“Where’s Blake?”
Why did Ethan get the impression Jared already knew the answer to that question?
“Hell if I know.”
“Why hasn’t he turned in a time card for the last two weeks?”
Damn. Had it already been two weeks since Blake quit?
Well, at least he knew what had tipped Jared off. Ethan was a salaried employee, but Blake had been hourly during his short stint with the company. Considering the guy had barely put in thirty hours a week, that was a blessing in itself.
“Did you ask him?” Ethan challenged snidely, propping himself on the edge of Kaleb’s old desk and staring back at Jared with the same determination he felt broadcasting from his cousin.
This conversation was not going to end well. He could feel it.
“How’s the backlog coming?” Jared asked, that pencil tapping double time now, as though all of the energy Jared was masking had to come out somewhere and his hand had been the chosen extremity.
“I’m getting there,” Ethan stated sternly, his arms crossed over his chest defensively.
And he really was getting there. He’d been working eighteen hours a day for the last week, but he was finally catching up. He felt like shit, but he was at least taking care of his responsibilities.
“You need to hire some help.” Jared had that same authoritative demeanor that Travis had. The one that made Ethan instantly want to argue.
He had to remember this was business, not personal. And Jared was his new boss, which meant Ethan didn’t have to see him but once a week, usually. If he could just get through this conversation, he’d get back to the shop, and he could forget it ever happened.
“Don’t need help.”
“Bullshit, Ethan,” Jared snapped, flying forward in his chair, his elbows slamming down on the desk in front of him hard enough to rattle all those damn pens in the cup.
Ethan didn’t fight the urge to roll his eyes. Did this guy not realize he had spent the last ten years putting up with Travis’ mood swings and his constant need to bark out orders?
“Hire someone or I’m going to do it for you.”
“That’s not your fucking job,” Ethan ground out, his face heating with his anger.
“Careful,” Jared warned, his eyes narrowing as he glared back at him. “Hire someone or I’m putting an ad in the paper, and I’ll get someone in there in a matter of hours.”
Ok, so Ethan could tolerate a lot of shit. He could put up with someone else running the business and offering him their input. What he couldn’t tolerate was someone telling him what the fuck he needed to do.
Pushing to his full height, Ethan half expected Jared to stand, but he didn’t. He knew Jared wasn’t intimidated by him like most men were, but it irked the shit out of him that his cousin was going to sit there like a fucking pussy.
“You run this side of things, leave the shop to me,” Ethan instructed him, venom dripping from every word.
“I run the whole fucking thing, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Ethan took two steps forward and leaned over Jared’s desk. “You run this side of things,” he reiterated more slowly. “Leave. The. Fucking. Shop. To. Me.”
With that, Ethan turned and walked away, sucking air in through his nose and out through his mouth in an effort to keep from hitting something.
Storming out of the office, he slammed the door behind him before making his way over to the Walker Demo truck he had used to come over to the office. He did not want to hire someone else to fucking work with him. He liked being alone, and he didn’t need the help.
Shit.
Blake had been ideal until the jackass had to go and get all possessive on him. Why the hell did people have to make things so damned complicated?
Ethan jumped in the truck and peeled out of the parking lot, sending gravel flying, pinging off the side of the metal building. It didn’t make him feel any better, and the one minute drive back to the shop didn’t do much to cool his temper either.
Once he parked, Ethan took a deep breath before dropping his head on the steering wheel. He knew he needed to do something to release some of the pressure that was building up inside of him, but he had no idea what might possibly help.
Liar.
It would be nice if his subconscious would fucking butt out of his business too.
“Hey, Bennett!” Ralph Dillinger called from across the shop.
Beau glanced up from under the hood to see Ralph sitting at his desk. Figured. The guy didn’t even bother to get up when he needed to chat.
Grabbing one of the shop towels, Beau wiped the grease off of his hands as best he could and tossed the rag on the partially disassembled engine before he made his way through the messy garage.