Page 19 of Blue Collar Hotties

My computer pings, a hundred tedious emails already waiting in my inbox, but I ignore them all and keep staring straight ahead. The sky is blue today, the sun sparkling gold in the man’s hair whenever he walks between shadows, pointing out other stuff to his workers.

Gabe.

That’s his name. Gabriel Dempsey. The head of the building crew.

See, Uncle Roderick has been grumping and groaning over nothing, because Ihavelearned something worthwhile during my time here. The man of my dreams is called Gabe.

Somehow, I always know ahead of time when Gabe is gonna look at me. My skin prickles under my clothes, and shivers race up my spine, and my breath catches when green eyes find mine.

Through the glass, out there where the wind tugs at his hair, Gabe smiles at me, slow and teasing.

Heknowswhat that does to me. My cheeks are hot enough to cook an egg, and I fan myself weakly. Gabe winks.

Then he’s back to business, bossing men around and gathering his own tools. He always works on the top level with me, working where the stonework is the most elaborate and delicate. Working where I can barely think straight, I’m so busy staring.

Sometimes, when Gabe wears a t-shirt, it rides up when he reaches overhead. Flashes me a strip of toned abs and his belt buckle. I don’t like the thought of him getting cold out there, but Idolike that. With his navy shirt tucked into his jeans like today, no such luck.

Gnawing on the end of a pencil, I drag my gaze back to this stupid computer screen. How can I care about purchase orders when he’s out there? Drilling? Hammering?Sweating?

I squeeze my thighs together, choking back a groan.

“Lenore.”

Ugh.

Pasting on a smile, I spin to face my uncle where he glowers from the office doorway. He’s always been mean and bossy, for as long as I can remember—hitching up his belt in that self important way, droning on and on about office supplies and employee failures, because even though Uncle Roderick is in charge, nothing is everhisfault. God forbid.

And until my family decrees it otherwise, he’s got me under his mean old thumb.

“Yes, uncle?” My words are sugar-sweet, my smile pleasant.

He scowls like I just crawled out of a sewer pipe. “I need that contract today. The one from Peterson & Co.” It’s already on his desk, but whatever. I may be distracted to hell and back, but this job is not hard to do. “And you’re working late tonight.”

I blink, my smile slipping. “But tonight’s my sewing night, remember? I’ve got full access to the college workshop; I booked up the machines I need and ordered all the supplies.” Maybe for once, my uncle will see reason. “Our next show is in a month’s time, and I’m working flat out to keep up already. I could do literally any other night this week, but—”

“No buts.” Uncle Roderick sniffs and hitches up his belt again. Ugh. What I’d give to punch him in his miserable gut. “While you’re working for me, this company is your priority. End of discussion. I spoke to your parents and they agree.”

Ass hats! What’s the point of offering to fund my fashion course if they won’t let me work on the assignments?

This is a control thing. It’s always about control with the Hattworths. It was all fine when my fashion dreams wereharmless in their eyes—a suitably feminine hobby until I snared myself some rich banker for a husband. But then I madethatmistake, and landed myself behind this desk, and now…

Hot tears burn behind my eyes, but I won’t let them fall. Not with Uncle Roderick here to witness them. Hell no.

“I’ll rearrange my sewing night,” I rasp, because what else can I do? I stupidly accepted my family’s offer of funding my course. Back then, I was even warmed by their offer—I figured they really loved me after all, and wanted me to be happy. Thought this could be a new start for us; a beautiful new relationship where they accept me for who I am.

God, I was dumb. Now, if I want to reach graduation, I need to dance on the Hattworth strings.

Lesson learned.Nothingin this life comes free, and once I’ve graduated, I won’t ever make that mistake again. My family can take their connections and their riches and their social climber aspirations, and shove them where the butler can’t dust.

When my uncle’s door snaps shut behind me, I glance up. Gabe frowns at me through the window, strong arms folded over his chest. Those green eyes are heavy with concern.

Swallowing hard, I duck my head and get back to that inbox.

No time for distractions. Not here. Not now.

Gabe

He’s crushed her spirit. Again. Christ, I hate when he does that.

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