Seventeen Days (4 page)

Foregoing a shower, I start to make my way downstairs. Shit, I practically skip down them. The smells are enticing and I’m starving. Skipping dinner last night wasn’t a good idea. Hearing Aunt Savannah in the kitchen, I decide to make myself known as I’m all but running down the stairs. “What is that amazing smell?” She’s not used to having me around, and her only companion doesn’t talk—he barks. 

“It’s sticky buns, but don’t worry, I know you city girls don’t like eating anything with taste, so I took the liberty and ate yours. Hope you weren’t too hungry.” 

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

Harrison’s here. 

In the house. 

At barely eight AM

And he ate
my
breakfast. Whatever a sticky bun is. Please let that of been a hint of humor I heard in his voice and I better still have breakfast waiting for me. If not, I’ll settle for a jug of coffee and the peanut butter cup I spied sitting in the fridge last night. 

“Excuse me? You ate
my
breakfast? What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you be running
your
business? Or were you lying and you don’t actually own one?” 

Entering the kitchen, I eye him sitting at the table, eating what appears to be my breakfast. For a second there I thought
maybe
he was actually lying. I guess not. 

“What’s up with the twenty questions, Red?” 

Again with the nickname.
Ugh, this irritating man. 

Deciding not to answer him, since he hasn’t actually answered any of my questions, I make my way over to the empty coffee pot. Figures, he drank the coffee too. Why couldn’t I have woken up in a Starbucks liked I dreamed? Guess I’ll be making a whole pot for myself. I’ve gotten used to my aunt leaving me half a pot in the morning. Wait. Where the hell
is
my aunt?

“Where’s Savannah?” I ask.

Is one scoop of coffee enough for a whole pot? Hm ... I like it strong, maybe I should add a few more scoops.
I’ve never made it for myself before, but I don’t want Harrison to know. If it was a one-cup machine, I’d be all over it, but this type of machine is foreign to me. Other than pulling the half-f pot off and pouring myself my morning cup, I couldn’t begin to tell you how the frick to use it. 

“She received a call a few minutes ago and had to run into town.” 

Hearing the sound of his chair scrape the floor, he continues. “Do you actually plan on drinking that? If so, you should take a scoop or two of the coffee out unless you like drinking sludge.” 

Crap, the sound of the chair scraping made me think he was getting up to leave, not come closer. Can this morning get any worse? First, I don’t have thirty dollars to my name, he ate my breakfast,
and
I’m not in a Starbucks.
Dreams of cake pops, evaporated in the blink of an eye. Poof! Gone.

“I like it strong.” I don’t want him to know he helped me out, but it’s nearly impossible since he’s standing right next to me as I scoop out the extra grounds. “You never did answer any of my questions, except for where my aunt went.”
Answer them and leave, bud. I’m not in the mood for your company.
 

“Did I eat your breakfast? No, I ate mine. Yours is still in the pan, which is in the oven. What am I doing here? Well, a couple of things, I’ll get to those in a minute. And yes, I do own my own business. Which leads me back to
what
I’m doing here.” Wow, he
was
paying attention. To think I called him slow yesterday.

“Which is what exactly? What in the hell does your business have to do with you being here?”

Stupid, stubborn, irritating, sexy man.

And he’s arrogant which I also find sexy. I’d be lying if I tried to deny it. 

“This morning I woke up to an urgent phone call; my assistant had a family emergency and needed time off. Which leaves me in a pickle. Summer is my busiest season, and I can’t afford to not have his help running my office. Which brings me back to why I’m here. I need you, Morgan. To work for me, that is.”

Wait, what? He’s offering me a job? This could solve my flight ticket issue.

“For how long?” Shit, did I sound too eager? Don’t need him to know I actually wanted to search for a job. “And doing what exactly?” He said help running his office, but I still don’t know what it is he does. He could be the local drug dealer for all I know. 

“General office work. You’d basically be in charge of answering the phones, scheduling appointments, keeping the calendar up to date on our online site, that sort of thing. It’s easy enough work, a spoiled brat like you
should
be able to grasp it.”

I’m sick of him insulting me already. I’m not a spoiled brat. Maybe I always got what I wanted but, those things don’t make me spoiled.
Do they?
Especially since I had to basically “work” for whatever she did give me.
If you could call it that.

“Yes, but
what
do you do? What kind of business is it, exactly? I may be here as a punishment for getting caught with drugs but that was my first time ever using any sort of drug. If you’re a drug pusher, I want no part of it. No matter what you think of me, I do have standards.” 

Granted, he doesn’t look like the drug dealer type. Not like I know what they look like. I highly doubt a drug dealer would be wearing a cowboy hat. But who am I to judge? 

Since he’s taking his time to answer, I decide to pull my breakfast from the oven. I’m starved and I don’t care if he sees me wolf down at least three of whatever they are. They smell divine. 

“
Ow
. What the fuck, dude?” He all but shoved me out of the way with his elbow.
Shit, that hurt.
“Let me get those for you. Have a seat, Morgan. I’ll pour you a cup of sludge once it’s brewed and bring you your breakfast. Would you like a few eggs? I can scramble up some for you, if you’d like.” 

Holy shit, he’s offering me a job and to make me breakfast?

Am I dreaming? This feels like a dream. And it’s better than my dream of Starbucks, only because I’ve never encountered a barista who looks like Harrison. 

Pinching myself and making sure I’m awake, I do what he asked, and sit down. I’m more than slightly dumbfounded. 

“My business is legit. Trust me, it’s all legal. I run and own a fishing charter out on the gulf. Like I already stated, summer is my busiest season. Which is why I can’t afford to not have an assistant running the office for me. If you don’t want the job, fine. I’ll go ahead and place an ad asking for seasonal help.” 

He’s for real. He’s a fisherman
and
a cowboy? Never in my life would I have guessed he’s a fisherman. Ranch hand, now that I could see. Horse trainer, sure, I can see that, too. Fisherman? Nope. Never entered my mind. I didn’t know we were near the water. Besides the creek yesterday and the bay by the airport, I haven’t seen any. Granted, I haven’t left the house much. 

“How many hours a week, and how much pay are we talking? Enough to where I’d be able to buy a plane ticket home in a couple of weeks? I have a job lined up back there as well as a place to stay.” Better to get it out in the open first. I’m temporary—in his life and as an employee.

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.