Bryce Delaney was at a point where anger was threatening to tip over into fire-storming rage, and he wasn’t sure why. This sort of thing happened all the time. Delaney Transportation was a large organization. Dealing with employees who stepped out of line was part of his job. He was used to the inevitable frustrations that came with being in charge. Even so, as he made his way toward his brother’s office, he needed to find an outlet for this unexpected fury.
When Bryce kicked the door closed behind him, Vincente looked up from one of his complicated color-coded financial spreadsheets. As he took in the expression on Bryce’s face, he immediately closed the lid of his laptop, indicating the chair on the other side of his desk. “What has she done now?”
Bryce didn’t know whether to be annoyed that his half brother had interpreted the source of his mood correctly, or relieved that there was no need for lengthy explanations.
“She didn’t turn up for the weekly drivers’ meeting. Again.” Bryce flopped into the chair, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “This is the third time since she started with us. Last time I gave her a warning. I told her if it happened again, I would fire her stupid, stubborn, skinny ass without any further discussion.”
Vincente leaned back in his own chair, tenting his fingers beneath his chin. “If you gave her a warning and you don’t act on it, the other drivers will think you’ve gone soft.”
“I know they will. It’s just—” Bryce leaned back, gazing at the ceiling as some of the fight went out of him. “What the hell is she playing at? This is a good job. We pay well. Delaney Transportation is a great company to work for. But it’s like she has to go out of her way to thwart me any way she can. It’s not just the meetings. She’s forever telling me how I can do my job better, finding fault with the schedules, wanting me to change routes I’ve planned weeks in advance. Steffi Grantham has been a goddamn thorn in my side from the day you hired her.”
“Whoa, don’t turn this around and make it my fault. If I remember rightly, you told me I did a good job when I hired her. You said she was a good driver.” Vincente rose and moved to the coffee machine. He held up a mug and Bryce shook his head.
“She is a damn good driver. When she quits bellyaching long enough to get behind the wheel.”
Bryce couldn’t explain his feelings to Vincente. Couldn’t explain them to anyone, least of all himself. How could he possibly disclose the real reason he didn’t want to fire Steffi, no matter how hard she pushed him? Where did he start? How about with the truth? That, if he let Steffi go, he would lose the one thing that had made his miserable existence worthwhile these last three months?
After two years of bleak nothingness, the truth was there had been a bright spark in his life just lately...and Steffi was responsible for its ignition. But what sort of sorry specimen does that make me? Bryce wasn’t about to confess to anyone, least of all the brother with whom he had only recently begun to repair a prickly relationship, that the only thing getting him out of bed in the mornings these days was the prospect of an argument with a woman whose only interest in him seemed to be to tell him what he was doing wrong.
Vincente returned with his own coffee, setting the steaming mug on the desk. His expression was thoughtful. “I’m not happy to part ways with a good driver. And you know how hard I’ve been working to make sure we recruit and keep more women onto the team. Part of that drive has been to make sure we find ways around any issues they may have with things like attendance at meetings outside of their usual shift patterns. We’ve done a lot of listening to the other jobs some of our female employees do. Childcare, looking after elderly relatives, keeping the home going...we have to find ways to ensure we don’t put anyone who is dealing with all those things at a disadvantage.”
Bryce clenched a fist on his thigh. “You know I support that, but Steffi can’t keep defying me like this. I can only help her with her issues if she talks to me about them. She won’t.”
“It’s your call. Managing the drivers is your responsibility.” Bryce got the feeling Vincente would have liked to say something more, but, after a brief pause during which he sipped his coffee, he remained quiet.
“She made me so mad today. This is one time I’m actually going to enjoy telling someone they’re fired. In fact—” Bryce glanced at the clock on the wall “—I’m going to stop by her place on my way home.”
Vincente frowned. “Is that a good idea? You’re angry, and Steffi is headstrong. My advice is to call her, or wait until she shows up tomorrow. And don’t rush into firing her until you’ve heard what she has to say.”
Bryce wavered. Vincente was right, of course. Damn him. He shouldn’t do this while he was angry, and he probably shouldn’t do it face-to-face. But no one had ever gotten under his skin the way Steffi Grantham could. Since she had started working for Delaney Transportation three months ago, he had given her chance after chance and she’d thrown every one back in his face. He wanted to look her in the eye when he told her that today was the day she had used up those chances. Wanted to see if there was even a flicker of remorse there. Of course, it was just about impossible to see her eyes behind those huge, tinted glasses she wore all the time.
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep it brief and professional.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Vincente’s dark eyes were fixed on his face. “By going to her home and being alone with her, you’ll make yourself vulnerable. She could accuse you of anything and it would be her word against yours.”
Bryce frowned. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. But although she’s a hornet, I can’t imagine Steffi would be vindictive. It’s not her style. And she’s the one who has pushed this by not turning up today. After our last confrontation over the drivers’ meetings, she must know what’s coming.”
Vincente had been born and raised in Wyoming, but some of his gestures unconsciously betrayed his half Italian heritage. The shrug he gave now was as Italian as the taste of Chianti or the roar of a vintage Vespa’s engine. “Your call.”
Half an hour later Bryce was pulling into the parking lot at the Wilderness Lake Trailer Park and wondering if his brother might have been right. Maybe he should have