Page 50 of Really Truly Yours
Good thing I was already dressed, at least.
Bad thing is, I have ten minutes left on my shift and as Grayson knocked on the door, I got a call kicked up to me from a new employee who isn’t adept at his job quite yet. This customer is also not computer savvy, so I’m having to coach the elderly woman through steps and details that aren’t my usual responsibility.
Meanwhile, Grayson sprawls in my favorite chair, watching like a hawk and listening with bat ears.
Fifteen long minutes past my shift’s official end, the call is a wrap. I pull off the headset, and despite my best efforts, it tangles in my hair. “Ow!” Once I’ve extricated the last strand, I glance at Gray, who wears an obnoxious, laughy grin.
Eyes vaguely hooded, he keeps watching long after anything humorous about the moment passes. He blinks slowly. “I am impressed.”
“Excuse me?” I run a palm down my messy hair.
“You’re good.”
I feel my brows pinch.
“At your job. You’re good at it. What are you, like a manager or something?”
Oh, that. “In name only. When a customer service rep runs into trouble, the call comes to me. I don’t truly manage anyone, but customers appreciate the idea of a boss hearing their problem.” And I do have slightly more authority to override certain issues.
“So, like, when I’m on the phone with a help desk and they say they have to talk to their supervisor, that’s you?”
I stick my hand to the waist of my jeans. “When do you ever make those kinds of calls? Don’t you have people for that stuff?” Please.
He drags himself out of his languid slouch. “I do too call…” His wavy, wheat-colored hair tilts with his head. “Okay. Well, sometimes. But I haven’t always had people.” He finger-quotes the word people. The ostentatious ring throws off blinding rays.
“Uh-huh.”
He looks at me sideways, giving me a fine look at his square jaw. “I’m just saying, I can tell you know your stuff.”
And such impressive stuff it is. Billing questions, returns. Super high-level matters like that.
Closing the laptop, I relent. “I suppose I’m able to fix most of the problems they throw at me.”
Snotty dimples peek out on Grayson’s cheeks. “Bet you could fix my problems, Sydnee Lou.” His eyes do a dance, the gold in them flashing.
I suck in a mouthful of oxygen-less air. Why that lousy flirt…
My heart pounds, kicking up a ruckus in my ears. My chest flutters.
Grayson clears his throat.
He pops off the chair in a fluid bounce and tucks his dimples away. He yanks his keys from his pocket. “Alrighty. Let’s blow this joint.”
∞∞∞
Chandor is a small town but about twice the size of Mineral Springs and way more prosperous, probably because it sits near the interstate.
A large area of new restaurants, stores, and chain hotels have clustered out along the freeway. Surprise surprise, Grayson drives us to the biggest, newest hotel, where the smell of paint and brand new carpet yet lingers. Donny is in a handicap-equipped suite near the front desk. His hair is freshly washed, his color decent. His clothes are labels-just-clipped new and good quality. I give him a full hug.
Grayson lingers in the background as we chat. Donny, in hog heaven, can’t talk fast enough, going on and on about this being the nicest place he’s ever in his life stayed. He tells me how Grayson has arranged to have his roof rebuilt plus some odds-and-ends projects completed inside.
The house is probably a teardown, and Grayson is sharp enough to know that. Nice that he’s willing to part with cash for something that won’t last.
The house or Donny.
My eyes burn.
My gaze lands on a brand new phone on the coffee table of the small living area. “Is this yours?”