Carma dreamed that Gil was irritated she was still in his apartment, but even though he was standing beside the bed, scowling down at her, his voice was distant and muffled. “Nice try, but you’ve probably heard that this isn’t my first rodeo.”
Sorry, she tried to mumble, but her mouth was tacky and her tongue thick. I’ll go. Just give me a few minutes…
She struggled through layer after layer of the sludge that filled her head, and surfaced as he said, “Well, too bad for you that I read all the fine print. We’re not signing any contract that has…”
The rest was an indistinct rumble, as if he’d turned away, but when she peeled her eyes open, she was alone. She hitched up on one elbow. He wasn’t by the bed. Not in any part of the living room she could see. But suddenly his words were clear again. “Great. I’ll keep an eye out for your email.”
Then a phone rang, and he cursed, and she located the source of the sound—a floor vent along the wall. She sank back into her pillows, relieved. Whoever he was annoyed at, it wasn’t her. Besides, he was the one who’d put her here.
And he had dried her hair.
She ran her fingers through the slippery strands, bemused. He’d been so patient with her. So gentle. Not words she would have associated with Gil Sanchez.
Maybe that was the dream.
Then she rolled over and found a cheap cell phone on the nightstand with a sticky note that ordered her to Call if you need anything in bold, black letters. When she picked it up, there was a number already keyed in. If it had been her phone, she would’ve texted him some GIF about the dead rising.
Crap. Her phone. Her purse. All those texts.
She flopped back onto her pillow, taking stock. Well, they had finally seen each other naked, and the view had been even better than she’d imagined—and she had imagined plenty. She could handle a post-sex morning after, but she’d never had to face a man who’d watched her puke. Nursed her. Fed her. Bathed her and watched over her while she slept. The smoking-hot, sardonic Gil she’d met in Montana could melt a nun’s chastity belt, but the adorably gruff man who’d fed her Jell-O…
Just the fact that she’d inserted Gil and adorable into the same thought was enough to send red flags flying in every direction.
Either way, she had to face him sometime, so she might as well make it now.
When she pushed aside the blankets and stood, she was relieved to find that her legs had lost the rubbery feeling and her head didn’t spin as long as she took it slow. She swapped her sleep shirt for a deep-green waffle knit shirt and jeans, thankful to find her hands were steady enough to apply eyeliner and mascara.
Ah. Better. Less zombie, more sallow-faced apocalypse survivor.
Out in the kitchen she found a loaf of bread on the counter, along with a bunch of bananas. She cautiously nibbled a slice of toast and a banana, but her stomach showed no sign of revolt, and her strength grew with each bite.
The apartment had two doors—one in the kitchen that led to a set of metal stairs on the side of the building, and the other in the living room that opened into the shop. She took the second and paused on the landing above a well-equipped gym. So this was where Gil kept that body so exquisitely toned.
The scent of fresh coffee led her down the stairs and into the reception area. The door marked Dispatcher was closed. Someone had taped a sign on it that said Danger! Explosion Hazard.
From the sound of it, whoever Gil was talking to now had struck a match.
The phone on the reception desk rang. And rang. And rang. Carma started when Gil yelled, “I swear I am going to beat that thing to death!”
Since there was no one else around to save its life, Carma picked up the receiver. “Um, Sanchez Trucking. Can I help you?”
“Who’s this?” the caller demanded. “You don’t sound like that weird chick who usually answers the phone.”
“I’m new here.” Which was the God’s honest truth.
“Well, good. Maybe you’ll actually pass along a message. This is Billy Ray Tolliver. I been trying to make a lunch date with Delon, and I don’t seem to have his cell phone number.”
Asshole. Her impression was instant and unshakable. If this was a client, he was a constant annoyance. Carma spotted a large dry-erase calendar on the wall that had the dates of Delon’s rodeos marked. He was leaving the next day for California.
“I’ll let him know you called, but he’s out of the office until a week from next Monday,” she lied without a twinge.
“Then give me his number so we don’t miss each other when he gets home,” Billy Ray demanded.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, ladling on the sugar. “I don’t have permission to share that information. No, not even with friends.”
