one night several years ago to derail her plans.
“I’m here to do a job, Sawyer,” Paxton repeated. “And so are you. Unless it has something to do with this project, I have no intentions of discussing it. End of story.” She straightened her spine and lifted her chin just a touch. “Now, I’ll ask you again. Are we clear?”
His eyes bored into hers with an intensity that made her breathless. Finally, thankfully, he relented. Hunching his shoulders, he said, “Fine. You’re the boss.”
Those words, coming from his mouth, set off a different reaction within her, one of pride.
She was the boss. Her. Little Paxton Jones from the wrong side of Landreaux Creek.
What she wouldn’t give to go back in time, to return to that reticent, unsure girl she was twenty years ago. The girl who’d secretly longed for the man standing across from her, just as every other girl had. Back when he was the star quarterback, student body president and the most handsome human being to grace the hallways of Gauthier High School.
Paxton wondered what that girl’s reaction would be if she told her that she would one day be the boss of Sawyer Robertson. Her teenage self would likely laugh and give her a snide get real sneer.
But that’s okay. Because this Paxton knew better.
“Good,” she said to Sawyer with a curt nod. “Now that we’ve established that, would you please consider switching desks with me? I really want that spot by the window.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “It’s only fair that I get to keep it. If you knew you wanted a certain desk, you should have gotten here early enough to claim it.”
She stopped just short of growling, but Paxton decided not to push him on it. This was a battle not worth fighting. In fact, it was probably for the best. Without the beautiful view of Heritage Park to distract her she would be more inclined to keep her head down and work harder. This phase of the flood protection project was slated to last for four weeks, but the quicker they worked, the quicker it would be over.
And the quicker she could get away from all this temptation.
As she went about setting her things out on the table that sat underneath a portrait of an old patriarch of the Gauthier family, Paxton laid out the ground rules.
“My team at Bolt-Myer has spent the past six months designing the initial concept package. The next four weeks are basically a state-required bridge between the concept proposal and the design phase, with an out-of-town trip to tour another flood protection system scheduled toward the end of this phase.
“A detailed report of the ICP has been at the courthouse for residents to review since mid-September. The only thing we have to do is present it at the stakeholders’ meeting in a few weeks and address resident concerns, review whatever questions have been posted to the website we set up for public input and finalize the preliminary implementation plan.”
“You don’t have to explain, Paxton. This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve worked on enough public–private partnerships to know how this works.”
She turned and faced him. “Well, I just want to make sure you understand how a project that I’m managing works. We have a timetable that we need to stick to in order to get this done on time, and I intend to adhere to it. Are you on board with that?”
He nodded. “I am.”
“Good, then let’s get to work.”
* * *
It had been nearly four hours since Paxton arrived at the office, but it had taken Sawyer less than twenty minutes to get a clear picture of what the next four weeks would be like for him.
Pure. Unmitigated. Torture.
Even though she sat on the opposite side of the conference room, he was acutely aware of her every move. Every key she hit on her computer, every time she moved her chair the barest inch, every second she took a damn breath. He felt it all. And it was both intoxicating and agonizing.
His body was still suffering the effects of the jolt it had received when she’d walked through the conference room door, her slim black skirt gently hugging her delicately curved hips. The impact of staring into those rich hazel eyes again hit him with the force of a tornado. Her hair was shorter than it was the last time he’d seen her. The pixie cut made her cheekbones even more pronounced. She was the entire package: beauty, brains and just enough sass to drive him wild.
His aunt Lydia would say this was his just due for making a sexist assumption that he would be working with a male, but in all fairness, most people would have done the same. Construction, especially on this level, was still a pretty male-dominated arena. It hadn’t even occurred to him to ask the full name of the project manager listed at the top of most of the documents simply as P. Jones.
Sawyer wondered, just for a moment, what he would have done if he had known that the P stood for Paxton. Would he have tried to come up with an excuse when his supervisor at the Army Corps assigned him to this project last week?
No, he wouldn’t have made excuses. He had never been the type to run.
She had been the one who ran away.
Sawyer tipped his head back and closed his eyes against the hurt that still pierced his chest whenever he thought about that morning when he’d woken to find her gone.
It had been three years since that night the two of them had ended up in bed together, turning one of the most harrowing days of his life into one of the most memorable. Sawyer could still recall to the minute detail how it felt when he held her in his arms, contemplating the start of something new and wonderful with the girl he’d had a thing for since their days together at Gauthier High School.
Unfortunately, Paxton hadn’t felt the same way. She’d slipped out of his bed in the wee hours of the morning, and when Sawyer had finally caught up to her days later, she’d apologized to him.
Apologized, for goodness’ sake.
He could still see the regret in her eyes as she told him that they shouldn’t have slept together. She then avoided him like he was something filthy on the bottom of her shoe.
And now, three years later, she didn’t even want to discuss it.
Bullshit.
Oh, they were going to discuss that night, along with her disappearing act that followed the morning after. Sawyer would give her a day, maybe two, but there was no way in hell he could work this closely with her for the next month with all these questions still lingering between them. He deserved some answers, and he planned to get them sooner rather than later.
They worked in their separate corners for most of the morning, staying out of each other’s way. Sawyer was encouraged by the fact that once he made the concerted effort to focus, he was able to put thoughts of her out of his head and actually pay attention to the work in front of him.
His stomach’s low growl reminded him that they had yet to stop for lunch. He looked down at his watch, surprised to see that it was nearly one o’clock. Just as he turned to ask Paxton what she planned to do for lunch, there was a knock at the door. Carmen poked her head in.
“Hey,
