Seventeen Days Page 3

  He bends and places a plate filled with hot baked goodness in front of me. So, this is what a sticky bun is: a cinnamon bun. With nuts. And sugary oozy goodness. Yup, I must be dreaming or certifiable. Quickly pinching myself—again—while his back’s turned, what I thought was a silent, “ow.” escapes my mouth. If I’m keeping count it’s two “ows” in a row. Get your shit together, Morgan.

  “Are you okay? And did you want any eggs? You never did answer me.”

  Rubbing my arm where a moment ago I pinched myself, I say, “Yeah, I’m good. I pinched myself because I know I’m still upstairs asleep and none of this is real. I’ll wake up and be back in New York at a Starbucks.” Taking a bite of cinnamon bliss, a moan escapes. What’s with me and the unwanted sounds this morning? “Um. No, I don’t want any eggs, these will be more than enough, thanks.”

  He grabs a clean mug from the cupboard and pours my coffee. He sure knows his way around my aunt’s house. Wonder if they’re hooking up? I wouldn’t blame her if she is. The man is the epitome of fine.

  “How about you give me two weeks? If you’re around longer and I still need help, you can keep on working. The pay will be enough. I pay my normal employee a salary, but since you’ll be temporary, we can come up with a figure together. Sound good?” He’s for real. He’s offering me a job.

  “When can I start?” I don’t care what the pay is, he said it’ll be enough to for me to get home. I’m taking him at his word. Besides, how hard can it be to answer a phone and book a few appointments?

  “As soon as you finish eating and get cleaned up, you can start. I’ll pick you up in about an hour, okay?”

  “You’re leaving?” That sounded a bit desperate. Shit.

  Looking back down at my plate, I concentrate on staring really hard at the sugary bliss. If I stare hard enough, he’ll stop looking at me and not see the desperation I’m positive is all over my face. Not ten minutes ago, I didn’t want his company, and now I don’t want him to leave? What the hell is wrong with me?

  “Yeah, I have an errand to run really quick, and then I’ll be back around to grab you. Normal hours starting tomorrow will be from eight to six in the evening, Wednesday through Sunday. You’ll have Mondays and Tuesdays off. I’ll see you in one hour. My truck is a black Chevy. When I honk, you can mosey on out, and I’ll take you to the office and show you around.”

  And those parting words, he walks out the back door.

  Stupid, stubborn, irritating, sexy man.

  I had to escape her kitchen.

  I couldn’t stop staring at her in those pajama shorts. Holy fuck, they were short. Her legs are long and tan. It was hard for me to not think about having them wrapped around my waist while I fucked her against the wall. And that’s exactly what I wanted to do. It took all my energy to not grab her and push her to the nearest wall, kiss her senseless, and have my way with her. Pushing her shorts aside would’ve been easy enough. Shit, I could’ve been inside her in two seconds flat.

  Fuck, now I have a raging hard-on. Again.

  I lied when I told her I had an errand to run. My errand consists of me going home and jerking off to the images of her in those damn shorts. Pink polka dots shorts may be my new favorite. If only seeing her legs does this to me, how the hell am I supposed to work with her? I didn’t think it through too much before I offered her the job. She needed a job, I had one to offer. Simple. Right?

  Dave having to take time off has put me in a tough spot. His mother's cancer has come back, and he’s the only one around to take care of her. They’re all each other has, so I couldn’t deny the guy this time away. Not when his world is falling apart around him. Knowing what he feels like, I told him to take all the time he needs.

  I’m thankful it wasn’t one of the guys who helps me out on the fishing tours. There’s no way she would’ve been able to help me out, if that were the case. I would’ve had to buckle down and hire a new guy pronto before expansions started. Scheduled interviews now instead of a few weeks down the line.

  I sure wish Jess could’ve come over last night. Maybe if I had entertained her, I wouldn’t be in such a state right now. Those damn pink polka dots. Morgan is too young for me, has too much baggage. Yeah, four years isn’t much younger, but for us, it’s worlds apart. She’s not done growing up, and I’m grown. Shit, I’ve been grown since I was a teenager. Losing your parents forces you to grow up real fast. Although, maybe being ignored has made Morgan grow up fast as well. I’ve never entertained the thought.

