One Hot December

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “I’m only saying I have the power to hire and fire. I shouldn’t sleep with someone I can fire. I did it for you.”

“Well, thank you very much for dumping me. It was very chivalrous. Good luck remodeling your chalet this December. You have to weld anything?”

“A couple things.”

“Clean your metal. Acetone’s good. If you don’t have any in the house, you can borrow my fingernail polish remover.”

She gave him one last little look, maybe the last one she’d ever give him, and left his office. She kept her head up and her shoulders straight as she marched down the generic beige hall on generic gray carpets to the parking lot. Everyone was gone. No surprise there. Last day of work before the holidays, and everybody had shipped out the second they could.

The only car left in the parking lot was Ian’s new black Subaru, which she was pretty sure he bought because he couldn’t look at his old car without picturing the truck nuts she’d welded to the bumper. She headed to her red ’98 Ford Ranger, which had seen better days, trying to convince herself she was happy about leaving. And she was. She was excited about her new job. Clover Greene was about the kindest, friendliest woman she’d ever met, and she had a quirky green-haired teenage girl working for her as an office assistant—her kind of people. The nursery itself was like a well-manicured Garden of Eden. Everywhere she looked Flash saw inspiration for her metal foliage sculptures. Great people, safe place for women to work, nice location, good pay, good benefits and fuel for her art. So yeah, she was thrilled about the new job.

But.

But...Ian.

It wasn’t just that he was good in bed. He was. She remembered all too well that he was—passionate, intense, sensual, powerful, dominating, everything she wanted in a man. The first kiss had been electric. The second intoxicating. By the third she would have sold her soul to have him inside her before morning, but he didn’t ask for her soul, only every inch of her body, which she’d given him for hours. When she’d gone to bed with him that night she’d been half in love with him. By the time she left it the next morning she was all the way in.

Then he’d dumped her.

Six months ago. She ought to be over it by now. She wanted to be over it the day it happened but her heart wasn’t nearly as tough as her reputation. The worst part of it all? Ian had been right to dump her. They’d both lost their heads after a couple drinks had loosened their tongues enough to admit they were attracted to each other. But Ian had a company to run and there were rules—good ones—that prohibited the man who signed the paychecks from sleeping with the woman who wielded the torch.

She pulled her keys from her jacket pocket and stuck them in the lock.

“Flash? Wait up.”

She turned and saw Ian walking across the parking lot toward her. He wore his black overcoat, and combined with his black Tom Ford suit, he looked more like a Wall Street trader than the vice president and operations manager of Asher Construction. Ian told her once he’d started out doing cleanup at his dad’s construction sites twenty years ago. Then he’d gone to college, come home, and clawed his way up the ranks the hard way: by working his fingers to the bone while learning every job. If only he was still just a guy on the crew, maybe it could have worked. Now when she looked at him, she saw a man with money, power, and prestige, a man completely out of her league.

“What?” she asked, leaning back against her truck door.

He stood in front of her, face-to-face, but didn’t look her in the eyes. He stared off to the left where the peak of Mount Hood rose over the treetops.

“Ian?” she prompted when it seemed like he was going to keep her standing there in the cold all day.

“I need your help with something,” he said.

“That must have been hard,” she said. “Asking for my help.”

“It wasn’t easy.”

“What do you need my help with?”

“A project at my new place. It’s pretty delicate work. I don’t trust myself to do it.”

“What’s the project?”

“The house has a stone-and-iron fireplace. It’s what sold me on the place. But the fireplace screen is coming apart. It’s nice, original to the house. Would you maybe be willing to come up and take a look at it tonight?”

“Has to be tonight?”

“You busy?”

“Would you be jealous if I was?” she asked.

“You have a hickey on the side of your neck that you’re trying to hide under your collar. Not that I noticed.”

“Except you noticed.”

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “I noticed. Who’s the lucky guy? Or girl?”

“Nobody you know. Old friend from high school who moved back to town a month ago. We reconnected. And then disconnected.”

“Didn’t work out?”

“Do you care?”

“Yes,” he said. He said it very simply. Just “yes” as if what he wanted to say was “obviously I care.”

She shook her head, not at Ian but at her own stupidity for thinking she could have had something meaningful with this jerk she’d dated for a week.

“He was cute, he was smart, he was a good kisser, and he thought my art was awesome. But after a couple week he said he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t date a professional welder when he worked as a teller at a bank. His friends would never let him hear the end of it, he said. He just couldn’t date a woman, no matter how hot—his words, not mine—who came off as more of a man than he did. I said that was fine. I didn’t want to date a guy who was less of a man than I was, either. He called me a couple nice words after that and then he was gone. Good riddance to him and his poor little ego.”

“You have to stop dating beneath you.”

“I slept with you.”

“Exactly my point.”

She laughed. “You’re cute,” she said. “I wish you weren’t.”

“It’s a curse.” He grinned at her. “You know, you could have told that guy you weren’t going to be a professional welder anymore.”

“I could have, yeah. But it doesn’t matter. I can’t sleep with a guy I don’t respect. A man who can’t respect a woman doing a supposedly ‘man’s job’ isn’t going to respect a woman who does ‘women’s work,’ either. I’m glad it ended before it got serious.”

“You feel that way about us, too? Glad it ended before it got serious?”

“It was already serious before you kissed me, Ian.”

“I didn’t know. I had no idea you... It never occurred to me you had feelings for me,” he said. “Except attraction. That I’d noticed.”

“You look as good in your suits as out of them and that’s saying something.”

“Let me take you out tonight,” he said. “Dinner. Then you can come back to the house and help me with the fireplace. We’ll hang out. It’ll be fun. It’ll be normal. We can end things on a good note instead of feeling shitty about what happened.”

“Or didn’t happen.”

“Or didn’t happen, yeah.”

“Do you even like me?” she asked. “As a person, I mean. I insult you, I welded truck nuts to your car, I scare the newbies and I make eighteen dollars an hour while you make eighteen dollars a minute.”