Reuben De Los Santos Gets a New Boss - Chapter 1

Cora

Brisket. The aroma stirs something deep in my soul. That scent is probably a pheromone of some kind. I’m not an expert on pheromones, but I’ve read that they can improve mood and even spark love at first sight. The improved mood makes sense, but I don’t believe you can love someone after one glimpse. It’s not possible. Love needs time to grow.

Why am I even thinking about love? Since there aren’t many men I interact with in my daily life, my chances of romance hover only slightly above zero. In a normal week, I talk to Zeke, who is engaged to my best friend, and Reuben, Zeke’s brother and my boss. Reuben and I are definitely not in love.

And I’d rate the chances of that happening as a negative number.

We’re not even in like. He might actually despise me. But it’s hard to tell if it’s just me or if he’s angry at the whole world, so I’m trying not to take his dislike personally.

But oh, how I love the smell of this place. Brisket isn’t the only reason I accepted the job as business manager at Reuben’s barbecue joint. But it’s near the top of my list. Eating the goodness beats smelling it all day long. And I get to be close to my best friend Megan.

Also, Reuben is hot. If you are into big burly guys with a tiny bit of pudge around the middle. Not too much. Just enough that you know his food is good. I’m not sure I want barbecue made by a skinny pitmaster.

But the reason I think he despises me is that I’m one week into the job, and he has barely spoken to me. This will make for an interesting working relationship. It’s not like he ignores me. If I ask a question, he answers. But in as few words as possible. It’s a bit humorous. And also a tad frustrating.

I’m still waiting for him to address me as Boss like I requested. We’ll see if he ever does. Having the surname Boss was a pain in elementary school, but as an adult, it has its perks.

Now that my training is over, Amanda, the previous business manager, is no longer here for Reuben to speak to instead. And that has me curious. Will today be different than the previous week? Amanda promised me Reuben would mellow a bit. Those last two words made me laugh at the time. We’ll see if I’m laughing at the end of this week. As I figure, by then, I’ll know if taking this job is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. I have my fingers crossed that it’s not.

And honestly not being spoken to is a whole heck of a lot better than being yelled at and micromanaged by my little brother, my previous employer.

If I get discouraged or frustrated with Reuben, I’ll squint, attempting to get a glimpse of his hidden teddy bear. It’s in there. I know it. He only looks like he could be the leader of a biker gang. In cowboy boots.

Standing between my car and Reuben’s truck, I inhale the cool morning air and the amazing aroma. Then I head inside. Rather than entering through the back door, I step into the pit so that Reuben can see that I’m here early and ready to do a bang-up job.

He is staring at the closed pits, sipping a cup of coffee.

“Good morning!”

The mug slips out of his hand and shatters into at least twenty pieces. At the speed of highway traffic on a Friday afternoon—which is very slow—he turns to face me. “You’re just a cheerful ball of sunshine, aren’t you?”

“Thank you.” I smooth my blouse, which coordinates perfectly with my bright pink pants, and smile.

He stares at the spilled coffee and shards of ceramic mug on the ground. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Okay then.” My snippiness is on full display now. I’m not going to play nice just because he’s perpetually grumpy. But I can apologize when appropriate. “I’m sorry about startling you. And about the mug. After I clean this up, I can get you fresh coffee.” I pick up the largest chunk of what was once a blue cup.

“Leave it.” He motions toward the door, shooing me with a head nod.

I stand and march toward the door.

As I open it, he asks, “Why are you here?”

Is this a weird sort of game? I glance back, looking to see if he’s trying to be funny. “Um, I work here.”

“Why are you here early? The restaurant doesn’t open for another five hours.”

“I want this day—and every day from now on—to run smoothly, and I’m here early to make sure I have all my ducks in a row.”

“Whatever. But keep any actual ducks out of the building. It’s a health hazard.”

“Noted. Anything else?”

“Nope. You can go.”

If I didn’t like living so close to my best friend, I might quit on the spot. But I don’t. Instead, I square my shoulders and walk away.