  Maybe we have something in common, after all.

  Last night while lying awake, all the thoughts that kept running through my head were warnings to myself. Telling me not to get tangled up in her mess. Too bad it’s the only thing I want to do. I’ve never felt this pull I feel when I’m around her. It’s like it’s a need to fix her—comfort her. She’s not broken, though. I’m not sure what she is, but broken isn’t it. She’s too feisty to be broken. But that doesn’t explain the sadness in her eyes.

  She’s ignorant to the world around her—to living her life.

  I wasn’t kidding when I told her to find me after she finds herself. If she’s this feisty at eighteen, one can only imagine how she’ll be once she’s fully lived. Once she’s truly found herself.

  Life has handed her a parent who really isn’t one and friends who are no good for her. The one thing she has been given that’s good in life is her aunt. Savannah is one of the best people I know. She was there for me after my parents died. She was pretty much the only person I could count on after they passed. My Uncle Garrett sure wouldn't have been able to handle a teenager whose world had recently imploded.

  If it wasn’t for her, I would’ve ended up having to live with him and move away until my eighteenth birthday. She offered to take me in instead; my uncle agreed and I was able to stay in Alabama. The only home I’ve ever known. She helped me pick up the pieces of my life, graduate high school, and go on to college. At a time when I could’ve easily turned to drugs or alcohol, she saved me. For that, I’ll be forever grateful to her.

  She asked me yesterday to watch out for her niece while she’s here, and that’s what I’ll do. Even if she doesn’t want me around.

  Last night, I entertained the idea of teaching her how to fish. That’s how I planned on keeping an eye on her. She should know how to catch a fish. Teaching a city girl how us country folk live was going to be the highlight of my summer. Imagining the look on her face as I’d teach her how to bait a hook makes me chuckle.

  Fucking hell, fishing lessons are out, and a job is in.

  Now, if only I could get my dick to understand she’s not what I need.

  Exactly one hour later, I pull into Savannah’s driveway and lay on the horn. Not thirty seconds later, Morgan is running down the stairs.

  Shit, she’s still wearing shorts. At least she lost the polka dots. Seeing her in shorts makes me wish I had a set dress code for the office. Not that running an office of a fishing charter should require one. Then again, I’ve never had a woman working there. Maybe I should have told her no shorts, but fuck it does get hot. And I don’t only mean the temperatures. As long as it’s not the polka dot pajamas, it’s okay.

  I guess.

  I probably should have done the gentlemanly thing and got out and opened her door, but I don’t feel like showing her my manners. My mama is more than likely turning over in her grave. Hell, I can almost hear her clicking her tongue at me this very second. She’s cursing me ten ways to Sunday. With as straightforward as Morgan is, she probably would have shoved me out of the way and still opened her own damn door. My poor manners are only saving us from a fight.

  Rolling my window down, I back out of the drive as soon as her door clicks shut. It’s like the air disappeared as soon she entered the truck.

  “Since I didn’t have any charters scheduled today, I can show you what I expect to be done at the office. I’m not there much myself. You’ll probably see me once in the morning, or the afternoon.
Depends on what is scheduled for the day. Most charters start at six AM, and you don’t come in till eight.” Shit, I forgot to ask Savannah before she left if she could drive her in every day. “Savannah can drop you off, and I’ll take you home each day, if it’s okay.”

  The look that crossed her face at the mere mention of her aunt was one of doubt. “Um … okay. Sounds good.” She’s staring out the window now, and I can’t see her expression. Look at me, Red.

  “Will I need a key for the office, or will it be unlocked when I arrive?” she asks, still not looking at me.

  Shit, didn’t think of that. Better take care of it before going to the office. Dave has a key, but we’re already past his place, and I don’t have an extra lying around to give her.

  I should also call the guys to let them know we have a lady working there for a while. They’ll need to clean their mouths up around her. Not like she doesn’t swear, because she most definitely tried to put me in my place.

  “We’ll stop by Home Depot really quick on the way and have a key made. There’s one a few minutes up the road in Foley. Then we can head to the office, which is located in Gulf Shores, in case you were wondering.”

