Cocky Prince Read online

  Adam: I’ll be there at 10AM Saturday.

  I set my phone down, and not one second later it buzzes.

  Hayden: Be ready to get your manicured hands dirty.

  I grin. Without thinking, I shoot off a reply.

  Adam: For you, my hands are always ready to get dirty.

  A bit suggestive, but whatever. Today was terrible, and I’d rather flirt with Hayden than fire people and feel Hayden’s wrath. The banter is purely for my pleasure. Because I’m exhausted and I need Hayden’s sass, which makes every day better.

  Hayden: Boundaries. Don’t you think enough of them have been crossed after Bridget’s illustrative text?

  Adam: Touché. Until Saturday. Go to bed, Hayden. You have to work tomorrow.

  Hayden: Go home, Adam. I know you’re still at Blue. My spies tell me so.

  Damn.

  Blackwell might alienate her, but Hayden knows more about what’s going on around this place than most. Which is a problem. Blackwell is a fool not to utilize her—she’s more talented than half his management crew—but I worry about the reason for his animosity. If I knew why he treats her the way he does, it would help. Since I don’t, it’s just better if she stays off his radar.

  My heart is lighter as I pack up to leave. I try not to think about why. Jaeg was right to be worried, though I wouldn’t admit it. I’ve got to be careful when it comes to Hayden. As argumentative as she is, I sense the attraction is mutual. I also sense her vulnerability. And I know what I’m capable of.

  Caring for a woman? Sure.

  Loving a woman? Not possible.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hayden

  I tuck the couch cushion I was using as a desk for my laptop back in place, and the sound of a car engine draws my eye to the window. Pushing the linen curtain aside, I peer at the red truck pulling up next to my seven-year-old compact SUV. The beater truck makes my used SUV look like a fine piece of machinery.

  Adam said he was coming around ten, and it’s about that now, but there is no way this is Adam. For one, that beater truck is not an Adam-worthy vehicle. He drove a gazillion-dollar sports car to Zach’s dinner party. Nothing but the best for him. Second, the driver of this truck appears to be wearing a baseball cap.

  Adam in a baseball cap? No way.

  But the hairs on my arms are standing at attention, which is never a good sign if my instincts around Adam are to be trusted.

  The man steps out of the truck, pulls off the baseball cap, and tosses it inside. And I have to give my body props. It detected Adam sight unseen from dozens of feet away and through a glass barrier. And he looks…whoa.

  I am in so much trouble.

  Adam is wearing worn jeans that hug the amazing ass I normally only glimpse when he takes off his suit jacket, which is never. He has on a navy T-shirt that pulls taut over his shoulders and arms, and his jeans are gathered at the bottom over work boots. In short, he is mountain guy, mouth-watering hotness, and I am panting.

  What the hell? How dare he come to my house looking like this? Adam in an Armani suit has my ovaries percolating—but dressed all rugged and sexy? Not acceptable.

  He leans into the cab and pulls out a toolbox, his shirt riding up and exposing a swath of flat stomach and the thick muscle above his hipbone that has my jaw dropping. His hair isn’t combed, but mussed and slightly wavy, flipping out in some places. Several locks tumble over his temples, and I have the urge to grab those locks in my fist and ask him what he’s trying to do to me.

  Goddammit. Casual, no-artifice Adam completely undoes me. And he’s walking to my door.

  “Shit.” I turn left, then right, searching—for what, I have no idea.

  Get it together.

  Taking a calming breath, I scramble for the door, and catch my toe on the edge of the couch. “Ahh!” My face scrunches as I hop around, mentally shouting every expletive known to man.

  I drop my foot to the floor and exam my red little pinky toe. Not crooked. Pain diminishing. Just a stub.

  “You okay in there?” Adam’s baritone filters through the door with a tinge of humor.

  Is he laughing at me?

  I limp over and swing the door open. And suck in a breath. And look at the side of his head instead of his eyes. And take another breath.

