Page 1 of Beauty and the Boss Man

Chapter One

Romy

“Montgomery Construction. How may I help you?” I answer the phone with my usual false sincerity.

Grabbing my pen, I jot down some notes on my calendar about when the next shipment of lumber is due to arrive.

“Mmm-hmm. Okay, we will see you then,” I say before hanging up the phone. I make a few additional notes and then vigorously rub my hands together in an attempt to keep them warm.

It’s Minnesota in the middle of winter, though, so I don’t think I’ll officially thaw until Spring has sprung.

Every year, I tell myself I need to leave this frozen tundra and move somewhere warm, but here I sit—in this construction trailer, which doesn’t do much to keep out the frigid air.

Why am I sitting in a construction trailer? Well, I’m the assistant to Aiden Montgomery, who owns Montgomery Construction. And instead of having a centralized office in a lovely warm office building, Mr. Montgomery insists on having a temporary office on whatever job site he’s working on at any given time.

I don’t know why he cares so much. He’s not usually the one who spends all of his time in here. In fact, he’s barely in here at all, always proclaiming he hates any type of paperwork.

That’s where I come in.

I’m basically Mr. Montgomery’s right hand—or left hand, depending on who you are, I guess. I handle most of the boring shit while he oversees all of the construction.

It might not be the most glamorous of jobs, but it pays pretty well, and as far as bosses go, Mr. Montgomery isn’t a bad one.

Despite his slightly gruff nature, he’s still a pretty nice guy. He also has these gorgeous eyes that would be pretty easy to get lost in. I mean, if I spent any time gazing into them—which I don’t.

Grabbing my coat off the back of my chair, I pull it on and zip it up. Then, I tug my mittens out of my pocket and put those on too.

Even though I’m not skin and bones, I still get cold easily. My love handles and junk in the trunk do nothing to insulate me for warmth.

My mitten-covered hands reach up to cover my cold nose. I take a deep breath, finally starting to feel a little warmer. But as if right on cue, the door to the trailer swings open, letting a gust of wintery air sweep in.

Mr. Montgomery steps in before pulling the door shut behind him.

Hands still on my nose, I glare at him. He lumbers in, standing over six feet tall. He’s a large man, but he always seems to be wearing multiple layers of clothing, so it’s hard to tell exactly how large.

His eyes peer at me from under the baseball cap he always wears.

“You okay?” His low voice is somehow rough and silky smooth all at the same time.

“Cold,” is all I say in response.

“We need to get you a little space heater,” he says, walking over to his desk.

“You always say that,” I mutter.

Holding a white paper bag, he walks toward me. When he sets it on the desk in front of me, he says, “How about a peace offering?”

The moment I open the bag, the delicious smell of a toasted meatball sub fills my nostrils. And not just any meatball sub—my favorite meatball sub.

What can I say? After two and a half years of working together, the man knows what I like to eat for lunch—and what I want in my coffee. He’s got that one memorized too.

He grabs his own sandwich out of the bag and walks over to his desk. “You might need to take off your mittens,” he says in a typical smart-ass fashion.

I attempt to unwrap the sandwich with them still on to prove him and his snarky attitude wrong. But a few seconds in, I give up the fight and tug off the wool mittens. My growling stomach outweighs my cold hands.

The first bite makes me let out a small moan. When Mr. Montgomery shifts uncomfortably in his seat, my cheeks redden. Pushing my glasses up the brim of my nose, I avoid eye contact. Sometimes I’m too awkward for my own good. Call it a character flaw—one of many.

We eat our sandwiches in silence. Every once in a while, I can feel his eyes on me. His gaze is so intense that I don’t need to look at him to feel it boring into me.

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