  Sneaking a peek at her, she’s still gazing out the window and she’s biting her lip. Fuck she’s sexy.

  She’s worrying or she’s nervous, I’m not sure which. She shouldn’t be nervous around me. On second thought, maybe she should be.

  “What’s weighing on your mind? Awfully quiet for you. At least, what I know of you.” Stopping at a red light, I’m able to regard her full-on—she’s still staring out the fucking window. “Stop chewing your lip and spit out what’s bothering you. It hasn’t stopped you before,” I say a bit more forcefully.

  “Well, up until an hour ago, you weren’t my boss, either. I feel like now I can’t say what’s on my mind. At least, not without getting fired before I start.” Her voice is full of doubt.

  Wait a fucking minute, she thinks I’ll fire her for speaking her mind? Nope, not hardly. Her fire is one of the reasons I like her; she wouldn’t be a spitfire without saying what she wants. Reaching over, I grab her chin, turning her head toward me. “Listen to me, Morgan, I’ll only say this once. Don’t be afraid of speaking your mind around me. I’m a big boy, believe me, I can take it. I’ll promise not to fire you. You can tell me to go fuck myself, and you’ll still be working for me for the next two weeks. Simply put, you’re mine.”

  Did I say, she’s mine?

  Did I mean it? Yeah, think I did. Fuck.

  Maybe she didn’t catch it. Should I correct it and add employee? Nah, screw it. I meant it like I said it. She’s mine, only she doesn’t know it yet.

  “Um. Got it. Could you let go of my chin now and drive? The light turned green a few seconds ago.”

  She doesn’t give me a second to respond before she’s grabbing my hand and shoving it away. The fire’s back.

  “Boundaries, boss. You’re crossing them.”

  Who the hell does he think he is? Did he actually tell me I’m his?

  What the fuck does he mean?

  I’m no one’s. Most of the time, I’m not even my own. My decisions have always been based on what will be good for Sienna’s image. Never for my own well-being. So what, I may have taken drugs on my birthday. It was a onetime deal. Since I got caught, it’s an “I’ll never do it again” deal.

  Maybe because I’ve never had anyone do anything for me without being paid for it. My own friends are truly only my friends because of what I can get them—publicity, a moment in the spotlight. I’m not blind to it. No one has ever truly done anything for me. When he served my breakfast and offered to cook for me? That was the first time that anyone has done something for me who wasn’t on my mother’s payroll. Pitiful, isn’t it?

  Taking a deep breath to re-center myself, I find myself wanting to know more about him.

  What makes him tick?

  Does he have family?

  Is he married?

  Does he ride a horse; like all the cowboys I’ve seen in the movies?

  How old is he? He can’t be that old. He has graduated college and owns his business. Adding a year or two and he’s twenty-four … max.

  “Mind if I ask more about you, or is personal stuff a topic that’s off-limits?” Say no.

  He takes a moment to ponder my question. I like how he thinks before he speaks. I know, I know, I called him slow yesterday, but I didn’t actually mean it. I’m not always this bitchy person he’s seen every time I’ve been around him. If he would have met me before the birthday debacle, I’m sure he’d still hate me but he wouldn’t have met the bitchy me before meeting the sweet me.

  “Ask away. If I don’t like a question, I won’t answer it. Plain and simple. There’s a catch, though, if I answer it, you have to answer it too.”

  Sounds fair enough.

  “Um, sure. Same goes for me; if I don’t feel like answering it, I won’t.”

  It’s extremely warm in here. Rolling down the window, I continue, “How old are you? You don’t seem old, but you act a bit older.” Figured I’d start easy on him, ease into the juicy things. Like what’s your sexual preference? Favorite position?

  “I’ll be twenty-three in a few weeks. Since I already know how old you are, I’ll start with asking your middle name.”

  No one has ever asked me my middle name. No one asks why I don’t like to be called Morgana and insist on being called Morgan. “My full name is Morgana Elizabeth Young. And yes, before you ask, I go by my mother’s last name.” Turning back to stare out the window, I mumble, “Don’t know who my father is,” hoping my confession gets lost in the wind. “Once I turned fourteen, I stopped letting anyone call me Morgana. I’ve never cared for my full name, it’s too prissy for me … stuffy. What about you, what’s your middle name?”

