Read Online The Rebel by J.R. Ward - Free Book Online Page A

preferred not to make eye contact. Nate was nodding. They were chewing the cud, she realized.
    This was a surprise because Stu didn’t curry wellto strangers and he never seemed to say more than two words at a time.
    â€œHi, Stu,” she said. “How much do we owe you?”
    Stu took off his John Deere hat and looked at it. “Think a hundred’ll cover it.”
    She wrote out the check, gave him the following week’s order and thanked him.
    â€œGood talking to you,” Nate said.
    â€œYup.” Stu lifted his hand as he left.
    â€œNice old coot,” Nate remarked as the screen door slapped shut.
    Bracing herself, she went into the walk-in, unsure whether she’d find a disorganized jungle or not. Fortunately, Nate’s organizational skills were as good as his penmanship. The lettuce was in one corner, standing up on a plastic tray. The heads of broccoli, cauliflower and cabbage were on another shelf in milk crates. Root vegetables on the floor in a bin. Pretty much where she would have put everything.
    She started making notations on her clipboard when Nate’s voice came from behind her shoulder.
    â€œChecking my work?” he said dryly as he reached over her shoulder for some celery.
    Stepping out of the way of his arm, she tugged at the collar of her shirt and tightened her lips. The walk-in suddenly felt like a sauna, which meant either the compressor had finally died or she was having a hot flash.
    She hid a grin. At least she could call a HVAC guy if there was a mechanical problem with the refrigerator. If her libido was acting up, she might be in trouble. She doubted there was an estrogen repairman in the Yellow Pages.
    â€œWhat’s all this?” he asked, coming close again.
    She looked down at what she’d been writing, determined not to fixate on how his biceps were straining his T-shirt’s short sleeves.
    â€œAn inventory system I developed.” When he didn’t leave, she tipped the paper his way and stepped back. “It’s a really helpful method of determining our food costs and measuring our prices.”
    She was surprised when he took the clipboard and thumbed through the pages with interest. “This is good.”
    â€œI enter everything in the computer and can pull up Excel spreadsheets of our inventory consumption, staff costs, debt financing, income. Anything that comes in or goes out the door, I have by month. Year. I can project trends, track performance.” Aware she was babbling, she reached for her work and he let her take it.
    â€œWhere did you go to B-school?”
    â€œI didn’t.”
    His eyebrows rose. “You came up with this all by yourself?”
    â€œI just figured out what I needed to know to make the right decisions. I wish the trends were better, ofcourse. But I feel more in control if I know what’s going on.”
    He looked at her, studying her thoughtfully.
    â€œDid you need something else from the walk-in?” she asked.
    His smile was lazy.
    â€œNot right now.” He nodded at the clipboard. “That’s really good work.”
    She looked down again, trying to convince herself that the respect in his voice didn’t matter to her at all. But as she started counting the broccoli again, she began to smile.
    â€œHey, Frankie?”
    She glanced up.
    â€œWhat do you have around here for a nightlife?”
    It was an unexpected question and kicked up an image of him on the prowl for women. He’d probably go for the kind who wore short skirts and belly shirts and could lay a man out flat with a pyrotechnic smile. Which meant she lost on all accounts. The only expression she had that could get a man’s attention was the one she made when she was angry. And as for her wardrobe, the closest she had to anything tight was an old pair of stockings.
    She pushed aside an odd disappointment. It was none of her damn business what his type was. And there was nothing wrong