She gave me a look that said she didn’t buy it. “Whatever.”
She made some recommendations about bars and told me to watch my back. I thanked her and went back to my cabin. I showered and changed. Instead of my usual clothes, I pulled on ripped jeans and a faded Metallica sweatshirt I’d picked up at a thrift store months ago. It wasn’t my style. But it was close enough to who I needed to be. I walked into town needing the fresh air and quiet time to think.
The Frosted Mug was dim and loud with the scent of beer clinging to the air. I ordered a drink and took a seat at the bar. It didn’t take long before someone leaned in, voice low, asking what brought me to town. I mentioned cards and someone else laughed. The front door opened and Asher walked in. My stomach sank. This was the last place I needed a run-in with my boss to happen. As it was, he seemed a little suspicious of me this afternoon. His eyes locked onto me immediately. He crossed the room with purpose, stopping short in front of me, anger sharp and unmistakable.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.
My eyes narrowed at him. Did he follow all his employees around like this?
“What’s your deal, Claire? You either tell me now, or you can consider yourself fired,” he said.
My jaw dropped as the hunky asshole stood there waiting for an answer.
CHAPTER 3
Asher
The moment I walked into The Frosted Mug and saw her sitting at the bar, I knew two things.
One—she had no idea what kind of mess she was stepping into. And two—I should not have wanted to drag her out of here as badly as I did. Claire Segal didn’t look like she belonged in this place. The ripped jeans and Metallica sweatshirt were a decent disguise, but they didn’t hide the way she held herself with a straight spine and squared shoulders. Alert in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with awareness. She was gorgeous in a way that felt like trouble. Blonde hair that fell loose over her shoulders, a sharp mouth and eyes that missed nothing. The same woman who’d nearly run me over twelve hours earlier and then spent the rest of the day proving she could outwork half my crew was all sass and quiet determination. And now she was asking about card games in a town where that kind of curiosity got people hurt. Alarm bells rang so loud in my head, it was a wonder I could hear anything else. I crossed the bar in long strides and stopped in front of her, my hands braced on the counter.
“What the hell are you doing?” I snapped.
She turned slowly, eyes cool and unreadable. “Good evening to you too.”
“This isn’t a place you come asking questions,” I barked.
“I ordered a beer,” she said calmly. “Pretty sure that’s allowed.”
I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “You’re not invisible here. People notice. Especially when they don’t recognize you.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m allowed to exist in public.”
“You’re going to get yourself hurt,” I shot back.
Something flickered across her face, anger, maybe pride.
“Are you threatening me now?” she asked.
I straightened. “I’m telling you to leave.”
She laughed once, sharp and incredulous. “You don’t get to tell me where I can and can’t go.”
“I do when you’re my employee,” I said, my blood thrumming in my veins. This girl had a way of getting a reaction out of me, and I didn’t like it. That wiped the humor from her expression.
“You can’t fire me for no reason at all,” she said. “That’s not how employment works.”
I pursed my lips. “What’s your angle?” I asked.
She didn’t hesitate. “No angle.”
“That’s not an answer.” I clenched my fists at my sides.
“It is,” she said evenly. “You just don’t like it.”
I studied her. Too composed. Too steady.
“Why would someone with a criminology degree choose orchard work?” I pressed. “That doesn’t happen by accident.”