  Until a few weeks ago, it’s never bothered me not knowing who my father is. But now, I find myself wanting to know who he is. If he ever wonders about me, or knew about me at all? If he’s alive? If I have any brothers or sisters. What he looks like? What type of man is he? Is he as horrible and self-centered as Sienna?

  Breaking into my thoughts, Harrison answers my last question.

  “Since you asked nicely, my full name is, Harrison Dean Montgomery. Before you ask, I have no siblings, either.” Taking in a deep breath, he continues, “My parents passed away a couple months before my eighteenth birthday. And that’s all I’ll say about it. For now. Maybe someday I’ll elaborate more. Then again, maybe not.”

  Well, shit. What do I say? Sorry for your loss doesn’t seem like enough. Condolences and I don’t mix. At least, not very well. Words always seem to fail me when people seem to need them the most.

  “I’m sorry, Harrison. Truly. I may not know what it means to have an actual parent who gives a shit, but I’m sorry you lost yours at such a young age.” Grabbing his hand closest to me off the steering wheel, I venture on. He told me something tragically personal, I … I can too. I don’t question if I grabbed his hand to offer comfort or seek it.

  “I’ve basically raised myself since Sienna stopped employing nannies when I turned fourteen. She must have figured by then; I was an adult. Hence why I dropped the ‘A’ off my name, Morgan sounded older, more sophisticated. I’m still not sure why she let them go, maybe they looked at her funny. Nothing she does will ever make sense to me.” Biting my bottom lip again, I take a few seconds to think about what it’d mean to lose those closest to me. Seems like maybe I do know what it feels like. At least a tiny bit. Since the incident on my birthday, everyone has pretty much left my life. Amanda hasn’t called me once. Celene only answers when I call, she doesn’t initiate the contact. Sadly, they’re my closest “family”. They know more about me than anyone. Even my own mother.

  Silence.

  Complete and utter silence has taken over the truck. It’s almost comforting.

  Taking a few moments to work up what little courage I’ve mustered, I decide to ask him a qu
estion that is in no way my business, but I need to ask in order for me to continue. Why not make an awkward situation more awkward? He hasn’t let go of my hand yet, or forced mine away. He must know I need the contact.

  “How old were you when you lost your virginity?” Fuck, I literally asked. “You don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable,” I whisper.

  Dropping my hand like it’s on fire, he glances over at me quickly. Not wanting to take his eyes completely off traffic. “Fuck, what makes you think I’ll answer? This isn’t exactly an appropriate conversation for a boss to have with an employee. It crosses those boundaries you spoke of a while ago.” Shaking his head in disbelief, he again glances in my direction. He must see the pleading for his answer in my eyes. “You’ve got balls, that’s for sure. This is so … Fine, I’ll answer, but if I answer then so do you and we drop this line of questioning.” Glancing over at me again, I nod my head yes. Please answer so that I can tell you one of my secrets. “I’m not a virgin, not by a longshot. I was sixteen when I had sex for the first time. That’s my answer. After you answer, let’s consider this subject dropped.”

  Taking what feels like my hundredth deep breath, I answer, “I’m not a virgin, either. And my experience was not what you’d call typical.” Biting my thumb nail, I continue. I’m about to tell him the one thing no one knows. My secret will be safe with him. Opening up old wounds I’ve falsely told myself were healed.

  “My first time wasn’t a decision I made. Sienna thought it was time for me to ‘become a woman’. She hired a man to ‘take care of the issue’. I’m not sure if I’d go as far as to call it rape, because I never said no but it wasn’t exactly my choice. He was gentle, at least. I guess you can say he took his ‘job’ seriously. I’m almost positive once he was done with me, he fucked my mother. Quite the charming story, isn’t it?” Please keep my secret.

  He’s gripping the steering wheel extremely tight and his knuckles are turning white. What I said must have upset him. He hasn’t said a word. The silence I found comforting a few minutes before has returned, only now it’s filled with tension. I’m finding it hard to breathe. I wonder if this is what drowning feels like?