Page 8 of The Ex Project
“So …” I say, rocking back and forth on my feet, shoving both hands into my pockets. Fuck, this is painful.
“Listen, we both know neither of us wants to be in this situation, so here’s what needs to happen.” Wren’s gaze isfixed on me and it makes my skin feel hot, like at any moment her stare will turn into laser beams and I’ll combust on the spot. “We stay out of each other’s hair and only communicate when necessary for the project. That’s it.” She fishes around in her purse and pulls out a card.
I realize this is the second time today I’ve been handed a woman’s phone number, each time under very different circumstances. One wants me to call her, or at least her grandmother wants me to call her, and the other wants me to stay away. “You can e-mail me.”
I turn the card over in my hands. It’s a thick, textured cream paper with the letters embossed in gold. Letters that spell out Wren’s name—her last name is unchanged—her phone number, her e-mail, and her official title at her company.
VanTek Structural.
I’ve heard of this company before; they’re well-known in the industry, so I have to wonder why Wren has chosen to take on this project. It’s relatively insignificant compared to her other work. I’ve seen the projects VanTek has been a part of, the multimillion-dollar high-rises in Vancouver known for their cutting-edge design.
“Great,” I say, sarcasm lacing my tone. “We’ll be in touch.” I hold up the card before sliding it into my back pocket and turning on my heel to stalk back to my truck. Wren is a few feet behind me when a blood-curdling shriek stops me in my tracks.
I whip around and the sight behind me is almost enough to make me laugh out loud. But I stifle it, only allowing the corners of my mouth to turn up instead. There’s Wren,waving her arms in the air, trying to steady herself while she balances on one heel. The other foot is in the air, shoe still on her foot, but the heel has snapped off and is stuck in the mud.
“What are you standing there for?” she barks. I hesitate a moment, considering whether I want to come to her aid. She did this to herself, after all, wearing heels to a construction site. A little embarrassment from falling in the mud might do her good. I let her struggle for a moment longer, enjoying this a little too much.
In the end, though, I shake my head, chuckling to myself as I give in. I approach her, holding a hand out so she can steady herself, and she glares at me before taking it.
“Thank you,” she says, punctuating each word.
“Stop flailing,” I say as she grips my forearm. I swear her fingers dig in harder than necessary, and when she looks up at me, there’s a fire in her brown eyes. They’re a warning toback off, and I think it’s a warning I should heed. “How are you going to walk on that thing?” I ask once she seems to have her footing. I point down toward her broken heel and look back at where our cars are parked. They’re at least a hundred feet from where we now stand, and the terrain doesn’t get any easier to navigate. I can’t imagine it would be any less challenging in those sky-high heels, let alone a broken one.
“I’ll figure it out,” she says, taking a tentative first step, but now that one heel is broken, she is forced to put more weight on the one that’s still intact, and the heel quickly drives into the soil, causing her to wobble. She lets out a littleshriek, and damn if this isn’t the funniest, most satisfying scene to witness.
“You’re going to have to take them off.” Her mouth forms a tight line as she glares at me and drops my hand.
“Fine, I’ll walk barefoot.” She yanks her shoes off and holds them together in one hand.
“No, you won’t,” I say, matter-of-factly. “This is a construction site. God only knows what you could step on. You could get tetanus from a rusty nail.” That earns me another glare.
“So, what do you suppose I do?”
I turn my back toward her and crouch.
“Hop on.”
“No fucking way.”
“It’s your only option. Trust me, it’s not my favourite either,” I say, cocking my head in acome heremotion and waving my hand as a gesture to get on my back.
She huffs an annoyed breath, but she finally concedes and approaches me. The corner of my mouth tugs upward. It’s not like I’m enjoying this per se, but there’s something familiar about the way Wren and I push and pull against each other, and I can’t help but feel satisfied when I beat her in an argument. It’s never been that serious, these little games we play, but I still love the feeling of winning.
I crouch down a little more to make it easier for her to climb onto my back, and although it’s more challenging with her shoes and her bag in hand, she finally gets herself seated so I can hoist her high enough to carry her weight.
She lets out a quietoophas I adjust her, and the warm puff of her breath on my neck sends a shiver skittering down myback. The sensation sends my mind careening back in time, to the night we spent together before she left. The heat of her breath on my neck. My hands clumsily, nervously, roaming around her body, having never felt a woman’s smooth skin on so much of my own.
I steer my mind away from the memory of Wren’s body, and the current proximity of my hands to the curve of her ass as I walk her back to her car.
“Would it kill you to walk faster?” Wren calls over my shoulder.
“Sorry, my bad. Hold on tight,” I call back, breaking into a run. She shrieks as she bounces on my back, and I feel her reach up to hold the hat that keeps slipping off her head.
“Slow down!” she cries as we reach the portable, and I set her down on the ground next to the sparkling white Audi parked next to my dirty, grey truck.
“You’re welcome,” I say, and she huffs a breath instead of saying thank you.
She removes the fluorescent vest and obnoxious hard hat, handing them to me before brushing herself off and straightening out her pristine white blouse.
