Page 12 of Resisting the Temptation (Broken Shelves #3)

Ben

A s it turns out, Emma can keep things professional. She’s been here almost a month, and other than one conversation on her second day where she brought up that night , she’s remained professional and cordial.

I remember feeling smug about the fact she brought up our one night, but the conversation didn’t go the way I anticipated. This woman keeps surprising me, and I hate it.

We’re sitting in Emma’s office, logging her into all the software, when she turns to me and says, “I know I said I’d forget it happened, but I have a question.”

Here we fucking go, I groan internally but motion for her to continue.

“Your last name is Italian, right? And your dad speaks Italian?”

I nod, wondering where she’s going with this.

“At the club, the nickname, was it also Italian?”

“No. It was Spanish. ”

“Trilingual, nice. I took German in junior high, but I don’t remember anything useful. I tried to learn Spanish but kept getting it mixed up with German, so I stopped. I should probably try learning it again considering the field I work in.”

“German and Spanish aren’t even that similar.” I don’t even know what we’re talking about right now. I’ve never just… offered up information about myself like that. Does she do this often?

Emma shrugs. “Maybe not, but my brain doesn’t understand that.”

Then we continued on as normal, no more conversation about the languages I speak, and she hasn’t mentioned the club or the nickname again.

I thought for sure she’d at least ask me what it means or allude to the night to get a rise out of me, but she hasn’t.

She barely talks to me unless it’s work related.

It’s like she’s truly forgotten about it, and even though I’m mostly relieved, a small part of me is upset I have no valid reason to be irritated with her sunshiney presence.

If she kept bringing it up or vying for my attention, I’d have a reason to be on edge when I hear the click clack of her heels on the floor as she comes into the office.

I’d have a reason to dread being stuck in the truck for hours while we make our rounds to job sites.

But I don’t have a good reason because she’s being professional just like I wanted.

Everyone else in the office adores her, and she’s so goddamn friendly with everyone when we’re out in the field.

Even our most misogynistic superintendent, Ralph, isn't immune to her charm. I’ve been working with Ralph for almost ten years and have barely seen him crack a smile, but he always has one at the ready for the bubbly blonde.

He hasn’t even said anything negative about her working for us.

Most Barbie-esque women would be intimidated by the men on our crews—burly, sweaty, and some heavily tattooed—but not Emma. She treats everyone as if they’re important and tries her best to make everyone feel welcome.

Even though a majority of our crews speak primarily Spanish, and she doesn’t understand most of what they’re saying, she’s always polite and tries to communicate as best she can.

If I’m not translating for her and the crew, she’s asking me about all of their backstories and their families, but I don’t know them that well. I’m not their friend, I’m their boss.

Through her interactions with other people, I’ve reluctantly learned a lot of information about her. Turns out, she does just offer information about herself to people. Something I still don’t understand.

I know she’s originally from Utah, she loves pink and purple—that one was obvious—and she likes to read.

I know she loves the beach but not when the sand gets stuck to her body or between her toes.

She’s never broken a bone, but she did have her gallbladder removed.

She hates the feeling of the microfiber cloths we use to clean our computers, and she prefers fruity gummy candies to chocolate.

Her comfort meal is sesame chicken, but she has a difficult time with reheated meat.

I hate that I remember these things. It’s taking up space in my brain I should be using for other, more important things .

We’ve seen an influx of salesmen from different vendors in the last three weeks which grates on my nerves. Apparently, word got around about our new PM, and now the reps are intent on introducing themselves to Emma.

Currently, she’s talking to two reps from a waterworks supply company who brought her donuts as a “welcome gift.” It doesn’t sound like they’re talking much business though, if her repeated giggling is any indication.

I should close my office door so I can get the rest of these invoices approved, but I can’t seem to make myself do it. I want to make sure they aren't selling her some bullshit just because she’s new and a woman they think they can manipulate.

She’s already proven to be more than a pretty face, though.

With her knowledge of the computer systems and her organization tactics and ideas, she’s demonstrated herself as an asset already.

She’s quick to pick up on what’s needed at which job sites and knows what vendors have the cheapest options available.

She’s quick with her paperwork and is firm in what she wants.

She’s easily picked up on the software we use and has already placed a bid for a city recreation center.

She’s memorized the names of the salesmen and vendors, and I’ve seen her jot down little tidbits of information about them, as well as some of the contractors and developers we work with.

It vexes me that she’s so good with people.

Today, much to my annoyance, we’re meeting with Derek Allridge to attempt to win a bid for another job.

I don’t know why my dad insists on schmoozing the asshole, but he’s adamant.

Instead of sending Alex or Drew, he’s sending me and Emma.

Papà thinks it will be good for her to talk to him, give Derek a fresh face to work with.

I think it’s going to be a train wreck.

Small talk and ass kissing—not the fun kind—make me itchy. I don’t fucking care about the weather or what sports team is in the playoffs. I just want to talk about business and be done. I don’t get why we have to make a big deal of it.

