“Where’s the coffee?” he asks.
“I’ve been told it’s in the break room. Last door on the left.”
A corner of Cullen’s mouth quirks up.
Snatching my attention back, I pull the second sheet from a stack. A paid bill for once, except what idiot buys Band-Aids at a dollar apiece? Glancing down to the bottom of the sheet, I discover the thing’s been on autopayments, which is probably why no one notices. “Where is the common sense?”
“On back order.” Cullen snatches the bill from my hand, frowns as he takes in the information, and puts it neatly right back on the top of the file. “Like I said earlier, most of the Rescue’s ‘dispatcher’ duties are administrative. Denton EMS does the 911 intake. When one of the Rescue medics is on duty, Denton passes us the remote call-outs and trauma. You are our lifeline to Denton, the hospital, and any other resources. Catherine will cover the admin with you.” Cullen tosses a three-ring binder onto the desk in front of me. “Procedures manual to read at your leisure. That means now. If the phone rings, answer it.”
I inhale Cullen’s clean, spicy scent, resenting how delicious he smells, and run my fingers over the front pages of the binder. Having expected to find a rag-tag collection of outdated internet printouts that make up most places’ onboarding manuals, I’m surprised to find custom pages with dated notes, some as recent as this week. A living document. “How do I know who’s on duty?”
“Email.”
All righty, then. I raise my hand, and Cullen, who has now condescended to face me, rolls his eyes.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in a fancy office running hospitals instead of playing medic here?” I ask.
Cullen’s face darkens. “Any questions that have anything at all to do with your job?”
I hold up the binder he gave me. “I’ll tell you once I’m done reading. I’m good, not telepathic.”
“I take it your car is running.” Cullen changes the subject, dropping into a free chair and taking out his phone.
This isn’t a question, but I answer it anyway. “Yes.”
“The only issue was a loose terminal cable,” Cullen says, his attention on whatever he’s doing on screen. “If you’d ever bothered to peek under the hood, you would’ve found it yourself.”
His tone is accusatory, and I feel, well…accused.
“It’s irresponsible to drive a car and not know how it works,” Cullen continues.
“It’s irresponsible to speak to humans and not know common courtesy,” I snap back. “Yet I don’t see that stopping you any.”
Cullen lowers his phone, his attention shifting fully back to me as he weighs me with his gaze. Instead of being offended, I get a strange sensation that the man is pleased with my reply. Or rather, that he’s pleased to have gotten under my skin. As if he’s trying to make up for that hint of a smile he gave me earlier, to make it really, really clear we aren’t friends and never will be.
I shake my head. “You’re a horrible human being, you know that?” I say, getting to my feet in hopes of finding a better place to read. “You’re rude, quick to make faulty assumptions, and you enjoy treating people like shit.”
Cullen leans back in his chair, the sneer spreading over his face somehow managing to make his chiseled jaw only more unjustly beautiful. He’s like one of those carnivorous flowers that look nice outside just so it can digest you more efficiently.
“Well, princess, the thing about glass houses is that you have to be careful about stone casting. From where I sit, anyone working for Denton Uncovered lacks either integrity or brains.” Cullen stands, taking a single step toward me as his voice drops. “Which is it?”
Seriously? My heart pounds, my jaw clenching so hard, my teeth hurt as Cullen takes up all the air and space in the room. We’re standing there inches apart, the world at the edge of my vision flickering with red anger. The most terrible part of his ridiculous accusation is how true the last half of his statement is. Or was. Because back in New York, I was a stupid, naïve girl, thinking I knew the man I thought I loved. Thinking the US Navy gave one lick about the truth.
Cullen snorts, shaking his head as he looms over me, his mossy-green gaze cold. Degrading. “As I recall, I made your probationary period a month. You won’t last that long, Reynolds. Christ, I don’t think you’ll last the week.”
“You shouldn’t think so much, Cullen. You’ll sprain something.” I clamp my jaw shut, my lungs filling with Cullen’s scent with every inhalation. Standing so close to him, I can make out each detail of his too-perfect face, from his closely shaved skin, to the small scar that cuts the underside of his square jaw, to the full lips that are near enough to me that my head spins.
“Don’t bait what you can’t handle.” Heat radiates off Cullen’s body in waves, each rushing down my skin.
My thighs clench together, my treacherous body waking to his presence.
“Tell you what, little girl.” Cullen takes a step toward me, a predator claiming his territory, demanding I get the hell out of his way. When he speaks again, his baritone drips with command and challenge. “Prove me wrong. Get through a month here, and I’ll give you the equivalent of a month’s salary as a bonus.”
I straighten my spine and hold my ground, even as my chest brushes against his, my breasts too large and achy for my bra. “Fine.” The word spills from my lips, my gaze locked on the green eyes that stare down at me as if nothing else in the world exists. It’s probably the kind of stare a bug gets before being squashed, but it rivets me to the floor.
Without thinking, I lift my index finger to trace along his scar, longing to feel its irregular texture.
Cullen freezes, his heart beating so hard, I can see his pulse in the soft hollow of his neck. His pupils dilate, the shifting material along his groin bulging against the zipper. My fingertip is a hair’s breadth away when he moves too hastily for me to see, grabbing my wrist in midair.
“Don’t,” he says.
I gasp, taking a step back so quickly that I lose balance when Cullen lets go and crash into the table. Radios fall from their charging cradles to the floor, a stack of papers following suit.
Holy hell. What the hell are we doing? What the hell am I doing?
Shaking my head to clear it, I crouch to pick up the mess on the floor and feel rather than see Cullen marching away. By the time I look up, the man’s gone.
7
Cullen
Cullen wasn’t being a coward by avoiding Trident Rescue for a week, he assured himself as another Friday night found him inside his office. He was being a prudent CEO of a large corporation. There were calls to make. Reports to review. A board of directors to babysit. There were a lot of things Cullen needed to be doing, and one thing exactly that he needed to keep his nose—and all other body parts—away from.
Skylar Reynolds.
It was like the woman knew exactly what to do and say and wear to get his goat, so she then insisted on doing, saying, and wearing exactly that. Cullen prided himself on his laser focus, his ability to rise above distraction. Hell, he could rattle off any comms frequency in the middle of a firefight. But this woman tested every single one of his limits.