Grounded (Out of the Box Book 4) Read Free Page A

Lawton right out of his knuckleheaded rubbernecking. I mean, he wasn’t doing anything different than anyone else, but the line was going. Things needed to happen. We’d pretty much halted production, and last I checked we were still drawing pay while gawking.
    “Oh, yes, sir, Mr. High-and-Mighty,” Lawton Evers said, deadpan. He did get back to work, though. Eduardo did the same, and the rest of my line picked it up as things started to move again, and just in time. The first crush of photographers and reporters got to us right then, and they found Augustus Coleman’s line humming along, everyone paying attention to their jobs. Yeah, I can’t really take credit for that one. No one wants to look like they’re slacking off on camera.
    I went to stand ready to greet Mr. Cavanagh and Mr. Weldon, fairly certain they were going to pass us right on by but not willing to risk snubbing them in case they didn’t. I wiped my sweaty hands on my navy overall. Then again. You try and meet a community leader and your billionaire boss without showing some nerves. Yeah, I wiped my hands again and actually let out a quick prayer that they would pass me by because the moisture situation was not improving. Damned non-absorbent overalls.
    I was almost convinced I was going to be safe when Cavanagh and Weldon turned to look at the line across from mine, but then I caught sight of him. Laverne Dobbins. He was about ten years ahead of me in school, but he left some serious noise behind him. University of Georgia, full-ride football scholarship. Six-foot-six, built like a brick shithouse. Made good, didn’t turn pro, went corporate instead, and now he was one of the top VPs at Cavanagh. He was the advance man for Edward Cavanagh, the sweeping usher of doom—no, that’s not right. He was the hammer; Cavanagh was the velvet glove.
    Oh, and you knew he was tough because he went by his given name. Yeah. Laverne. And nobody ever said it to him like it was maybe more commonly a girl’s name, I promise you that.
    Laverne Dobbins came out of the crowd like he was breaking a thousand tackles from those fawning, mostly-white photographers and reporters. He wasn’t, of course, because a) he would have crushed them all and b) they would have been too scared to cross him, but he came right out like he was walking out of the tide.
    I felt my stomach drop, but my natural optimism picked me up. This could be good! A chance to press the flesh with my ultimate boss, hero, a local legend and man of no small influence.
    “You,” Laverne Dobbins said, and I swallowed hard, “Augustus.” Holy damn, he knew my name. It was on my overalls, but … still! He took the time to read it. “Mr. Cavanagh would like a word, and a picture.”
    “Well … of course,” I said, like billionaires and community leaders took pictures with me all the time. Sure thing, gentlemen, step right on over to my line and let’s make this look good.
    Laverne raised an eyebrow at me, like he was looking over every word of my sentence for sarcasm. “You just hold tight right there. He’ll be with you in a minute.”
    I decided to just nod rather than fawn or add what could probably have been a considerable bit of drooling stupidity to the floor. Quit while you’re way ahead, that’s what I say. Except I wasn’t actually saying anything right now.
    Before I could really do anything else, Edward Cavanagh broke away from the crowd and walked right up to me. Full head of slightly curly hair, a five o’clock shadow that looked more like it was ten o’clock at night, and he took my hand in a grip so commanding I almost made a very girly giggle as he shook it. “Augustus. I’ve heard a lot about you. How are you doing today?”
    “Ah, very good, sir,” I said, taking great care not to stammer. Okay, I mostly was lucky on that. Clean living. That’s what I’m chalking it up to. Clean living and optimism.
    “Good to hear,” Cavanagh said, breaking eye contact with me. I