She made vague, sympathetic noises until he realized he couldn’t bully her into submission and hung up in a huff. Carma set the receiver down with a satisfied clunk.
Wow. The walls in this place must be made of Popsicle sticks and construction paper. Without Billy Ray’s blathering she could hear every word as Gil verbally dismantled someone who was holding his truck hostage, unable to unload because they’d had a holdup in production and were short on warehouse space. If his driver was late to pick up her next load, he declared, they could expect any penalties to be tacked onto their invoice. Sanchez Trucking wasn’t footing the bill for their problems.
“Fine,” he said, in response to what must have been a threat. “Try to find another company that will deliver on time, every time, so you don’t have to shut down for lack of stock.” A pause, then a low growl of a laugh. “Sorry. My dad has gone fishing, so there is no one more reasonable for you to talk to. But if you’ve got any suggestions for how you can make this right, I’m listening.”
The argument shifted into a negotiation, with Gil wringing every advantage out of an otherwise negative situation. Damn, he was good. And he was enjoying himself, a born warrior fully engaged in battle. He would be a movie director’s dream in nothing but a few feathers, paint, and a loincloth, astride a horse honed to an equally lethal combination of sinew and muscle.
Carma dragged her mind out of the fantasy and into the present, where the message light on the receptionist’s phone blinked. And blinked. She couldn’t stand it. Circling the desk, she settled into the chair, located a pad and pen, then pushed the playback button. She could at least do this much to earn her night’s stay.
As she worked through the voicemails, she sorted the notes into piles for Gil, Delon, and Merle, who she assumed was their father. She had just scribbled down the last message when Delon walked in and did a double take.
“Good morning,” she said. When he blinked in response to her smile, she added, “I’m Carma. The one who swan-dived onto your office floor?”
“Actually, it was more of a belly flop.” He hung back as if he feared a repeat performance. “I take it you’re feeling better.”
“Much. These are your messages.” She held out the stack of notes addressed to him.
Delon blinked again, then took the pink slips. While he leafed through them, the phone rang.
Carma picked up. “Sanchez Trucking. Can I help you?”
“Oh! Are you new?”
“Yes. What can I do for you?”
“Well, um…” The woman left a space for Carma to insert her name. She refrained. The caller couldn’t find a reason to ask outright who she was and what she was doing there, so finally said, “I need a digital image of the company logo for the ad in the high school rodeo program.”
“Not a problem. If you’ll give me your email address, someone will get it to you as soon as possible,” Carma promised.
She ended the call and looked up to find Delon gazing in awe at one of the slips. “You got rid of Billy Ray?”
“For now. I assume he’ll be back.”
Delon clutched the scrap of paper to the Freightliner logo on his black T-shirt, his smile so brilliant her breath caught. He was even prettier in person, built on a shorter, thicker frame than his brother. “You’re hired.”
Carma’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“Our receptionist left…again. Need a job?”
She laughed. “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t—”
“Why not?” Gil cut in.
She whipped around to find him lounging against the filing cabinet beside his door. “I’ve got, um…”
“What? From what Bing said, it sounds like you can set your own schedule.” Like Delon, he wore jeans, running shoes, and a just-snug-enough T-shirt. If this was the company dress code, Carma was all for it. He folded his arms, doing even nicer things for the T-shirt. “Obviously, we need the help. I can make it worth your while.”
The gleam in his eye said he wasn’t just talking money, but his tone was all business.
She shook her head, fighting the tug of his considerable will. “You don’t even know if I can operate a computer.”
“But you got rid of Billy Ray,” Delon repeated. “And you can’t be any worse than the last one.”
“Was she the weird girl?” Carma asked, echoing Billy Ray.
“No. That’s Analise,” Gil said. “She’s not weird. She’s a force.”
Carma glanced at the overflowing inbox. “Then why…”
“She’s also the only one who’s allowed to touch Gil’s precious dispatching system,” Delon said. “She works the night shift. I’m PR, so I’m in and out when I’m not on the road. Gil generally works all the hours of all the days.”
