UNDER CONSTRUCTION (A Standalone Billionaire Romance Novel) by Kristina Weaver

Author:Kristina Weaver [Weaver, Kristina]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Published: 2016-03-19T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Two

“Oh my God! What the heck!”

Yeah, I think, dragging my apron over my pounding head and slinking my way to the kitchen door, wishing like hell I can just go home and fall into bed.

At this point I feel like only a good three-day coma can take care of the vile sickness tearing its way through me. After the shocking revelation of exactly who I’d been faced with had finally calmed enough for me to make my stumbling way to my next bus, I’d made the half-assed decision to call Mel, my supervisor at Jasper’s—how could I not know, not even suspect that the company I cleaned for belonged to him? —and quit.

Yeah, so now, on top of being sick as hell, I’m short a source of much needed income and really not feeling it as far as tonight’s shift goes. But I can’t afford to let Bill fire my ass, so instead of going home, I’m dying over the flat top, praying for the next two hours to speed by.

“Jesus, what the hell happened to you?”

I turn to my potbellied boss and give him the stink eye while keeping an eye on the burger I’m grilling.

“I had to run to work in the rain. I think I caught a cold.”

“That quick?” he asks skeptically. “You’re not on the rag?”

I hear a muttered curse from the counter and grit my teeth. Bill, the archaic fool, thinks that any time a woman gets sick it’s due to ‘the monthly bleeding curse’—his words, not mine.

He’s a real prick about a chick getting her period and seems to think that if you’re in ‘that condition’, you shouldn’t be handling food.

“Yeah,” I mutter, disguising a giggle behind a hacking cough when I see his eyes bug so hard I wonder how he keeps them in his head.

Why didn’t I think of this earlier? I could have saved myself the bus fare up here and already been in bed.

“When?” he croaks, making me wheeze on a laugh.

Fucking chauvinistic moron.

“When I left work.”

“Okay, okay,” he mutters, running a hand through his thinning hair. “You…go home. I’ll handle this.” He groans, getting rid of the burger I’d been frying and grabbing a fresh patty.

Five minutes later I’m smiling as I grab a bus and fall into the plastic seat, hoping to get home and medicated before my brains start leaking outta my ear.

No such luck. The minute I shuffle into the door I hear Ben yelling some seriously vile obscenities for a kid his age, and I walk in in time to see him hurl my mother’s ceramic cat at Randy.

Why this shocks me, after everything the little snot has done lately—

“Hold it!” I yell, grabbing his arm before he can volley another of the precious cats at Randy, who is now cowering behind the sofa. “What the fu—hell are you doing!”

Ben’s young and a lot smaller than me, but I’ve learned in the last few weeks that with this all-consuming anger he’s got bottled up inside, he’s freakishly strong.

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