I will not let this man’s cloudy disposition ruin my day. This is still a step up from working with my brother. And Reuben is easy on the eyes.

That’s simply appreciation for how he’s put together. And decorated. I say decorated because he has a sleeve tattoo, which I personally find super hot. I only know it’s a full sleeve because my friend Megan mentioned it. I’ve only seen a small part because he’s been dressed for cold weather since I arrived, but I’ve long been a fan of Mexican folk art. And I’ve seen enough to know that’s part of it. As the temperatures warm, hopefully, his sleeves will get shorter, and I’ll get a better look. At his tattoo and his arms.

This appreciation does not involve any romantic notions. I’m happy being single. And it’s obvious to everyone that Reuben has sworn off love. Shoot, I’m pretty sure he’s taken a vow not to smile.

I let the door slam behind me when I go inside.

***

An hour later, I have the weekly schedule memorized as well as all the names and phone numbers of the staff. Arriving early this morning was a good call. It’s given me time to prepare for the week and stomp down my rattled nerves. My exchange with Reuben was not how I wanted to start my Monday.

We aren’t open for another four hours yet, and I am ready for the day. My nerves are mostly in check. I don’t want Reuben to get any hint of trepidation. I’m not worried I can’t do the job. I can. And I can do it well. I’m more concerned he won’t like how I do something and be disappointed. I cannot handle being the source of someone’s disappointment. I try to hide that fact, but it’s true.

I’m a pleaser but also snarky. And I don’t like being told what to do. Those character traits have a complicated relationship, which goes a long way to explain my personality. Now that I’m in my forties, the snark wins out more often than it used to. But I still feel guilty about letting someone down.

My brother was a horrible boss—no pun intended—and even then, I felt a twinge of guilt when I resigned. It’s a personality flaw that I’m working to correct.

With the extra time, I decide to check supplies in the dining area to see what needs refilling. I can also add to my list of what needs to go on the next order. It would be horrible to run out of plates or cups. Or napkins. The meats are delicious but also greasy.

I grab the notepad and scan my desk, unsure where I put my lucky pen. This is not a bad indicator of how my day will go. I lose stuff all the time. If my brain wasn’t trapped inside my skull, I’d probably lose that too. I open the drawer and grab a different pen. It’s red, which isn’t my preference, but tonight, I’ll buy myself more blue and black pens for the drawer. Just in case. Hopefully, I’ll find my lucky pen.

I walk around the desk to head out of my office but stop when the red pen slips from my fingers and hits the floor. With my back to the closed door, I bend over to pick it up.

Before I can grab the pen, my office door whaps my backside.

I tip forward, my head in danger of knocking against the desk or possibly the concrete. Neither will feel good.

Hands grip my hips, and my fall stops. So does my breathing. And possibly my heart. The hands are warm on my hips, and they are much too big to be Suzanne’s, who is scheduled to open today. But she won’t be here for another three hours.

It’s Reuben. I can feel him. Literally. The awkwardness is palatable. The only sound in the room is his breathing. At least one of us is getting oxygen to our brain.

It’s bad enough that my boss had to be greeted by my large behind. But he’s touching it. Well, technically, his hands are on my hips, but it’s still just as horrifying.

I’m not a small girl. Some people might call me rotund. Plump. Fat. Lard. Obese. A bowling ball with legs. I’ve been described with lots of words, many of them unkind. And as much as I try not to let those words define me, right now, all of them are bouncing around in my head.

My fingers find the pen, and I right myself.

His hands stay on my hips until I’m upright. I spin to face him, then wiggle the pen. “I dropped this.” I’m doing my absolute best to ignore what just happened so that he won’t mention it.

“Sorry about—”

“The door? Don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure not to drop my pen there again.”

He stares at my hips a half second before speaking. “Are you free for breakfast tomorrow morning?”

After the exchange this morning, I can’t help but have a bit of fun. Smiling politely, I shift my stance like I’m uncomfortable. “As much as I appreciate the invitation, I’m going to have to decline. I don’t date people I work with.”