Carma tapped the stack of notes for Merle Sanchez. “What about your dad?”
“He schmoozes the clients after I get done pissing them off,” Gil said. “And handles administrative odds and ends. Right now he’s at his cabin over by Lake Texhoma.”
When they were short-staffed and Delon was due to leave for ten days? The question must’ve reflected on her face because Gil hitched a shoulder. “He had the trip planned before What’s Her Name quit.”
“I see.” But when did Gil have time to be a parent? “So I would mainly make the damn phone stop ringing and fend off the idiots you claim to attract by the dozens?”
His grin slashed at the reminder of the meme he’d sent…and her response. “You can have your very own Whac-A-Mole hammer.”
“I’m missing something here.” Delon’s eyes narrowed a fraction, looking from one of them to the other. “Will you at least consider the job?”
And let him hit the road with a clear conscience? She could feel the guilt dragging at him. How could he leave Gil scrambling to cover everything while he took off rodeoing? Carma could make it much easier for him.
Which should play in her favor when she met his wife, Tori, who was the driving force behind the Patterson equine therapy program. But sleeping with his brother might not be such a great strategy, which was why Carma had intended to keep her distance from Gil until after she’d established a connection at the clinic.
So much for that plan. She and Gil had crossed too many lines the night before to step back again. If she was going to do this—and helping out for a while seemed like the straightest path to what she needed—they would just have to keep it from getting messy. She leaned back in her chair and waggled a finger between herself and Gil. “What about us?”
“And this is where I check out,” Delon said.
Carma thrust up a hand to stop him. “No. We need a witness.”
Gil’s eyebrows slanted in amusement. “To avoid accusations of sexual harassment in the workplace?”
“By you…or me?”
That brought a flare of the now-familiar desire scorching along her nerves. His eyes sparked with challenge. “I’m good at separating business and pleasure.”
“Which means…?” she asked.
Their gazes locked with a nearly audible zap! His mouth curled. “I will refrain from bending you over my desk…when you’re on the clock.”
He was being deliberately crude, testing her limits. If she blushed or stammered, he would withdraw one of his offers—and she’d bet it would be the sex. Gil’s emotions might be a tough read but his priorities were very clear.
“I’ll try not to hump your leg every time I catch you alone,” she countered, matching his sarcasm edge for edge.
Delon made a choked sound and retreated a step. “I really think I should—”
“Stay,” Carma and Gil commanded simultaneously. She raised her forefinger. “Rule number one: No molesting each other in the office. Number two: What happens outside the office stays outside. No sulking or sniping inside these walls.”
“That would be a nice change,” Delon drawled.
Gil ignored him. “Agreed.”
“I can’t commit to anything long term.”
One corner of Gil’s mouth quirked at how that declaration could be misinterpreted. “All we ask is two weeks’ notice. Do we have a deal?”
“Not quite.” This job—and this man—could easily consume her, and she couldn’t let her mission be derailed. “I can only work four days a week.”
Gil’s brows slammed together. “Monday and Friday are when I need you the most.”
“Pick any weekday. And I’ll work ten hours on the others so I’m still putting in my forty.”
“Fine,” Gil said. “You can have Tuesdays.”
She smiled, knowing he expected her to argue that Tuesdays were useless. “Okay.”
“Okay.” He stepped forward and they shook on it, the brisk clasp generating a hot pulse of lust from the skin-to-skin contact. “Now we have a deal?”
“Now we do.”
Then the phone rang, a series of beeps sounded from Gil’s office, and Delon’s cell chimed. Before they all turned to answer their respective summons, Gil said, “Delon can give you the passwords and a quick intro to the software that runs everything. When Analise gets here at four, she’ll start showing you the rest.” His mouth pressed into an uncompromising line. “And you will go upstairs and rest if you start feeling puny.”
She snapped off a salute that would have done her brother proud. “Yes, boss.”
He rolled his eyes and disappeared into his office. Carma reached for the phone, passing the caller off to Delon before settling in to attempt to comprehend the inner workings of Sanchez Trucking.
And the man who appeared to make it all tick.