Plunged – Bonus Epilogue

Sarah Cooper

WEDNESDAY

I closed my laptop with a soft click. 

He didn’t just hand me that. He couldn’t have. 

For a moment, the silence in my office enveloped me, like I was underwater. The sounds of construction outside the repurposed storage room—the hiss-pop of a nail gun and guffawing of some of the workmen—sounded distant. 

Then the anger rushed in. 

But he did. 

Jamie Reilly, my boss—and for reasons one hundred percent unknown to me—my nemesis, had interrupted my personal call on my break with Winona to hand me a stack of papers. The stapled set had been information for a site meeting we were both going to be at in a few minutes. But on top of it was a printout that had made my stomach drop. It was an announcement about a job opening. Director of Special Projects at some company in Montpelier. 

“It’s a good firm,” Jamie had said after I’d paused my call, confused, and asked him if he’d meant to give that paper to someone else. “You should consider it.” 

He was telling me I should quit Reilly Contracting. He hated me so badly he wanted me to quit the job I loved, move from the town I’d just started making my home. 

I’d been so stunned, I hadn’t said anything. Then he’d left, and I’d gone back on my call with Winona.

But now, my mind reeled. Maybe I should take the hint. Working under someone other than Jamie would probably reduce my stress levels by 500%. The man made my life a misery—at least when he was around. But I didn’t want to take the hint. I’d uprooted my whole life—what was left of it—to move here, to Quince Valley, for this job. Seamus had hired me to backfill his senior role in the company while he was seconded to a job in New York State. But he’d hired me as a director, and said Reilly Contracting was growing. My contract said I’d be staying on in an equal or better capacity when he returned. 

I’d put my everything into this role, and it showed. Seamus himself said I was killing it. 

Jamie not only couldn’t see that, but he wanted me gone. 

Well, to hell with that. I stood up, shoving my chair back with a scrape and swallowing down the tight lump in my throat. If I’d wanted a man telling me what was best for me, I would have stayed with my asshole ex-husband. 

Enough was enough. I stood up. I might still be able to catch Jamie before he got back in his truck for our office downtown.

I jerked open my door, which Jamie had practically slammed behind him, then sprinted around the corner.

Then I slammed into a giant mountain of tan coat.

“Shit!” I exclaimed as I fell backward. 

I would have been fine—I hadn’t even tipped over. Except of course I had to do the thing I always did: I tripped over my own feet. 

When I got nervous, I got clumsy. And now, here I was, my arms windmilling backward, the sound of all the people who’d ever laughed at me echoing in my ears.

But this time, I didn’t fall. Jamie, his eyes wide as he realized what was happening, swore and swung an arm out, catching me by the blouse. I felt something come loose at my front as he pulled me toward him, but I couldn’t register what it was because I was suddenly crushed against my boss’s hard body.

For a moment, everything else fell into a haze. Everything except the ruddy skin of Jamie’s neck and bristle of his stubble against my forehead. The scent of pine soap or aftershave filling my nostrils.

An electric heat flooded through me, and something else, too. Something much more dangerous. It was the distinct feeling of fitting there. 

I tried and failed to tamp the feeling down. Being attracted to Jamie was ludicrous, for so many reasons. He was my boss. And he was older than me. Not just by a little, either. He had fifteen years on me, at least. 

Plus, he hated me. 

The burning hurt of that part gave me the strength to wrench myself away. I thought of the printout with the job on it, crumpled on my desk. Then I took a full step back, clenched my fists at my sides, and dared myself to meet my boss’s eye.

“I’m not going, Jamie,” I said.

For a moment he said nothing. Then I realized his neck had gone a shade darker.

And his eyes had shot to the ceiling. “You need—” he made a gesture with his rough, workmen fingers toward my chest.

I looked down. All I saw was skin—way too much skin—and lacy black fabric. 

My blouse was hanging completely open, my bra hanging out. I gasped, clutching my arms in front of me. 

I’d thought this couldn’t get worse, but I was wrong. The buttons must have popped off when he’d grabbed me. 

“I—” I sputtered. 