  There. That’s better. Don’t look into the eye of the storm, and everything will be okay. “Yes. It’s fine. I stubbed my toe.”

  There’s a pause, and finally I look at his face, because it’s getting weird that I’m not. He’s smiling, and oh my God. There’s a dimple in his cheek I never noticed. It’s faint, but combine it with the mussed hair, the tight T-shirt across a thick, muscled chest, and I feel lightheaded.

  His brow puckers, his expression turning serious as he scans my face. “You sure you’re okay? I could come back another time.”

  I wave him inside. “No, I’m fine.” I’m so not fine.

  He walks past me with the metal toolbox in one hand.

  “Can I get you anything to drink?” I ask.

  He looks around, taking the place in. “I’m good. This place yours?”

  “No, it’s a stranger’s. I asked if I could borrow it.”

  His gaze slides to me, eyebrow arched, his mouth turned up. “This how it’s going to be today?”

  I let out a sigh. “Of course it’s mine,” I wobble into the living room, pinky toe feeling better, but not fully recovered.

  Adam has me rattled. I can’t look at him. It makes me vulnerable. And by vulnerable, I mean I want to jump him.

  “So.” He resumes his visual scan of the place. “What’s it to be? You need a lightbulb changed?”

  “Haha, you’re hilarious. I believe the bet was that you would build me something. I see you brought your tools.” I eye the large metal box.

  “My tools are ready.”

  I flash him a look, and it might be filled with fear and panic. If he starts flirting with me the way he did a couple of nights ago with that naughty text, I’m dead.

  “Hayden?” The humor in his eyes has disappeared. “Any chance I can convince you to stay out of my business over the next few weeks while I hire people?”

  For a moment, I’m ready to give in. To tell him he can have whatever he wants. Because the look on his face is so unguarded and sincere, all my barriers come down. But I made a promise to myself to find whatever I could about Blue’s underground activities. I can’t back out now. “Sorry, I plan to be all up in your business. Regarding human resources, that is. Why is it such a big deal if I know about the people you hire?”

  He looks away. “It just is.”

  I let out a sigh and try a different tactic. “What happened with Bridget could have been prevented. If you’d given me the opportunity to go over Blue’s policies with her, she might have thought twice before starting her side business. Which brings up another point. Those men involved were never reprimanded. How is it that Bridget gets fired, but the guys buying dirty images during work hours were never held accountable?”

  “It’s been looked into. Most of them made the financial transaction after hours. And if we reprimanded all of them, it would be the entire male staff.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “There were a few who didn’t partake, myself included, but the rest—”

  “Because you didn’t know about it,” I grumble.

  He captures my gaze. “I wouldn’t have participated even if I had known.”

  I wet my lips, studying his blue eyes, which appear to be telling me something his words aren’t. His presence unsettles me, makes me crazy, but the way he’s looking now has my heart pounding faster.

  Adam’s gaze drops to my mouth, where the moisture left behind from my tongue cools. He tears his gaze away. “What’s this thing you want me to build?” he says gruffly.

  I clear my throat. “Over here.”

  I take Adam down the hallway, still rattled by whatever just passed between us, and point to the door of a closet that shares
a wall with my bedroom. “I want you to close off this door in the hall and make an entrance to my bedroom. Oh, and built-ins. I would love built-ins for all of my shoes.”

  He stares at the door, then turns to me. “You’re joking, right? You want me to build you a master closet?”

  Okay, so it’s more of a construction job, but hey, he agreed to it. “I’m dead serious.”

  He chuckles and scratches his unshaven jaw. “Hayden, this is not even close to what I had in mind. Originally, the bet was for me to fix something.”

  “Oh no, that’s what you said. But I agreed to you building me something. And I’d love a walk-in closet using this space.” I gesture proudly at the hall closet.

  He cranes his head to the side, peering inside my bedroom. “What’s wrong with the one you have?”

  I love my bedroom. It’s gray and violet with an espresso bed I bought when I moved back into the place. The furniture in the living room is old and original from when my parents and I lived here, but the bedroom furniture is new. Living room furniture will be phase two of the house remodel.

