Born in the Shadows (In the Shadows Series Book 1)

Born in the Shadows

Courtney McPhail

Copyright © 2015 by Courtney McPhail

All rights are reserved to the author. No part of this ebook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1508785872

ISBN-13: 978-1508785873

To my family

Chapter 1

Cordelia Reese could feel a splitting headache starting to form behind her eyes. Moments like these she really wished her boss would get with the 21
st
century. Hell, even the late 20
th
century would be a godsend at this point. Mitch Stanford, owner and operator of Stanford Construction, swore up and down that you couldn’t trust computers. He was adamant that he would die before he ever touched one.

Just getting the old man to carry around a cell phone had turned into an epic battle. It had only ended when one of the foremen pointed out that clients would be angry if they couldn’t reach him on job sites. Mitch believed that the client was king and that great customer service was the cornerstone of any business. In the construction industry, his level of service was rare and it was what had made his relatively small company stand out in the large city of Toronto.

And since the client demanded printed invoices rather than handwritten carbon copies in this day and age, that was where Cordelia came in. It was her job to log the hand written invoices and purchase orders into the computer which was the cause of her present headache. Mitch had the penmanship of a blind, arthritic chicken and, even after three years on the job, she still had trouble deciphering it.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and leaned back in her chair, staring up at the pressboard ceiling. The office trailer was completely utilitarian. The walls were covered in fake wood paneling, the floor in beige heavy-duty carpet and fluorescent lights flickered on the ceiling. Her desk was at one end of the trailer, gunmetal grey filing cabinets lining the wall behind it. Two metal folding chairs faced the desk, her one attempt at trying to legitimize this as a true office. Unfortunately, they had yet to be used as the men she dealt with preferred to stand when interacting with her.

A small counter top and overhead cabinet were located directly across from the trailer door. A coffee maker and a microwave were the only occupants of the counter and a bar fridge was stashed beneath it. A tiny bathroom took up the back corner, for which she was grateful. The idea of having to use one of the port-a-potties out on the site made her skin crawl.

              The whole space was neat and orderly, the Spartan walls emphasizing the lack of clutter. Well, in all places except her desk. A rainforest worth of papers and file folders covered most of the desk, thanks to Mitch insisting she file his hard copies instead of shredding them. The demon computer sat in the centre of the desk, surrounded by the time sheets that she had been logging. A stack of file folders full of information about past jobs that Mitch had asked her to pull from the filing cabinets yesterday sat perilously on one corner. She really should move them before they tumbled to the floor.

              Despite her apparent disorganization, she was able to do her job and do it well. In the short time she had been with his company, Mitch had come to rely heavily on her to keep his business running as smoothly as possible. She was in charge of the paperwork part of constructing new buildings while he dealt with the work on the job sites. Applications for permits, invoices for building materials, processing pay cheques for the crews, those were her territories, and she made sure that when the taxman came calling everything was squeaky clean.

              It wasn’t that bad of a job, really. She spent most of her eight hours alone in the trailer, dealing with paper and taking the occasional phone call. She liked being alone. She worked best by herself and that had been one of the draws of the job. For all intents and purposes, she was her own boss. Sure, Mitch would check in with her and pester her with his quirks but he wasn’t breathing down her neck at every turn. She was good at anticipating his needs. Half the time she knew what he wanted before he even asked. He had quickly learned to trust that she knew her job and left her alone, just the way she liked it.

              Aside from Mitch visiting her at the start and end of each day, the only time her solitude was interrupted was when the crew foremen would come in for a coffee refill. The rest of the crew got their coffee from the nearby food truck but the foremen were afforded the chance to take advantage of the far superior coffee in the office trailer.

              When she had started working with the company, she brought her favourite blend of prime coffee bean with her. When Mitch had tasted it, he had given her access to the petty cash and the order to keep the coffeemaker brewing the stuff. When word of the quality joe in the trailer made its way through the foremen, they abandoned the food truck swill and never looked back.

              The flimsy metal door of the trailer squeaked open and she remembered why she sometimes regretted the coffee monkey on her back. The space inside the trailer seemed to shrink when a large man entered, yanking off his hard hat and heading straight for the coffeemaker.

              Barry Sampson, one of the foremen, didn’t even spare her a glance. Instead of being insulted, she was thankful. The man had always given her a bad feeling. Not only was he physically intimidating, with his barrel chest, thick arms and meaty fists, he also had a lecherous vibe that told her if she ever heard his thoughts, they would make her sick.

              As he poured himself some coffee, she did her best to blend into the background, eyes glued to her paperwork, holding her breath and praying not to catch his attention. The door opened again and she relaxed instantly when another man climbed into the trailer.

              Gabe Carrington was one of the guys she didn’t mind coming into her office and disturbing her. He was tall, easily passing six feet, which forced him to remove his hard hat as soon as he came in to avoid the low ceiling. He speared his fingers through sandy blond hair, the glossy locks falling back to his strong jaw line before turning to look at her.

              Her heart skipped a beat, as it always did, when he looked at her with those beautiful eyes of his. They were a gray-blue that reminded her of the color of the ocean as a storm rolled in. He smiled at her, showing off a row of white teeth and deep dimples in his cheeks. He had decided to grow a goatee this past spring and it accentuated the fullness of his lips. She had never found facial hair attractive but on Gabe, it looked damned good.

              Cordelia felt herself warm under the light of his smile, her cheeks heating up and her heart beating a little faster. Her reaction annoyed her because she knew that her schoolgirl crush was ridiculous. There was no way a walking Adonis like Gabe would think of a mousey tomboy like her as a viable dating option.

              “Morning,” he said. “Mitch bring in the donuts yet?”

