Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,13
position your face.” I shrug at him.
“Jesus, Emmie.” The scowl he shoots me could melt rust from metal.
“It was just a joke,” I mutter. And with that, he’s back to full-on irritation.
Will struts out of his office to Tate’s door. “Hey, did that tweet you sent about the circular saw sale— What in God’s name happened to your face?” He jolts back, bumping into the wall. I stifle a laugh.
“Rugby,” Tate says with a huff. “Got a little rough last night.”
Will whistles through his front teeth. “Yikes, my man. You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He shakes his head while shutting his eyes. “You sure? You want some ice? A Band-Aid?”
“I said I’m fine,” Tate growls through what I assume are gritted teeth. I don’t see why he has to snap at Will when he’s just trying to be nice.
“If you say so.”
A soft buzz echoes through the tiny space. Will looks down at his cell. “Ah crap. Hey, would you . . .”
Will clams up when he notices Tate pick up his office phone. He walks the four steps to my office, his face in a worried frown.
I’ve got a mountain of product descriptions and press releases to write for the charity homebuilding project this morning, but I can’t help but take pity. “Need some help, Will?”
“Yeah. Sawyer Custom Contracting is donating some building supplies to us for the homebuilding project. I promised Lynn I would meet their rep downstairs and thank them for the donation, but I forgot I’ve got a conference call. Can you maybe run down there and shake hands with the guy and tell him thanks for me?”
Oh, Will and his forgetfulness.
“No problem.”
Heavy footsteps follow me when I walk down the hall. I twist around and see Tate shuffling to catch up.
“I thought you were on the phone?”
He shrugs, darting to walk ahead of me. I lengthen my stride to keep up.
“Will said the guy would be dropping off supplies. You probably don’t want to haul all that by yourself, right?”
When we reach the loading bay downstairs, I zero in on a guy sporting a maroon T-shirt with “Sawyer Custom Contracting” printed in white on the back. He turns around, and I get a proper close-up. Light brown hair with sparkling caramel eyes. He’s an inch or two shorter than Tate and built like a concrete wall. Muscles bulge from everywhere. Chest, thighs, calves, arms, shoulders, back. The short-sleeve shirt he’s wearing is doing an excellent job of showing off all the long hours he must put in at the gym. I catch myself smiling at him. He grins back through a well-groomed beard. I’ve never been so happy for Will to double-book himself.
He extends his hand to shake, and I accept. Rough, calloused skin glides against mine. I swoon internally.
“I’m guessing you’re not Will,” he says with a half smile.
I shake my head, swallowing back a laugh. “You’d be correct. I’m Emmie. I work in Will’s department. He’s in a meeting, so he sent me instead.”
“I’m so glad.” His half smile turns whole. “Jamie. Pleasure to meet you. You have a beautiful name, by the way.”
“Oh gosh, thanks.” I gaze into his perfectly straight white teeth, which glow against his healthy tan. Trying to keep my grin from growing too comically big is a struggle. “Will wanted me to say thank you for donating the supplies and hauling them all the way over here.”
“No problem at all. I just—”
Tate’s throat-clear interrupts us. Jamie’s gaze moves to my left, recognition hitting his eyes. “Whoa, hey, Tate. How’s it going? I didn’t know you worked here.”
“You never asked,” he says in his trademark no-nonsense tone. Why does he always have to be so curt?
I glare at him for a second, then blink it away. Jamie rubs the back of his neck, clearly jolted by his response.
“You two know each other?” My eyes bounce between them.
“We go to the same rock climbing gym,” Jamie says.
That would explain Jamie’s killer physique.
“No way,” I mutter. They both offer silent nods.
Jamie hooks his thumb toward the pile of supplies lying nearby. “I took the liberty of unloading them so you wouldn’t have to.”
“How sweet.” I employ a smidgen of fake work confidence and hold his gaze. My intensity is a bit lower than the boss-bitch toughness I save for difficult coworkers, but the same boldness is there.
“Don’t get too excited,” Tate mutters. “We still have to haul it to the warehouse.”
Jamie points to a nearby dolly. “I’d be happy to help you do that,