  “It’s too small. Doesn’t fit my shoes.”

  He stalks inside the bedroom and opens the accordion closet doors. A single rail holds all seasons of clothing and boxes line the foot of the closet. “If you move these boxes, you’ll have room for your shoes. You actually don’t have very many clothes.”

  True, I keep my wardrobe under control, donating unused or outdated items on a regular basis. The boxes contain puffy coats and snow boots, and a few other cold-weather items.

  “Actually, the shoes won’t fit,” I say. “Even if I put the winter boxes in the attic.”

  He raises his eyebrow and scans the closet. “Where are your shoes?”

  I smile. “You see, now you’re catching on. This is why I need the walk-in.” I head back into the hallway and open the hall closet, turning on the inside light.

  Adam peers at the shelves and slowly sets down his toolbox. He whistles. “Never knew you were a shoe hoarder.”

  My face warms. I hadn’t thought about how personal this project might be. “I have a bit of a shoe obsession. I’m not a hoarder. I’m a collector.”

  He grabs a pair of chunky, flat Mary Janes tucked away on a top shelf. “These still fit?”

  “I wore those every day of my senior year. They were my favorites. And yes, they fit.”

  He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Hayden, if you get rid of some of these shoes, the rest will work in your bedroom closet.”

  I grab my Mary Janes and dust them off hastily with the sleeve of my shirt. “And give you nothing to do? No way. Besides, I want a walk-in closet.” My voice goes dreamy. “With walls of shelving devoted to these beauties.” I hug the shoes to my chest, and he covers his mouth with his hand, hiding what I detect is a smile.

  I jump up and tuck the shoes back in their place on the top shelf. “Don’t you think you should get to work? It’s a big project.”

  My hall closet is nice and deep. It’s going to make an awesome walk-in.

  He shakes his head and picks up the toolbox. “Sure thing, Ms. Marcos.”

  “Imelda Marcos? That’s cute. Very funny,” I say dryly.

  “Isn’t it?” He grins.

  I purse my lips. He’s making fun of me… I can live with that. As long as he builds a kick-ass walk-in closet for all my pretties.

  Adam owes me this. Call it punishment for his arrogance these last few months, which culminated in the cherry on the top with him assuming anyone could do my job and hire good employees. Ones who don’t sell explicit photos to other employees.

  Adam would have been involved in hiring for his department regardless, but every applicant goes through a thorough human resources check. That’s the part he skipped, and I’m determined to know why he and Blackwell felt it necessary.

  I plop down on my bed and watch Adam remove all the items from the hall closet. And God, is it entrancing. The swell of his biceps as he pulls a box down; his muscular ass as he bends to set it on the floor. Really, all he’d have to do is move things around my house for an hour and I’d call us even. Because this view…

  Should I video it?

  No, that’s stalkerish.

  I do not stalk Adam Cade. Lust from afar—absolutely, but not stalk. Why would I want to do that when I’m forced to put up with his arrogance every day at work? But this sexy, casual Adam who uses his brawn to build me stuff? This Adam I could get used to. “Need any help?”

  He sets down another box and braces his arm against the doorframe to my bedroom, the underside of his forearm and bicep bulging. “I got it. But I’ll take you up on that offer of a drink now. Water would be great.”

  I tear my eyes away from his body to look at his face, which isn’t helping because the lightly scruffed, mussy-haired Adam is equally entrancing.

  It was a bad idea to invite him into my home.

  “Of course.” I jump up and cross the room, inching carefully past him. And okay, taking a light whiff of him. He even smells good. A just-showered, soapy boy scent.

  Inside the kitchen, I suck in a breath of Adam-free air and knock my head on the fridge a couple of times to rattle some sense into it. I fill a glass of water and turn around—to Adam standing at the end of the galley kitchen.

  “Your head okay?” he says, his mouth curled in a half-smile.

