“You’re entitled to your opinion.”
Even if it was wrong. She hoped it was wrong.
“It wasn’t much of an opinion.”
He stared down at their linked fingers, seeming to take a moment before speaking again. “You’ve always been able to see possibilities where no one else did. Don’t let a loser like me make you question that for even a minute.”
“You’re not a loser.”
“You’ve always been brave and unstoppable.”
His words had her heart pounding faster again.
He gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it and rising to his feet. “If you’re okay, I’m going to get back to it.”
“I’m okay.”
She watched as he walked back across the room.
He gave the ladder a long glance and pushed it aside, going to work at a spot lower on the wall. She didn’t blame him for being squeamish about getting up there again. It would probably be a long time before Sarah could look at a ladder without having to breathe into a bag.
Sarah watched him work, humming along lightly to Al Green playing from his phone. If she remembered correctly, that was one of his mom’s favorites. Rock and roll for his dad. Soul for his mom.
Maybe her memories of Beck had been correct. He wasn’t an asshole. He was kind and strong and capable and sweet.
It was getting harder to deny that she found him every bit as appealing now as she had years before. She’d been a breath away from kissing him only moments earlier. There were too many problems with that. For one, she was his employer right now. Two, he may have just saved her life, but she had no reason to believe he didn’t hate her.
She’d been the one to bail last time. She’d told him work had to come first, and she had no time for a relationship. He’d told her he would wait, but she’d told him not to bother. At the time, she’d thought she was doing the right thing for both of them.
Now she wondered what the past decade would have looked like if she’d had a partner in life—not just in business.
Heaven help her, wondering what might have been and what could only complicate an already messy situation.
Chapter Six
The air between them cleared considerably after that. All it had taken was for Sarah to nearly break her neck.
When he thought about how close she’d come to . . . No. He couldn’t keep imagining what might have happened. Not without breaking out in a sweat. Instead, he’d focus on the positive. He’d been able to catch her in time. That was good. He’d also resisted the urge to comfort himself after by kissing her.
That was . . . Okay.
It didn’t mean anything. He’d clearly been caught up in an adrenaline rush. More, he’d just been relieved. Again, that wasn’t something to read into. He would’ve been just as concerned if a stranger had fallen face-first off his ladder.
But it hadn’t happened to a stranger. It had been Sarah. He never should have let her up. Not without going over basic safety procedures. That was on him. And much as he tried, he wouldn’t soon forget that or how close she’d come to breaking her neck.
Her gorgeous neck.
Beck swore under his breath.
“What’s wrong?” Sarah asked from her perch on the desk behind him.
Lifting his head to make up an excuse, he ran into the now-infamous ladder, smacking his head. He swore again.
“Ouch,” she said.
“Usually it’s the injured person who gets to say that.” He rubbed his head.
She chuckled lightly, stoking his irritation. Forgetting the unspoken truce, he had half a mind to tell her where she could shove that laugh. He nearly did when she appeared at his side with a bag of ice.
He stared at it. “Where’d you get this?”
“I conjured it.”
He glanced up. “Conjured?”
“You know, like a witch.” Her pale eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you haven’t called me that behind my back.”
“Not my exact choice of words.”
She crossed her arms and blew the bangs out of her face. “Let me guess: I’m off by a letter.”
If she wanted to think that, she could. Even if it had no truth. He’d never been one for name-calling. He might not have always thought the nicest things where she was concerned. Still, he’d never thought of her as a witch or anything that rhymed with the word.
Avoiding giving an answer—true or false—he gestured at the bag.
“The ice?”
“It’s from your cooler.” She shoved it into his hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll replace it. Just add it to the bill.”
“Who said I was worried?”
“You always had to have the last word,” she grumbled.
“Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you.”
“Oh, just ice yourself.” She kicked the leg of the ladder.
He let her have the last word. But only because another vision of her falling off the ladder popped into his head.
Arms once again crossed, she leaned a hip against a desk. “How’s it going?”
“The job or the head?” He assumed it was the latter, but he couldn’t seem to resist goading her again as a distraction from the fear that once again lanced through him.
“The job. The head.” She shrugged. “You pick.”
His lips curved, appreciating the way her cheeks pinked a little.
“I’ll survive.”
Her brow furrowed. “The job or your head?”
“Both.”
She sighed in exasperation, but he caught the hint of a grin on her lips.
He was about to tell her that the job was ahead of schedule—that the throbbing in his head was easing up—when her phone rang.
Of course, it rang. Half the time it seemed that if she wasn’t on her phone, it was ringing. Such was the life of someone who’d been on Forbes’s thirty under thirty list three years running until she’d aged out.
Without breaking eye contact, Sarah answered the phone in her brusque, to-the-point way.
She narrowed her eyes in response to whatever the person on the other side of the line said. “What do you mean by ‘issue’?”
Beck turned back to the nearly completed panel, trying his best to give her privacy, even as her voice carried.
“We had a guarantee on the Sea Bass. Is the chef absolutely positive it won’t arrive in time?” Sarah paused for the response and let out a sigh. “I guess we’ll have to pick something else. How soon can we arrange a tasting?” Another pause. “I can probably make that work.”
He turned and caught her staring at him.
“You know what?” she said. “Have the chef make extra. I’m going to need a few opinions.”
She hung up the phone and arched an eyebrow. “How much more do you have to do on that panel?”
Beck mentally calculated. “It’ll probably be done in another fifteen minutes.”
“Are you at a good place to take a break?”
“Sure,” he drew out cautiously. “I’d like to knock out another one tonight, but that should only take a couple of hours.”
“Good.” She flashed a bright grin. “How would you like to do some light consultation work?”