Page 12 of Burning for Alexander
Alex’s cheek flexed as he ground his teeth. “I own a wood-fired pizza oven. There are open flames in my place of work. I will continue to cook with them whether you like it or not.”
I pressed my lips together and lifted my eyebrows. “Will you, though?”
He rubbed his face with both hands before looking at me withbleary eyes. “Will you just get on with it, please? Jesus fuck. Less talking, more inspecting.”
It was a good sign he wasn’t nervous about the inspection. Hopefully, that meant all his ducks were in order and we could both get through this as quickly as possible.
Unfortunately, his ducks were not in a row, but I had to admit that it wasn’t his mistake.
“This is the wrong suppression nozzle,” I informed him, pointing to the offending part. “It looks like your contractor replaced it with the exact same part.”
I saw the fear wash over him, his entire body going rigid in expectation of me shutting him down until he could get it fixed.
“I’ll give you five days to get it fixed,” I said, feeling particularly magnanimous. “But if it’s not…”
He sucked in a shaky breath. “I’ll figure it out. It’s just there aren’t that many… never mind.” He blew out a breath and stalked off to the tiny office behind the commercial fridge.
After watching him walk away, dejected and stressed, I climbed down from the ladder, took it back out to my vehicle to store it properly, then took a seat in the truck to type up the report. When I was finished, I made a few phone calls and returned inside to find Alex at his desk.
The so-called office was a glorified broom closet behind the walk-in fridge. Every inch of wall space was crammed with something touting prestige—gourmet food awards, educational certificates, glossy photos of a smiling family at a fancy wine-tasting. Framed printouts of splashy media coverage were lined up on a shelf like some kind of pageant display. Even the desk seemed to brag: stacks of papers teetering next to an open laptop as if he were a hard worker, a coffee mug with a perfect ring staining the blotter like it had been placed there for effect.
It didn’t feel like a workspace so much as a shrine—to hispedigree, his family’s money, his own need to prove something. All flash and little actual substance. The only thing that seemed to be about him personally, rather than his fancy family, was the scent of him. It wasn’t the same cologne I’d smelled on him that night in Amsterdam. It was different. More down-to-earth.
Of course the man smelled like trouble—yeast and firewood and something sweet and tart, like he’d pressed merlot-dipped fingertips behind his ears. Alex Marian was sunshine bottled and shaken over smoke. A scent that made me want to lean closer and investigate more, even when I knew better.
I held my breath to keep from huffing it and knocked on the open doorframe. “I emailed you a copy of the report with the information you need to tell your repair person.”
He didn’t look up from his laptop. I could see a Google search for fire suppression system installation and maintenance companies pulled up on the small screen.
“And I, uh, included a list of reputable guys who can hook you up,” I added. “Good luck.”
Before he could say anything, I bolted out of there. Not only did I need to get to my next inspection, but I also needed to get the hell away from Alex Marian before I asked him why he was so tired.
I didn’t need to know. Moreover, making nice with a proven liar was not a great idea.
When I got back behind the wheel of my vehicle to head to a cherry orchard fifteen minutes outside of town, my phone buzzed with a call from my closest friend.
“Max,” I said, accepting the call against my better judgment. I’d learned a long time ago not to ignore Max Franco. The man was relentless and would just keep calling.
“You owe me one,” he said, laughter in his voice. “A big one.”
Just the sound of his easy tone helped ease the tension frommy shoulders a little. “Oh yeah? How’s that? Pretty sure I’m still up on the owing scale, jackass.”
“Pfft. How many times you gonna throw that whole ‘saving my ass’ bullshit in my face? Anyway, my friend Kaidee is coming your way. She’s doing a whole summer thing between the Tetons, Yellowstone, and Glacier. She’s a schoolteacher and wants to make the most of her break.”
“Okay? Does she need recommendations for hotels and restaurants or something?”
“No, dude. She needs a place to stay. Someone to show her around. You’ll really like her. And she’s single, so, like, go for it.”
“Go for it? Does she have your permission to hook her up with random guys? Jesus.” I waved to one of our local deputies as I passed some road construction. “I don’t need dating help, Max. And I definitely don’t want to start something with someone who lives in Philly.”
“She lives in Boulder. That’s practically next door to you.”
I huffed out a laugh. “It’s an eight-hour drive.”
“Anyway, you don’t have to marry the woman. Just have a little fun. Take her out, go for a hike together. Maybe take your mind off work a little bit.”
For some reason, the idea of meeting a nice woman didn’t appeal to me these days. It was harder to have a quick, sex-only connection with a woman without risking hurt feelings. With men, I could be more transactional. Make it clearer from the start that all I was interested in was a quick release.