  “No,” I grumble quietly. My brain is fogged because of this jackass.

  “What was that?” he says.

  “Nothing.” I hand him the water. “You need anything else?”

  He shakes his head, taking in the updated kitchen. “Do you own this place?”

  I glance at the space I lovingly remodeled. Before I bought the house, the kitchen was 1970s yellow. Now it features white-painted Shaker cabinets and limestone counters. “I bought it as soon as I returned to town.”

  Adam gulps the water, watching me. “Didn’t you want to rent for a bit? Make sure you’re in for the long haul? You’ve been gone a long time.”

  I fill another glass and take a sip. “It’s complicated. I bought the place from my parents. They weren’t able to sell it when we first left town. They rented it after we moved, but part of me always felt I owed them.”

  He looks around some more, as though seeing it from a different perspective. “It’s small, but I don’t see why your parents wouldn’t have been able to sell it. Lots of people look for mountain cabins as second homes.”

  I set the glass on the counter and face him. “It wasn’t the size, or the way it looks. You were there, Adam. You saw how people treated me—the way you treated me—”

  His face tenses. “I wasn’t cruel to you.”

  “Weren’t you?”

  He stretches his neck and looks away. “I told Jaeg to break up with you—”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “Because,” he says with emphasis, his gaze sliding back to me, “I didn’t want him dating you.”

  Adam’s eyes aren’t cynical or sly. His gaze is half-lidded, and very intent.

  “You didn’t want me with Jaeg…and it had nothing to do with the rumor?”

  He shakes his head slowly.

  “Then why?”

  He drops his chin, and suddenly my throat goes dry. It’s not like men haven’t desired me. It’s that no one who consumes my thoughts ever has. And whether those thoughts are images of killing him, or kissing him, Adam has been on my mind since he started working at Blue.

  What is happening? Adam flirts with me. He harasses me. But showing genuine interest? What he’s talking about goes way back—eleven years. That’s not simple flirting with a coworker, that’s…something else.

  “I was sixteen and stupid, but I shouldn’t have done it,” he says. “I know I already apologized, but I am sorry.” He looks away and runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it even more. He sets the glass down and his expression lightens. “I better get back to work. It’s gonna take a while to build the closet for yo
u.” His mouth twists wryly, but I’m still hung up on his admission.

  I don’t understand Adam. Not at all.

  I lust after him. Adam flirts, because it’s his nature—he’s a lady-killer. But what he implied… Never in a million years would I have guessed he might have been jealous of Jaeger and me. He hinted at another reason for his actions in high school the night of the taco dinner, but I assumed he was referring to me not being good enough for Jaeger.

  I was skinny, nerdy—who am I kidding, I’m still nerdy—and I wasn’t popular. There could have been no other reason why he would want Jaeger to break up with me. Not with the rumor and everything else going on.

  Unless he wanted Jaeger to break up with me before the rumor broke out. And I have no idea what to do with that.

  Adam walks into the living room and glances back. “You might want to stay out here. I’ll be demoing.”

  I’m still reeling—until I register his words.

  “Wait! What do you mean?” I sweep after him into the hallway. All the shoes and boxes are out of the closet and Adam is standing inside, safety goggles on his face, a hammer poised above his head.

  “Adam. Put. The. Hammer. Down. What are you doing?”

  He grins mischievously. “What you asked.” Wham. He slams the face of the hammer into the wall, then uses the claw to rip away a chunk of brittle white board.

  I gape at the hole. Then him. Then the hole again. “Is this wise?”

  I figured he would have backed out by now and admitted he couldn’t do the work. I should have someone qualified building this, not Adam Cade.

  He brushes white powder from his shirt and peers inside the wall. “You said you wanted a walk-in.” He looks over and cocks his brow. “For your shoes.” Wham. He slams the hammer down, knocking away more of the surface separating the closet from my bedroom. “And if that’s the case, you’ll need an entrance.”

  Insulation and white chalk float in the air, creating a cloud of dust and other crap.