Cooper (The Family Simon #6) - Juliana Stone Page 0,10
didn’t leave Cooper’s.
“It’s four o’clock somewhere,” Mr. Campbell replied. “You coming inside, Cooper?”
“Unbelievable,” Morgan whispered harshly.
Most people would take the hostility in Morgan’s voice to heart—they might wonder about it, but they’d make an offer of employment, maybe, and steer clear of any social obligation to discuss said offer. But Cooper wasn’t most people, and, being the kind of guy that he was, he took Mr. Campbell up on his offer—if only because he knew it would piss off his daughter.
“I’ve got time for one,” Cooper replied, flashing that winning smile of his at Morgan. He gave her a wink and stepped into her house.
4
Morgan couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so angry. Heck, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt anything other than passive acceptance. She’d stomped back to the kitchen—stomped, like she was a volatile sixteen-year-old—and considering her bum leg, it was saying something that she managed to get all the way there without a twinge.
She then proceeded to slam cupboards shut, toss bowls into the dishwasher, and make a racket with pretty much everything she touched. And the thing was? She liked it. The anger. The heat. The emotion.
Who the hell did Cooper Simon think he was? He’d called her a charity case and basically fired her ass the week before. Now he wanted her back? And how the hell had he found out where she lived? Charlie. “I’m going to kill her,” she muttered.
Laughter erupted from the front room where Cooper and her father were, and she made a face. Truth be told, she almost stuck out her tongue…almost.
Her father was onto his second beer while Cooper was still nursing his first. Typical. To make matters worse, their conversation had gone nowhere near this so-called job he was looking to hire for, and they’d spent the entire time chatting about sports. Morgan didn’t give a rat’s ass about the Calder Cup. Hell, she didn’t even know what that was, and she knew hockey.
She slammed the utensil drawer shut, smiling savagely at the crescendo of sound it made, before pulling out some leftover chili from the fridge to heat up for supper. After placing the plastic container on the counter, she bent low to grab a pot from the cupboard and inhaled sharply as pain shot up her leg.
“Dammit,” she whispered under her breath. Her fingers found the edge of the counter, and she wasn’t exactly sure how long she stood hunched like that, but it was long enough for none other than Cooper Simon to sneak up on her.
“You okay?” His voice slid at her from behind.
“Do I look okay?” she snapped, before she could think on it. She squeezed her eyes shut, hating that her body could betray her like this. Especially now. With him a few feet away.
“No. You don’t.”
She counted to three and slowly straightened her body. In those three seconds, she pulled out that mask of “nothingness” she kept in her back pocket and turned around.
“Can I help you with something?” she asked, all polite and accommodating.
The man was silent for a few moments, though he watched her closely. So closely that, for a second, she was afraid he could see right through her. Morgan’s heart sped up and her face froze. It felt like if she attempted to smile or do anything, her skin would crack and she’d fall apart.
“Your father asked me to come back here and grab him a beer.”
Of course he did.
“You’re not having another?” Good. Her voice was even.
He shook his head, his mouth curving into a smile. “Nah. I’ve got to drive.”
Mouth pursed tightly, she reached for the fridge again and pulled out a Bud Light. She tossed it at Cooper, hoping like hell he’d fail the test, but of course he caught the bottle easily. The most she could hope for was a good eruption of foam when he opened it.
“So your father says you can start Friday?”
“What was that?” Morgan had turned away, but at his words, found herself staring into those blue eyes yet again.
Cooper smiled, an easy sort of thing that drew the eye to his generous mouth and strong chin. I bet he practices in the mirror.
The thought slid through Morgan’s mind, and she nearly smiled in return, but luckily caught herself in time. She tugged at the hem of her sweatshirt, uncomfortable when his gaze followed her actions.
“The attic. I’ve decided that I need it catalogued, organized, and packed up. Your father said you can start Friday.”