Clear as Glass

advice about productivity, butchering the shipping department. The worst misdeed of all occurred when one consultant convinced Mitch’s mother to walk away, leaving the family and the business in tatters.
What destruction would Jaye Davis leave in her wake?
The sound of her heels striking the linoleum floor made Mitch’s stomach shrink to a hard, tight knot. Somehow, he’d have to stop her from destroying everything he’d fixed over the past ten years. Swallowing a groan, he walked to the kitchen.
She stood near the beat-up table with a suitcase at her feet, a computer briefcase in one hand, and a camera bag slung over her shoulder. With her short dark hair mussed by the wind and the tip of her nose a bright pink, she didn’t look like someone about to condemn him to long days of drudgery. Instead, she looked like someone who’d breathe life into his hollow existence.
Happiness was the last thing he wanted.
With an abrupt swing of his arm, he pointed toward the living room. “Go through here and take the hallway to the other end of the house. The extra bedroom is the first door on your left. Clean sheets are in the closet.”
“Okay. Thank you.” She extended the handle on her wheeled suitcase and walked past.
Unable to resist any longer, he let his gaze caress the firm shape of her calf muscles. His mouth watered. Damn, he never should’ve looked. He strode to the back door, twisting the lock with a flick of his hand. “I go to work at five in the morning. I’ll come back at eight-thirty to bring you to the factory. You shouldn’t drive in these mountains until you replace your spare with a standard tire.”
She paused where the linoleum ended and carpet began. “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. Thanks.” Lifting two fingers in an awkward wave, she hitched her camera case higher on her shoulder. “Have a good night.”
The faint squeak of the wheeled suitcase faded away.
Mitch grabbed a leftover hoagie from the fridge, turned off the lights, and returned to the questionable sanctuary of his dark, lonely bedroom.
For the first time since he moved into his house, he allowed a beautiful stranger inside. For the hundredth time in his adult life, he wondered what the heck his father had gotten him into now.

Chapter Three
Could a steering wheel crack under the force of someone’s grip? Jaye would find out in the next five seconds. If Mitch clenched his hands any tighter, he’d shatter the pickup truck’s steering wheel.
She tucked a short tendril of hair behind her ear. “Have you thought of a way to fire me yet?”
The tendons along his forearm twitched. “I’ll fire you if you tell me to streamline my workforce, or whatever you experts call it these days.”
Ouch. He wasn’t in a good mood. Jaye settled the briefcase in her lap and folded her hands on top of the smooth brown leather. “Why would I suggest reducing your personnel?”
“Because every consultant has the same idiotic idea when they walk into my factory.” Hunching his shoulders, he glared at the road. “I’m not firing any of my employees.”
His bullish mood matched his bullish constitution, evidenced by the fact he wasn’t wearing a coat despite the cold October air. No goose bumps marred the burly arms protruding from his red T-shirt, whereas Jaye couldn’t stop shivering under her blazer.
Perhaps pestering a glassblower would get her blood pounding. If she poked hard enough, she might get past Mitch’s hard shell. That being said, she rather liked his shell. The light of day fell upon his concrete jaw, leaving no doubt he could sustain any punch thrown his way. He’d shaved off his blond whiskers, revealing the smooth planes of his cheeks. He was an intriguing combination of blunt angles and brawn. If she measured the circumference of his biceps and chest, she had no doubt Mitch would be twice her size. How would a big guy like him react to a little ribbing?
She tapped her briefcase. “Do you warn every consultant to keep away from your employees?”
“Yep.”
“Since we’re on the topic, how many employees do you have?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He stopped at an intersection, keeping his gaze on the road. “I won’t fire a single one.”
“Even if they’re lazy? Ill-tempered? Prone to drop glassware?”
“My men don’t have those problems.” He stepped on the gas.
Gravel pinged against the pickup’s underside. They crested a hill, accelerating toward a sprawling meadow tinted gold by the sunrise. An attractive two-story brick building stood in the middle of the property. A row of shiny glass windows belted the exterior walls. A contemporary metal sign hung above the modern entry.
Blake Glassware.
He turned into the parking lot, zoomed into a space, and slammed on the brakes.
Jaye’s briefcase hit the dashboard with a loud thump. Anger leapt into her throat. “You refuse to fire your employees, yet you were ready to fire me before we met. Seems a bit hypocritical.”
“There’s a difference between you and my employees. I hired most of the people working at Blake Glassware.” Mitch cut the engine with a twist of his wrist. “I had no say in hiring you.”
“How many consultants have visited?”
“We’ve had efficiency consultants, marketing consultants, storage consultants—you name it. I never agree with anything they have to say. They cause mayhem and cost a helluva lot of money.” He pulled the brim of his baseball cap farther down his forehead and yanked the keys out of the ignition. “A productivity consultant stopped by a few months ago, but he didn’t stay long. Apparently, I made him uncomfortable.”
“Go figure.” Jaye got out of the truck, smoothed her navy skirt, and fell into step beside Mitch. “This is the last chance to clarify your expectations before I step into your factory.”
“I expect you to stay out of my way.” He opened the etched door for her. “I don’t take business advice from anyone who doesn’t know a thing about glassblowing.”
“Fantastic.” She walked into the lobby and stopped near an inviting grouping of upholstered