              “Not yet,” she replied. “He had to stop at the Wellesley site so he’s running behind.”

              “Shit, I’m starving. Those donuts have been my breakfast for the last month.”

              “You know there’s a food truck out on the street, right?”

              “Sure, but why pay for my breakfast when I know there’s a free one right here.” He circled around her desk to dig through the paper bag next to her coffee mug. “What did you get for breakfast?”

              “Hey, that’s mine!” She smacked his hand away from the bag, glaring up at him. “Go get your own.”

              Gabe began to pout, his full bottom lip poking out. “Come on, can’t you at least share?”

              She rolled her eyes but it was mostly for show and she handed him the bag. “Fine, you can have half my bagel.”

              He flashed her his 500 watt smile before stuffing the bagel in his mouth and sauntering over to grab his coffee. His body moved with a masculine grace, his legs long and the baggy work jeans he wore barely disguising the toned muscles beneath the denim. She had made covertly watching Gabe a bit of a hobby and she had caught glimpses of the tautness in his thighs while he worked. The heavy tool belt slung around his hips emphasized the narrow waist that led up to his broad chest and shoulders.  Today he wore a blue cotton T-shirt that was tight, showing off his well-defined pecs, flat stomach and toned biceps. God, he was absolutely dreamy.

              As he leaned back against the counter, conversing with Sampson as he poured his coffee, Cordelia took a chance to study the play of muscles in his arms. He wore short sleeves, which she liked because she could study the tattoos on the back of his upper arms. She had been curious about them since she had first laid eyes on them. They were a simple black pattern of lines that led up each arm, disappearing beneath his shirt. She knew the design had to cover more of his body but she had never had the courage to ask him to see it.

              “Hey Cordelia, you getting an eyeful?”

              Cordelia jumped when Sampson’s voice pulled her out of the mini-trace that she had been in as she stared at Gabe.
Shit, busted
.

              “Oh, I got way more than an eyeful,” she replied, “Of your ass crack hanging out your pants, that is.”

              Gabe laughed and Sampson glared at her, which meant she had achieved her smooth recovery. Sampson could be a complete asshole and it was better to shut him down before he could build up any steam.

              “Hey Cordy, we’re gonna hit up Corner Pockets after work for a couple beers and pool,” Gabe said. “You up for it?”

              “Man, don’t invite her,” Sampson complained.

              “You’re just pissed that the last time I came, I hustled you out of fifty bucks,” Cordelia replied with a self satisfied grin. Dumbass Neanderthal had thought there was no way a woman could be better than him at pool and she had showed him how wrong he had been.

              “Man, just don’t play her and it’s fine,” Gabe told him.

              “Fine, whatever. I’m only going to pick up chicks and somebody like her won’t put ‘em off so what do I give a shit.”

              “What’s that supposed to mean, somebody like me?” she asked, anger rising up inside her.

              “Look at yourself, dressed like a guy,” Sampson said, waving a hand at her hoodie and baggy jeans. “You never take your hair out of that ponytail, no make-up, carrying around more than a few extra pounds, it’s obvious you ain’t looking to attract anybody.”

              “Leave her alone, Sampson,” Gabe said, his voice was firm, the no-nonsense tone she had heard him use when his crew was slacking or full of complaints he didn’t care to hear. The kind of tone that said
I’m not an asshole but you’d better get it together before I turn into one
.

              “I guess it’s good that I don’t care what shit-for-brains assholes think about me,” Cordelia told Sampson and turned her focus back to her work. What she said wasn’t quite the truth. She didn’t want to care but wanting something didn’t always make it so. His words still hurt, even knowing they were the words of a shit-for-brains asshole.

              They were the same words she heard growing up with her hard-to-please mother.
Too fat, too dumpy, too ugly for anyone to love.
Gloria Reese had been a lot of things but loving parent was not one of them. A former beauty queen and aspiring model who had her future cut short when her high school boyfriend had knocked her up, she had always been disappointed that her daughter was more into sports and school than makeup and beauty pageants. 

              “Might as well just shave your head and go full-on bull dyke,” Sampson spat at her followed by his snide laughter.

              “I said leave her the fuck alone!”

              Cordelia jumped at the volume of Gabe’s voice and watched as he grabbed Sampson’s shoulder, spinning him around to glare at him. Sampson held up both his hands, a half smile on his face as he took a step back from Gabe.  

              “Take it easy man, I’m just fucking around. It’s no big deal.”

              “Get the fuck out of here!”

              Cordelia watched as Gabe clamped his hand on the back of Sampson’s neck and manoeuvred him over to the door, kicking it open before shoving Sampson outside. He ran his hand over his face, sighing before turning to face her and flashing her a sympathetic smile.

              “I’m really sorry that he said those things. I should have kicked him out of here the second he opened his fat mouth. Sampson is a Grade A asshole so don’t listen to a thing he said. I mean it.”

              She had been fine up until then. She had thought she’d be able to keep it together until she was alone but for some reason Gabe’s apology sent her over the edge. She ducked her head as the tears began to burn behind her eyelids, not wanting him to see them finally track their way down her cheeks. 

              “You okay?”

              She nodded her head silently, knowing that there was no way for her to speak without her voice cracking. It was silly really. She shouldn’t care about what a nobody like Sampson said. After all, she had put up with years of her mother’s criticism that had turned practically abusive after her father’s death in a car accident just before her thirteenth birthday. With her father gone, her mother had been free to move from a problem drinker to raging alcoholic. She had endured her mother’s abuse as best she could, biding her time until she turned eighteen and could escape. Though it had been ten years since she had left home and five years since she had last spoken to her mother, the woman still had quite a pull over her.