Page 26 of You Can Leave Your Hard Hat On
She tamped down the alarm that threatened to choke her. “That’s impossible, Mr. Fenton. You see, the excavation has to be completed and pass a final inspection before Monday at eight a.m.”
He made a rueful noise. “I don’t know what to tell you, ma’am, but even if by some miracle you got things ready for inspection, it would take another miracle to get a city inspector out on the weekend.”
Her breathing became shallow—this wasn’t happening. “I…I need to speak to my foreman. How can I reach you, Mr. Fenton?”
He gave her his cell phone number. When she disconnected the call, she took a few calming breaths, telling herself not to panic…yet. She picked up her briefcase and headed out the door. Ignoring Price’s questions, she left the office and drove to the library job site. To her dismay, the workers—what few of them remained—seemed to be packing up their equipment. She spotted Griggs and hurried over. “What’s going on here?”
Griggs didn’t seem to want to make eye contact with her. “The crew’s moving on to another job.”
“But you can’t,” she said, gesturing wildly at the unfinished site. “You have to complete this excavation first.”
“Just doing what we’re told, ma’am.”
Frustration and anger billowed in her chest. “Where’s Teague?”
“He left.”
“Heleft?”
Griggs removed a slip of paper from his shirt pocket. “He said to give you this.”
She took it and Griggs walked away, gathering his tools.
Bewildered, Samantha read the address written on the paper. Why would Teague leave her an address in an upscale part of town?
When realization dawned, her shoulders fell. He’d obviously found a new place to work and was taking his crew with him. A sense of betrayal washed over her. How could he leave her high and dry like this? And a deeper hurt pierced her heart—she’d fallen in love withhim when apparently all he wanted was a roll in the sack for old times’ sake.
She walked back to her car, pushing aside her raging emotions for the moment—she had to try to salvage the library project and her job. She programmed in the address that Teague had left for her into her car’s GPS system. When she was underway, she took a deep breath and dialed her father’s number. Her throat convulsed to swallow the pride that stuck there, but under the circumstances it was a call that she felt she needed to make.
“Packard here,” he barked into the phone.
“Hi, Daddy—did I call at a bad time?”
“No worse than any other,” he said sourly. “Are you okay, Sam?”
“I’ve been better,” she admitted. “I need a favor.”
“What?”
She forced as much strength into her voice as she could muster. “I just learned that the Carlyle Library site isn’t going to be ready by Monday. I was hoping you would be willing to call Russ O’Bryant and ask him if the committee would be willing to give me another week.” She held her breath waiting for his response.
“Did your foreman-loverboy let you down?” Packard asked drily.
She closed her eyes briefly. “Please, Daddy, don’t go there.”
“Sweetheart,” he said finally, “you said I should stay out of this. I’m afraid this time, you’re on your own.”
She blinked back the sudden tears, hating herself forasking in the first place—he was right, after all. This was her project to win or to lose. While she’d spent all her time worrying about her retaining walls, she’d let other important details get away from her, and she had only herself to blame. “I understand, Daddy. I’m sorry that I put you in an awkward position. I’ll call you soon.”
Sam disconnected the call and inhaled deeply. The GPS system beeped loudly, telling her she’d missed a turn. She pounded her fist on the steering wheel and turned around, hurt and puzzled over why Teague would abandon her job site for another. She turned into a posh, new neighborhood of palatial homes that she recognized as having garnered several awards for the developer. Some of the homes were finished and landscaped, some in various stages of completion from foundation to being under roof. The GPS system led her deeper into the neighborhood to the more established—and more expensive—homes on sprawling, wooded acreage. She leaned forward to look out the car window at the looming estates. Teague must have gotten a remodeling job or maybe some landscaping work. He was also going to get a piece of her mind.
To go along with the piece of her heart that he’d stolen.
“You have reached your destination,” the GPS system announced.
She looked up at the soaring cedar plank and glass modern home nestled into a wooded lot. As she pulled into the driveway, she distantly acknowledged that she liked the mid-twentieth-century design, craning to spot signs ofworkmen on the grounds. Seeing none, she climbed out of her car and started down the side of the house, thinking the work was being done in the rear of the house.
Her pulse raced as she thought of what she was going to say when she saw him. There had to be some kind of mistake—maybe he thought the inspection of the library site was over and everything was fine, or maybe he misunderstood how important it was that everything be finished by Monday—
“Are you looking for someone?”
She pivoted her head to see that a tall man had come out onto the porch of the home. For a split second, the sun glare hid his face, but then he took a step forward and she blinked to take in what she was seeing: Teague, dressed in black slacks, a cream-colored shirt and expensive-looking dress shoes, holding a glass of red wine. On his wrist was a Rolex watch. He looked as if he were fresh from the shower, his dark hair gleaming and damp around his neck, and everything about him screamed money.
She frowned and moved toward him, her mind clogged with confusion. “Teague? What’s going on?”
He gave her a flat smile and gestured to everything within sight. “Welcome to my home, Samantha.”
