“Get your hands off her.”
Her mouth dropped open. Dalton shook his head and stood up. “Dude, you’ve gone off the deep end. Chill.”
“This is a professional workplace, not a pickup joint.” Cal looked as if he was reining himself in from grabbing Dalton’s neck. “I don’t need you hitting on her, man. We have a job to do here. Not flirting on long lunch breaks.”
“Oh, hell no, you did not just say that to me.” Morgan jumped to her feet and jabbed a finger in the air. She bristled with fury. “For your information, we were talking about wood. Specifically pine versus cedar for the kitchen cabinetry, not that it’s your business.”
“Things looked quite cozy to be talking about wood.” Cal glowered at Dalton, but his younger brother seemed to take it in stride. What had happened between the two of them?
Dalton shrugged like he couldn’t care less. “What can I say? We both like wood.”
Morgan would’ve laughed if she wasn’t so pissed. She’d never heard so many wood references in her life. “As Dalton said, this is a discussion between us. We’re canceling the pine and going with cedar.”
“If you’re thinking of changing materials, I need to know about it. Sydney already authorized the invoices for the pine cabinets because that’s what we discussed.”
Dalton shook his head in disgust. “There you go again. I’m in charge of materials, and Tristan does the invoicing, Cal. We decided I’d spearhead all the cabinetry and custom furnishings. If Morgan and I agree to switch things up, it has nothing to do with you.”
“This is my business. Everything has to do with me.”
“Just like always. You want to control each damn thing, and it doesn’t work.”
“You think I don’t have a good reason? We got fired from the last job because of your ‘creative vision.’ We can’t afford artistic temperament on this job.”
Morgan sighed. “Besides being a Neanderthal, you’re stubborn and controlling. Each home has artistic qualities or it wouldn’t be a home. How many jobs have you handled with no changes, Cal?”
His silence spoke volumes.
“Now, I’d say it’s time to back off and let Dalton handle it. We’re going with the cedar. I’ll call the West Coast and take care of my supplier so he doesn’t blacklist me. I want sketches on the new mock-up by tomorrow, Dalton, and please tell Sydney about the change.”
“Got it.”
“As for you.” She glared at Cal, marched over, and stood on tiptoes in her pink work boots. The delicious scent of male sweat and musk rose to her nostrils. He gave off buckets of pheromones that called to her so intensely, she felt halfway drunk. Ignoring his eight-pack abs and gleaming tan muscles, Morgan focused on her temper. “I’d advise you get off your brother’s case and let him do his job. You can’t do it all, no matter how bad you want to. Believe me, I’ve dealt with this before and we need all people on this team. And next time you accuse me of flirting and taking long lunches on the job, I promise, you will sorely regret it.”
His eyes widened slightly, but she gave him no time to respond.
She turned on her very smart, very pink heel and marched off the site.
Goodness gracious, the man was hot.
He’d screwed up.
Cal brooded and drank his beer. After a long, sweaty day, the guys had convinced Morgan to join them for a drink after work, which had turned into buffalo wings, Guinness, and a sharing of war stories. He had to give her credit. Though she’d passed on the beer and drank a sparkling seltzer, she held her own with their banter and upped the ante with disaster tales from the building site. How on earth did this slight Southern woman charm this crew of rowdy, crude blue-collar men?
Maybe it was her ability to work as hard as each of them. Sure, she was the boss, and she liked to walk around in those cute white Bermuda shorts with the bows on the side, and those ridiculous pink work boots. When the guys had gotten over their shock, they teased her mercilessly, but she just took it in stride and refused to bat an eyelash. And proved once again she could do anything they could do. Last week, in the flood, she’d shown up in thigh-high waterproof boots and with a white umbrella, then walked around the muddy site like she was at a tea party.
Morgan Raines carried around a clipboard 24/7 and quizzed him on progress at the end of every day. But she visited the site regularly and spent hours on the phone with endless distributors, trying to line up and pick tile, marble, appliances, flooring, and a dozen other materials that all went into the final product of a livable house. Somehow, as prissy and opinionated and controlling as she was, she’d become an integral part of the crew and today had solidified their complete loyalty, a gift they did not give easily.
It drove him nuts.
She drove him nuts. He was still irritated at her power play that had robbed him of his first Green job, and it still stuck in his throat that he was building a house that wouldn’t be truly appreciated. But little by little, day by day, she gained more of his respect.
As if she’d heard his thoughts, she shot him a cool look and stood. “Time for me to go, gentlemen. See y’all tomorrow.”
She left without a nod toward him, and he followed an impulse. Throwing a few bills on the table, he said good-bye and caught up with her. Slowing his stride to match hers, he walked beside her for a while, waiting for her to acknowledge him.
She didn’t.
The fact made him laugh out loud and gained him a withering look. “What’s so funny? And why are you stalking me?”