But Jamie was next to me once again, and that scent of his swirled with my mortification. 

“Come here.” He clamped a hand on my shoulder and guided me into my office.

“What are you—” I began, shrugging off his hand.

“Take off your coat,” he grunted as he shut the door behind him. Then he shouldered his tan jacket off, tossing it on my desk. 

My stomach plunged as I realized he was unbuttoning his shirt—a black button-down, under which I could see the top of a crisp white cotton t-shirt. He was undressing.

Despite every single ounce of rational thought in my mind, my body reacted like a fire alarm, heat shooting right down to my lower abdomen; a stronger, tighter heat spasming between my legs.

He mistook my stunned silence for anger, because he thrust the shirt in my face, saying, “You got a better idea? We have a site meeting in fifteen minutes and I don’t see any other clothes in here.” 

I clenched my blouse to my chest, looking around desperately as if another option would appear. But there was none. He was right—I couldn’t miss this site meeting—Cassandra was going to be there and needed an update I’d prepared.

Somehow, it was that thought that brought me back to the reason I’d gone after him in the first place.

“Why do you want me to leave?” I blurted.

I hadn’t known I was going to say it. But I was in it now.

“Am I doing a terrible job? Because if you think I am, just tell me. If I’m embarrassing you and your firm, I’ll leave. No problem. But I don’t like not understanding. It’s not fair.” 

He blinked, something running over his face I couldn’t identify. But he clenched his jaw. “Take the shirt, Sarah.”

Of course. He wasn’t even going to answer me. Sure he wanted me dressed, but I knew that would be all I’d get from him even if all my buttons were intact.

Angry tears suddenly pricked at my eyes and I grabbed the shirt, whirling around.

For some stupid reason I thought of the day my husband told me he was leaving me. How he’d had his bags already packed. I’m not going to change my mind, was all he’d said, like I’d be pathetic enough to beg him not to go. I was ashamed to admit I might have if he hadn’t disappeared a moment later.

“You can go,” I said, my voice harsh as I slipped my blouse over my shoulders, tossing it on the desk. 

Don’t cry. Not over a man.

But Jamie didn’t answer. I glanced quickly over my shoulder. Jamie’s back was to me, his hand pressed high on the door, which I realized now had voices on the other side. I didn’t have a lock on this office—it was a makeshift space in a construction zone and I took my laptop home with me every night.

Jamie was waiting until I was done before opening it. Protecting me. 

I swallowed, reaching for his shirt, which I’d tossed on top of his coat. I pulled it on, hating the wave of heat and pain that washed over me as his scent swirled up my nostrils. I was so ashamed at that moment that I’d once thought of him as anything different than my ex. A stubborn asshole who—

“I don’t want you to leave, Sarah,” Jamie said.

I froze. A ripple of confusion ran through me. “Then why are you telling me about a job in Montpelier?” I buttoned up the shirt and began stuffing it into my shirt.

“You’d be good at it,” he said.

“Bullshit,” I said. I finished, and turned around. 

Jamie was facing me, his temple pulsing.

I’d thought he’d had his back to me. How long had he been turned around? While I was reaching my hands under my skirt to tug the shirt down? My lower half clenched once more in a traitorous surge of hormones.

I ignored it. My anger was bigger than the dregs of my misplaced and long-gone crush on my boss. It fuelled the words that came next.

“Jamie, you won’t tell me what I’ve done to piss you off. You barely look at me in meetings. You don’t invite me to any of the company-level meetings downtown—”

“You’re in charge of this project, Sarah,” he interrupted. “I’m overseeing the rest of the company.”

But I shook my head, taking a step toward him. “No. When he hired me, Seamus said I would be a director at this firm. That means I should know what’s going on at a corporate level, not just on this project.”

I realized I’d had this bigger issue on my chest a long time. It wasn’t just Jamie’s attitude, it was his exclusion, too.

It was bullshit. 

Jamie stood there for a moment, his jaw working like he was considering my words. Then he reached past me, startling me with his proximity. I took a step back, and I would have stumbled again if the desk wasn’t there. 

