Kurt grunts and stares back through gate. “Damn, I hope they let us bring the truck up and we don’t have to carry everything from the road.”
Shit, that’s a good point.
I follow his concerned gaze to the uphill path that seemed long before. It looks damn near impossible at the thought of lugging rocks and materials up and down all day.
“Like I said, today is going to suck,” I draw out, earning a corroborative nod from Kurt.
Lane approaches with Jack in tow, and we straighten to meet the boss.
“’Sup, guys,” he says.
He doesn’t wait for a response before launching into the plan for the day. Of all the information he shares, my favorite part is when he tells Jack to have the delivery dropped at the top of the massive driveway. Thank the heavens above. We also bring our Lane’s Landscaping trailer up from the street to park as close to the site as possible. Not all clients let us do this, and I’ll be honest, most of the ones who insist we keep our dirty vehicles and supplies at a distance live in homes like this one. At least these people aren’t monsters.
Two hours into the day, I’m already sweating small streams. The only reason I haven’t drained my water cooler is because we won’t have access to a toilet until lunch when we find some restaurant or convenience store to take refuge in for a few minutes. God knows I could finish it all in one slug, though. Man, I’m thirsty. My entire mouth is dry, and I feel the sun’s rays driving into my skin as it fights its way into the sky. I’m tan enough at this point in the summer that I’m not worried about sunburn, but still, it’s like shoveling rocks in a convection oven.
I straighten after a brutal hour of filling the bed I was assigned and wipe the sweat from my face with the edge of my shirt. Not that it does much good when your shirt is just as soaked. I even allow myself a few swallows of water as a reward.
“Yo, Morgan.”
I glance toward Lane who wears a confused, maybe nervous, look.
“’Sup, boss?” I say, crossing over to him.
“You tell me,” he says, eyes narrowing.
I have no idea what he’s talking about and stare back. He widens his eyes in an irritated encouragement to fess up. I still have no clue what’s happening.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand. Am I doing the fill wrong? You said to start with river rocks at the foundation and—”
“Not the rocks,” he clips out. He glances back at the house before leaning in. “Want to explain why one of the residents is asking about you?”
I let out a laugh. Ah, he’s messing with me.
“Right,” I say, turning to head back to work.
He grabs my arm and pulls me around.
“I’m serious. One of the daughters wants to know, and I quote, ‘if that cute guy with the light brown hair is named Ashton.’ She definitely ain’t talking about Jack or Kurt.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
He shrugs in an exaggerated gesture. “How the hell are you on the radar of the fucking Alexanders?”
“The who?”
He waves an exasperated hand behind him. “The hedge fund royalty who own this castle!”
I shake my head, numb. “I swear, Lane, I have no idea. I don’t…” What exactly is he telling me to do?
“Are you going to just stand there?” he barks.
“What… right. Yeah, sorry.” I turn and start back toward the rocks.
“Not the rocks, Morgan.” He nods to the house. “Go find out what the client wants with you.”
I stare at him in disbelief, now certain he’s joking. Maybe this whole thing is an elaborate game. I scan the others but they look as dumbstruck as I am.
“Well? Why are you still standing here?”
“I can’t just…” I glance down at my dusty, sweat-soaked clothing. Forget my boots that are completely caked in mud and who knows what else.
Lane follows my gaze and blows out a breath. “Shit. Yeah. Hang on.” He starts toward the house, then turns back to point at me. “You better not fuck this up for me.”
I hold up my hands in surrender, and he smiles before kicking off his boots and continuing through the back entrance of the house.
I don’t move the entire time he’s gone. The other guys stare at me like I’m a museum exhibit, and I can’t blame them. I don’t feel like myself as I watch the door, wondering what the hell is going on in there.
Alexander. The name doesn’t ring a bell, not surprising since my insane schedule doesn’t allow me to get out much. If I’m not working, I’m sleeping, watching Bray, or sorting through the travesty that is our finances. I was a semester away from an engineering degree and I still can’t seem to solve the financial puzzle my mom buried us in.
Lane emerges through the glass door looking even more confused. He waves me over as he slides his feet back into his boots.
“Got me, kid,” he says, looking up from his crouched position. He finishes tying his shoes and straightens. “It’s confirmed. When I said you’re Ashton, she wanted to talk to you.”
“Who? Who wants to talk to me? And why?”
He shrugs. “The daughter, I don’t know. I don’t get a family tree when I book these jobs. I know Spencer, the household manager. That’s it.”
“So I’m just supposed to walk in there, like this?” I ask in exasperation.
“I mean, take your boots off first,” he says with an unhelpful shrug.
“I’m so fucking confused right now, Lane.”
“You and me both. Just don’t be stupid, okay?”
I sigh and slide my boots off in the same spot he just did.
“I swear, Lane, I have no clue what this is about,” I say, looking back at him.
He waves me toward the door. “Just go so you can get your ass back out here.”
With a heavy inhale, I pull open the door.
Cold air blasts me the second I step into an oasis of marble and vegetation. It’s like being in some ancient Roman garden with all the sculptures and statues judging me from various corners of the bright open space. I have no idea where I’m supposed to go next and stand paralyzed just inside the door.
At the very least, the air conditioning is a welcome reprieve from the scorching heat. Maybe I can just hover here for the rest of the day.
“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe it. It is you!”
I turn toward the voice and step back in shock. Blue eyes flash a blistering mix of excitement and curiosity. Brunette hair twisted up last night, now falls in long waves over her shoulders and down her chest. Then I catch the smile I imagined several times since opening her note.
“Iris?”
She grins and closes the gap between us. “Ashton, right? This is wild.”
I nod, still confused by it all.
“So you’re not just a server,” she says, running her gaze over my messy appearance.
“Nope. I also shovel rocks and shit—crap, I mean. Sorry.”
“Hopefully, you don’t have to shovel too much shit. Gross.” She scrunches her nose, and I can’t stop the smile creeping onto my face.
Shaking my head, I look away, not sure what else to say. I still don’t know why I’m here.
“This is, uh… a nice place,” I say, scanning the room.