing another semi-hidden but genuine smile, his green eyes crinkling in the corners. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too, Brent.”
I turned on my heels, head down, facing my phone, ready to face the chaos waiting for me.
I hung my navy suit jacket on the funky-shaped yellow coat rack in the corner, unbuttoned the sleeves of my white shirt, and rolled them up my arms.
Buzz always told me to dress the part, so I’d keep dressing like a COO presenting at a board meeting, even if I was only a glorified babysitter in a dead-end town, meeting with an angsty but brilliant twenty-one-year-old.
I had just opened my laptop when I heard the heavy steel door slam shut again, followed by the unmistakable tap-tap-tap of heels hitting the hardwood floor.
I could only imagine they belonged to some wildly intricate shoes that were as loud as the woman wearing them.
“Oh, good. The plans are here,” Andi started talking before clearing the threshold to my office, as if she had some tracking beacon to know I was in here. She walked directly inside, not bothering to knock, and placed a tall brown paper cup on the dark wood desk.
“Americano for you,” she announced as she tapped a straw open.
“Iced vanilla latte for me.” She slammed the straw into the cup with an exaggerated flourish, taking a long, deliberate sip. Her eyes narrowed slightly as though tasting it wasn’t just an act but a performance.
“Brent, the contractor, just dropped them off,” I told her, my eyes locked on my computer screen.
“His dad is scared of me. You should see how red his face gets.” She giggled mischievously.
My eyes flicked to her as she paused and took another sip—tilting her head in confusion before going in for another uncertain sip.
I shook my head at her before going back to my emails.
Despite it being the weekend, there were hundreds of them. Work didn’t take a break at my level just because the calendar said Saturday.
My americano—though nothing extravagant—was surprisingly good. Smooth and bold and exactly what I needed after a restless night tossing and turning over dreams of a stunning brunette who couldn’t stand me.
I wasn’t the kind of guy to overanalyze dreams—or care about them for that matter—but the fact that the woman in 1C invaded mine was an annoyance I couldn’t quite shake.
“Okay, what in the Evander Holyfield punch to the mouth is this concoction?” Andi asked incredulously.
My eyes lifted to her, eyebrows raising in question.
“This drink... It’s not a vanilla latte. It’s something else.”
“Is it good?” I asked, not caring much about the response.
“It’s really good.”
“Then shut up and drink it.”
“Oh no, my boss is being mean to me. Help HR, help.” She sucked on her drink again.
I glared at her, and she smiled, holding the straw between her bright white, toothy grin.
“Your cup says Sophia. It looks like you stole some lady’s drink.” I pointed out before once again trying to tune Andi out.
“Sophia?” She spun the cup around, finding the little name written in black marker. “Oh, Sophia!”
I wasn’t taking her diversion bait—I had too much to do. I stared at my screen, hoping she’d take the hint and leave.
Andi was silent for all of ten glorious seconds before interrupting me again.
“Aren’t you going to ask me who Sophia is?”
“If I do, will you leave?”My patience was wearing thin, not that Andi cared.
“ Sophia is the hopefully, possibly, probably, maybe, new Assistant Editor I’m going to hire.”
“Great, can’t wait to meet her,” I said sarcastically. “Now. You. GO.”I flicked my hand toward the door.
“Oh, boss man, you need to get laid something fierce,” Andi said, strolling out of the office, loudly slurping the tiny remnants of her drink.
I snorted at that comment.
She’s annoying when she’s right.