But he was only grabbing his coat. “You can keep the shirt,” he said. “It looks better on you anyway.” 

Then he left me there, stunned and furious, only that pine scent remaining. 

SATURDAY

The first snow of the year was imminent. I could tell by the way the night air smelled as I stepped out of my car at the tiny, rural airport where Winona’s plane should have just landed. I took in a bracing breath as I tightened my scarf and headed from the parking lot to the terminal on the other side of the road.

We’d arranged this pick-up after Winona had called me from the airplane a few days ago. She’d been worried about how I’d ended our call and asked via text if she could see me as soon as she was back. I’d offered to come get her at the airport instead. I’d had some of my best conversations in the car, where I knew I couldn’t disappear or avoid questions.

She’d written back to tell me she’d cancel the car Mitchell had arranged for her.

As I crossed the road, I still wasn’t sure what I should say about Jamie. I hated how much he’d affected me, and to be honest, I still didn’t really understand what was going on with him. We hadn’t talked once since the shirt incident earlier this week. Not so much as an email. But the ball was in his court. I’d told him how I felt, and he hadn’t even responded. I refused to budge. 

Shoving thoughts of my boss from my mind, I was just walking up the path to the entrance to the terminal when I halted. There, pushing through the door, was Winona, with a very handsome man’s arm around her. She was laughing, and he was leaning into her, grinning, and they looked so in love my heart clenched. After Mitchell left for Seattle, Winona had looked hollowed out. Like suddenly, half of her was missing. If he’d felt the same… well clearly he had. He did. And they found a way. Of course they had. 

I was happy for them. Delighted for them—Winona, at least. I’d never met Mitchell. But something about seeing them felt like a hand was wrapped around my insides, squeezing tight, and it wasn’t just the fact that there’d been a mix-up about me being here.

I could turn around. Right now—run back to my car and they’d never know.

But Winona spotted me. We both froze. “Oh, fuck me with a silver spoon!” she exclaimed. Then she sprinted toward me.

I laughed as she threw her arms around me. 

“Sarah! I am so, so sorry! I’m such an ass—I completely forgot we arranged for you to come and—” she pulled away, and her face looked so pained I wished I’d been able to escape without her seeing me.

I shook my head. “It’s fine. Seeing you two together, happy… it was worth the drive.” It was, too, even though it made me feel more than a little sorry for myself. I truly was so happy for her.

Mitchell smiled as he reached us. He looked just like his photos—clean shaven and tall and handsome in a dark wool coat, and clearly more than a little smitten with Winona. And when he looked her way as she introduced us, it was like he had hearts in his eyes.

“Pleasure to finally meet you, Sarah.” he said. He was nice. Friendly. Nothing like the ogre she’d described.

Love will do that to you, I guessed.

Winona clasped her hands together. “Um… maybe we could all ride together? Mitch—could we find a way to get Sarah’s car home?” 

“Of course,” he said. “I could drive it myself, if you two want to take the limo?” 

The thought of a billionaire driving my car, full of coffee cups and gum wrappers and my briefcase stuffed with papers on the front seat made me want to barf. I quickly shook my head. “No, it’s fine. I was listening to a great true crime podcast on the way up; I’m dying to know what happens. Excuse the pun.” I grimaced. If I wasn’t tripping over my feet when I was nervous, I was blathering. 

But Winona laughed, and the sound instantly put me at ease. So did Mitchell’s grin. “I loved it,” he said.

A billionaire who liked a dorky pun? Maybe I didn’t have to be so nervous. 

“Oh Sarah, please join us?” Winona asked, grasping my hands. “Maybe we can stop for um… cake or something on the way home.” 

“Cake?” I laughed. Winona was joking—I knew she was a whiskey and beer gal. Then I remembered the cute pub I’d noticed on the way up. “I saw a pub on the way through that little town back down the highway. It was English themed. The Prince of Devon-something.”

Winona grimaced, and I was suddenly embarrassed. “Well, I’m sure you already have plans. Anyway don’t worry about me, seriously—”

“No, that sounds great,” Mitchell said. “I’d kill for a pint of Guinness.” 