Reuben blinks and scratches at his beard, his jaw slack. After several heartbeats, he sets his jaw. “I wasn’t asking you out.”

“I was joking. Just trying to break the ice.”

His brow furrows. “Ice? There’s no ice to break. And it wasn’t funny.”

“Oh, there’s ice, baby.” I might’ve been carried away by song lyrics. Calling him baby wasn’t in my plan for today—or ever—but oh well. What’s done is done.

One corner of his lips twitches upward slightly into a sort of half smirk. I choose to label it a smile. The first one today. Maybe I’m wrong about that vow.

“Baby? Pretty sure we agreed that you’d call me jefe. Have you changed your mind on that? If so, I’ll need to rethink how I address you, Boss Lady.”

I pull my shoulders back and extend to my full height, all five feet one inch. “What time tomorrow morning, jefe?”

He stares down at me, something sparking in his gaze. It is quite possible that I’ve kicked off some sort of game. Which could be all kinds of fun or absolutely disastrous. My competitive streak makes losing difficult, and I’m hoping this doesn’t end up with me losing my job.

Silence hangs in the air as he closes the distance between us. “I get here at four to fire up the pits. Any time after that is fine with me.” He reaches toward my head.

Is this man going to touch my hair? What is he doing?

Normally, in a panic I default to fight mode, but currently I’m frozen in place as his hand gets closer and closer.

I inhale sharply when his finger brushes my ear.

And he jerks his hand away like my hair is on fire. I do a quick sniff to make sure it’s not. Burning hair gives off a distinctive, unpleasant smell. Ask me how I know.

He holds out my lucky pen. “This was in your hair.”

I glance at the red pen in my hand, then at the blue pen in his. Flipping mine around, I hold it like a lightsaber. “Duel?”

The playful expression from earlier is long gone. He walks a wide circle around me and drops my lucky pen on the desk. “Let me know if you have questions about anything.” He glances at my hips again, then marches out of the room, the soles of his boots scuffing against the floor as he goes.

“Did I say something wrong?”

He keeps his back to me as he replies. “Nope.”

“Are you not a Star Wars fan? I can switch to Star Trek jokes if that’s better.”

His head wags back and forth, reflections from the overhead lights dancing on the top of his shiny bald head. “Sorry about those pants.”

My pants? I look down and see greasy handprints on my pink pants.

Dang it. This Monday is Mondaying a little too hard. And I’m starting to think maybe my lucky pen has run out of luck. Doesn’t this man ever wash his hands?

I grab my purse and head out to my car. Changing my clothes is absolutely necessary.

But I detour through the pit room because greasy hands means he was eating. And I’m hungry.

I throw open the door. “If you’re going to ruin my new pants, the least you can do is share some of that food.”

He nods toward a plate on the table near the door. “Help yourself. And for the record, I wiped my hands, then stopped by your office on my way to wash them. I didn’t anticipate touching your pants.”

After eating a piece of sausage, I walk to the door. “I’ll be back. I don’t want people wondering or asking about whose hands these prints belong too.”

“Take your time.”

“I’ll be back in an hour.” Considering it takes me twenty-nine minutes to get to the ranch, I’ll only have two minutes to change. But I can do it. As long as I don’t bump into Megan. She’ll ask all kinds of questions, which will only slow me down.

That smirk appears again. “It’ll take you longer than that.”

“Watch me.” I wave before walking to my car. Now it’s imperative that I’m back in an hour.

I race—without speeding—to the ranch.

Megan walks out of the kitchen when I burst through the front door. “Hello?”

“It’s me. I’m just here to change really quick. I got grease on my pants.” I make a beeline to the bedroom.

“Those are handprints.” She follows me down the hall. “I need the story, Cora.”

“Later. I told Reuben I’d be back in an hour.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t kill yourself trying to be right. But you owe me a story later.”

“Sure thing.” I rip off my pants, toss them in the corner, then yank on a pair of jeans.