“Well, gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure chatting with you, but Ben and I have a lunch date with a developer, so we have to cut this meeting short.” Emma’s saccharine voice floats into my office.

“Of course, it was so good to meet you, Emma. I hope to see more of you from here on out,” Salesman One practically purrs.

“Let us know if there’s anything we can do for you. Day or night. We’ll give you our personal cells in case you need us.” Salesman Two pulls his card from his pocket, scribbles something on it, and hands it to Emma.

I almost roll my eyes at the pathetic attempt at flirting.

“Thank you, I’ll be sure to let you know if there’s anything I need.”

The salesmen leave, and I watch Emma tape their cards into her notebook, scribbling something down next to them, then she closes the book, puts it in her purse, and knocks on the open door of my office.

She’s wearing a pink checker print mini skirt with a white shirt under a matching pink checker print blazer and white heeled booties.

Her curly hair is held back by a light pink headband.

Her lips are shiny with some type of gloss—not that I’ve wondered what it is .

If Mattel had a project manager Barbie, she would look like Emma.

“I’m ready to go when you are. I’ll be waiting down in the lobby,” she says before I hear the click clack of her heels disappear down the hall and down the stairs.

I really, really don’t want to go to this godforsaken lunch, but I refuse to give my dad any reason to think I can’t handle it, and I won’t let Emma meet with Derek alone.

When I finally make my way down to the lobby, Emma is chatting with our receptionist, Gia, but they stop when they see me coming.

“Emma and I will be gone for a few hours.”

“Of course, Ben. Enjoy your lunch.” Gia smiles and bats her eyelashes at me.

I nod once in response and head out to my truck, assuming Emma is following me.

Once we’re both in the truck and pull out of the parking lot, Emma turns to me. “Tell me about Mr. Allridge.”

“He’s the owner of Allridge Developments, the biggest developer in San Diego. We’ve bid with him three times, and he’s rejected us every time.”

“Okay… did he say why?”

“Just that we weren’t a good fit.”

“Okay, tell me more about him.”

I glance over at her, and she has her pen poised to take notes in her notebook. “What am I supposed to know about him?”

I swear she rolls her eyes, but I can’t be sure because I’m looking at the road. “Is he married? Does he have kids? Grandkids? What are his hobbies? Why did he want to go into development? What’s his story?”

“Why the fuck would I know those things?”

“Because, Ben , that’s what you do when you’re trying to make connections with someone. But I suppose you wouldn’t know much about that. You don’t even know anything about your own crew members.” She takes her headband off and rubs her temples.

“Why would I need to know personal things about them? They’re employees, not my friends.”

We’re stopped at a red light, so I do catch her eye roll this time. God, it makes me want to bend her over my knee and spank her—

Nope. Not professional.

“Any good employer gets to know their employees.”

“Technically, my dad is their employer.”

“But you’re going to be taking over the company eventually, right? Enzo is great at connecting with people. You’ll need to be able to do that to keep the connections he’s made.”

I’m pretty sure this is the most we’ve spoken since she started.

I don’t like it.

I especially don’t like that she has a point. No one else has ever been so bold as to tell me to my face I need to work on my people skills. Everyone else lets me be a broody asshole.

“I like to think our work speaks for itself, so the people we do repeat jobs for will continue to hire us, even after I take over the company. ”

The sigh she lets out makes my skin prickle with irritation. “Whatever. I guess I’ll just have to make my own connections with him.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.”

Emma doesn’t grace me with a retort, thankfully, so we spend the rest of the short drive in complete silence. I notice she doesn’t put her headband back on until we’re pulling into the restaurant, and I wonder if it hurts her head.

I curse myself for giving a fuck.

River’s End was Emma’s suggestion. I’ve been here once with my family and enjoyed the atmosphere and the food, so I agreed, but I’m not sure it will impress Mr. Allridge.

Emma walks right up to the hostess stand and tells the girl her name for our reservation, and they chat like they’ve met a million times before.

How and why is she so friendly?

Mr. Allridge walks in, and Emma immediately turns to greet him with a professional handshake and beaming smile. “Mr. Allridge, I’m Emma Price, the new PM at Rossi Construction. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

How did she know it was him?

Mr. Allridge seems taken aback by her forwardness but shakes her hand anyway, giving her a quick once over. “Hello, Emma. The pleasure is mine. Please, call me Derek.”

“Of course. You already know Ben.”

Derek gives me a handshake in greeting. Before anyone else can say anything, the hostess lets us know our table is ready and leads us to a quiet booth situated in the back of the restaurant.

I slide in on one side, and Derek slides in on the other while Emma worries her bottom lip as her eyes bounce back and forth before she slides into the booth on my side.

Logically, it makes sense we’re both facing Derek, but my body freezes up at the close proximity to the blonde.

It’s going to be a long lunch.