I was still having a hard time believing this was the same man Winona had told Cher and I about weeks ago.

But then he frowned. “Unless you’re still not feeling well?” he asked Winona, concern etched on his features. He brought a hand to her chin, the gesture so tender I had to look away.

For some reason my mind went to Jamie, holding me in the hallway for that split second after he’d caught me. God, if that was my idea of a tender touch… it had been too long since I’d even thought about dating.

“I’m fine!” Winona said, and I shook Jamie from my thoughts. “I’m just um… not up for drinking right now,” she said. “But I could go for some bangers ’n mash, or whatever they serve at those pubs?” 

“Winona not drinking!” I laughed. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were—”

I cut myself off, realizing what a terrible joke that would be to make around a new couple. But then I saw Winona’s face. 

She’d blanched. 

Oh shit.

Before I could stop myself, I clapped my hand over my mouth, as if I could physically stop the word from coming out. Still, it hung in the air like the cloud of my breath in the chill.

Winona was pregnant. 

I wanted to kick myself. Hard. Just when I thought I wasn’t being the most awkward person in the world, I’d stuck my foot right in it.

Winona looked quickly to Mitchell, who only looked more confused. 

But Winona suddenly looked strangely calm. “Mitch, honey,” she said, her voice soft. “I was waiting until we got home to tell you… Actually, I was going to tell you in the morning, after I found out, but you were so hungover, remember? You said you wanted me to throw you into the ocean… Anyway, then I was going to tell you after, but we were having such a good time, and I wasn’t sure if you’d be happy…” 

“Winona, what are you saying,” Mitch said, his voice slightly pitched.

I wanted badly to quietly walk away and let them have this private moment, but right then Winona looked at me, and I smiled at her, giving her a nod. She was doing great.

She swallowed and took Mitchell’s hand. “Baby, you’re going to be a daddy.” 

For a moment, Mitch said nothing, just blinked, like he wasn’t sure he heard right.

“I know it’s a big deal and maybe not what you want right now, or ever,” she added hastily. “I don’t know, we haven’t talked—”

“Winona,” Mitchell said, his voice so low, so tenuous, I didn’t move, just held my hands clasped tightly under my chin. “I’m…”

Then, the big man before me did something I never would have expected. He cried. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he said, fuck, and then he lifted Winona clear off her feet, swinging her around and kissing her face and then kneeling and kissing her belly—hidden though it was and surely nowhere near showing even if she weren’t wearing a bulky coat. 

“You’re going to have my baby,” he murmured into the wool, and now Winona was crying, and so was I.

I took a step backward, feeling for my keys in my pocket. “I’m going to go,” I said. “I’ll call you later, Win.”

But Mitchell noticed. He stood up. “No. Sarah, please, take the limo. I’ll get your car home.” He pulled out his phone and tapped quickly on the screen before pocketing it again. “There. It’s done.”

Winona frowned now. “Wait, what?”

“We have to get back on the plane,” he said to her. “Please. We need to celebrate. With cake. And a hotel and balloons and, hell, a rocket ship, whatever. Where do you want to go, baby? I’ll take you anywhere in the world.” Mitchell brushed a strand of hair from her face.

My heart ached once more. I cleared my throat. “The Heartbreaker meeting isn’t until Wednesday. And my favorite patisserie place in Manhattan is open til midnight. If you want suggestions.”

“New York!” Mitchell said. “Yes. Close is good. How’s New York, Winona?” 

“Can we see Arthit?” Winona asked, laugh-crying now. 

I didn’t know what that meant, but it made Mitchell growl and swing Winona, shrieking, into his arms. 

“It was lovely meeting you, Sarah,” Mitchell said as Winona clung to his neck, giving me an apologetic smile. Then Mitchell gave a little nod and a voice behind me said, “Ma’am?” 

I whirled around to see a chauffeur holding open the door of a limo. I hadn’t even heard it pull up. “Where to?” the portly older man asked.

Slightly bewildered, I was about to tell him I had my car, but I remembered Mitchell had already arranged for it to be taken home, somehow.