In less than two minutes, I’m back in my car and pulling away from the ranch.

My stopwatch reads fifty-nine minutes when I park beside Reuben’s truck. Victorious, I march into the pit. “I’m back.”

He shrugs. “Okay. Am I supposed to cheer?”

After rolling my eyes, I walk inside. I think I liked it better when he was barely speaking to me.

***

It’s dark when I walk out to my car. I was waiting for Reuben to leave. The man has been here since four. Skipping out of here before he does somehow feels like losing points in a game. The man must not sleep. Or he has no life outside the restaurant. Or maybe both.

But I can’t wait him out tonight. I’m meeting someone, and hopefully the nice old woman will want to rent me her house. Finding a place to live in a small town isn’t easy, and it’s even harder to find a rental in the middle of nowhere, which is an apt description of where Megan lives. It’s also where Reuben lives. They all live on the same ranch. That’s how I found out about the job.

I’m holding out hope that I’ll get this house because it’s very close to their ranch. And I want to live close to Megan.

With the map app giving me directions, I navigate back roads. Parking lights on the side of the road catch my attention, and I slow down a bit. Is someone broken down?

If it’s a woman alone, I’m definitely stopping to help. Because this is not where a woman wants to be stranded alone. Not all stories like that work out like they did for Megan.

But the person on the roadside is not a woman alone. It’s a grizzly man who isn’t wearing a shirt, and he’s tossing a trash bag into the brush. Not the mountain-man-on-a-romance-cover kind of grizzly either. He’s definitely one of the might-be-a-madman variety.

Pedal to the metal, I skedaddle my bootie out of there. I’ve listened to enough true crime podcasts to spot a possible serial killer. But as I speed away, I glance back at the license plate and repeat the first three digits 2QM over and over in case I hear about a body being found. That dude looked like someone who would dump a body.

I’m still shaking as I pull up to the old house. It’s more house than I need, but it’s beautiful. Built just before the turn of the century, the last one, not the current, it exudes charm. Ms. Velma said that it had been refurbished, and I’m hoping that means it has indoor plumbing.

She’s standing on the large front porch next to a pair of rocking chairs. “You made it. Did you have any trouble?”

I opt not to tell this sweet old lady about the possible killer I saw on the drive over. Besides, it was probably nothing. Illegal dumping at worst. I blame the podcasts for my rampant imagination.

The yellow bulb of the porch light casts a soft glow on the porch.

“I had no trouble at all.” I run my fingers along the front railing. “This place is so charming. I can only imagine all the conversations this railing has been privy to.”

“Just ours really. My nephew installed it just last week. The original gave way and near about killed me.” She pushes open the front door. “Come on in. Let me give you a tour.”

“Please. I’m excited to see the house. I bet you’re sad to be moving.”

“Not really. I bought a condo near the River Walk in San Antonio. It’ll be a nice change of pace. Out here, I had to intentionally leave my house in order to have a conversation with another person. And animals are only good company for so long.” She points at a deer head mounted above the fireplace. “That’s Vincent. He’s a great listener but forget about dragging words out of him.” After a chuckle, she walks from room to room, telling me all about the history of the house and what she had done to refurbish it. And along the way, she points out other mounted animals, making sure I know their names.

Once we’ve been to every room, she leads me down the stairs and into the dining room. “My nephews want me to sell this place, but I’m not ready for that yet. That’s why I have it up for rent. And Zeke said you were good people, so I’m offering it to you before I post the listing to the general public.”

“Yes. I want it. Where do I sign?” This seems almost too easy. But you know the saying about gift horses. I pull my lucky pen out of my purse and sign my name on the one-page contract Ms. Velma hand wrote.

Maybe this pen still has some juice left.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to leave the mounts where they are. I’m afraid they won’t do well in storage. Is that okay?”

I wrestle silently with the question. This house is amazing and so close to the ranch. If putting up with a few extra eyes staring at me is the price, I can live with that. “Sure.”

My pen and I need to have a long talk.