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to business.”
    Her long black lashes fluttered down and contrasted with the pink in her cheeks. “Everyone likes to be kissed.” She lifted her gaze to me again, and something about the way she looked at me caused an unexplained tug in my chest.
    It took me a second to recover. “And the broken shells? Am I right?”
    “All right, maybe you’re slightly psychic.” She pinched her fingers together.
    “And—” I continued, “you wish to hell that you weren’t wearing that annoying sweater that smells like Hal Stevens’ stale aftershave. Old Spice smells way better on you, by the way.”
    “Glad you’re entertained by the sweater, but it’s cold in this office.”
    “It’s not the sweater, it’s the whole worthless attempt at covering up what I already know is there.”
    Her cheeks darkened and her chin jutted forward. “Well, the other men haven’t seen me before, and Mr. Stevens thought this would be a good idea. You know, because it’s cold in here and everything.”
    “Right. The lack of heat. Darlin’, if you think that sweater is hiding the fact that you are a fucking heartbreaker, I’ve got news for you, it’s even more of a distraction.”
    She shoved the pink paper toward me. “I need to get to work. Here are the orders.” My fingers covered hers as I took it. I had a hard time pulling them away. In fact, I wasn’t really trying because I was having a damn good time watching her squirm. I finally let loose, and she whipped her hand back. The sleeve rolled down a few inches below her fingers.
    The door to the office opened. I turned around expecting to see Hal. It was Walt Pickman and two of the other scalers. Walt yanked his beanie from his head. All three guys stared at the girl with bug eyes and open mouths.
    “You guys looking for Hal?” I asked.
    “Hal? Uh, yeah, is he here?” Walt stuttered without taking his eyes off of Tashlyn.
    “He’s off site for a few hours,” Tashlyn said.
    They stood frozen to the spot as if a giant magnet was holding them.
    I turned back to Tashlyn, unable to hold back my grin. “Guess I called it on the sweater camouflage, eh, Woodstock?” I held up the order paper. “Thanks for your help.” I slid past the three gawkers and out the door.

Chapter 7
    Tashlyn
    Hal, as he insisted I call him, stood hands on hips, smiling down at the remainder of the files spread on the floor. “Impressive. I’ve only been gone for a few hours, but you’ve made great progress. Considering it took me a few years to make this mess.” His laugh was the kind that could shake windows. He looked at the big silver watch on his thick wrist. “Halfway done and it’s only two. Did you even take a lunch?”
    I straightened from the file drawers. An hour into trying to work in the oversized sweater, I’d made the wise decision to take it off. Jem had teased me about it enough that I’d given the whole thing some thought. I was planning to work here every day and the male workers were going to have to get used to having a woman around. It was their problem to overcome not mine. “No, I didn’t want to leave the folders out on the floor. With the constant flow of foot traffic through here to the break room and the locker room, I was worried they would get trampled.”
    He looked around at the cement floor of his office. The rectangles of papers had been mostly replaced by dirt and sawdust carried in on the bottom of steel-toed boots. Hal reached up and rubbed his round chin in confusion. “Do you mean to tell me the men have been tromping through here to get to the break room?”
    “Well, yes. They were all careful to watch where they—”
    “Those sneaky, dirty rotten sons of—” He stopped the string of words and stomped around his desk toward the two doors at the back of the office. As he reached for the knob, the door flew open. Two men who’d come through a half hour earlier to take a lunch break were walking out. They both stared wide-eyed at their