“Please, ma’am,” the man said. He had a silver moustache and twinkling eyes. “Isn’t it time you treated yourself? I’ve got champagne with your name on it.” 

“I—” I considered. I thought of Cher, telling Winona to live a little. Maybe it was my turn now? A ride in a limo—I don’t think I’d had one of those since my wedding night a decade ago, and it was long since time to replace that memory. 

“Okay,” I said, not quite believing I was doing this. I pictured Cher whooping. 

“Wonderful,” the man said. “Now I hear you enjoy true crime podcasts—what would you say to the first episode of Murder at Sea? I’ve got it all cued up.” 

I gaped. “That show isn’t out until next month!” 

The driver winked. “Mr. Harrington knows a guy.” 

“Also, how did you—”

“I’m Marty,” he said, not answering my question. Had that been in the text somehow too?

A few moments later, I was settling into a soft leather seat, a champagne flute in hand and the dulcet tones of the podcast’s narrator streaming from the crisp surround speakers.

And I laughed out loud. This was good. It was what I didn’t know I needed after everything with Jamie.

I scowled. This had nothing to do with Jamie. Jamie couldn’t touch me now, even if… I wanted to.

I pulled out my phone to text Winona thanks, and to squeal at her some more, even if she wouldn’t see it until later.

But when I unlocked my screen, I froze. Jamie’s name was there.

He’d texted, only a minute ago.

Just when I’d been thinking of him.

I opened the text, the podcast fading behind the rush of thudding of my heart. Jamie rarely texted me, and certainly not at this time of night on a Saturday.

JAMIE: Need to talk.

I held the phone in my hand, my mouth suddenly dry. He couldn’t fire me at—I checked the time—eight thirty on a Saturday night. Could he? I swallowed. Then I lifted my chin, sick of being so jumpy when it came to my boss. It didn’t matter. I could handle whatever he threw at me, even if he was letting me go. Hell, it would be good riddance.

I typed out a stiff reply.

SARAH: Can it wait until Monday? 

Three dots appeared.

JAMIE: No. Seamus just informed me he can’t make it to the NBCA conference next month. I’m going to need you to go in his place.

I gaped. The Northeastern Builders & Contractors Association was one of the biggest trade associations on the east coast, and their annual conference hugely popular. It was held at a massive resort in Maine, was and always timed around the holidays with a big holiday-themed social at the end. I knew Seamus was supposed to have been putting on one of the biggest presentations at the conference. Now Jamie was asking me to replace him? Why wasn’t he just going himself? He was the CEO, after all. 

But I was more stuck on the fact that he’d listened. Jamie had heard what I said about wanting a director-level role and he’d agreed.

My stupid heart swelled. Was he actually going to start being nice to me again, like he had been in the beginning? Back when I used to daydream about him not just praising me at work but maybe in other places too…

My phone buzzed again, making me jump. 

JAMIE: Sarah, I need an answer now. I have the association president on standby.

Nope. Not nice. But the offer was clearly real. My nerves quickly thrummed to excitement, and I typed out my reply.

SARAH: Yes of course, yes. Thank you for asking me.

Holy shit. I was going to speak at a major conference, one I’d only ever been an attendee for. In—I did the math—three weeks time. I squealed in the back of the limo.

My phone buzzed again. 

JAMIE: Good. We’ll be gone for the whole weekend, so plan accordingly. 

Just as quickly as my excitement hit, it froze, shattering like glass.

We’ll be gone for the whole weekend. We. 

I wasn’t going to the conference alone. I was going on a trip with my grumpy jerk boss. 

My gorgeous, pine-scented, silver-fox grumpy jerk boss.

Fuck me.

***

I hope you loved this preview of Nailed, an age-gap employee-boss romance, coming December 9, 2023! You can preorder Nailed right now for only 99c here. 

Want more Claire Wilder? Try the Quince Valley Romance series, which takes place in the same story universe as Heartbreaker Trades. First up is Book One: Level With Me (Mitchell’s brother Blake’s story with Cassandra Kelly). Get it here.

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