I didn’t blame him; when Ramona González usedthatvoice, she meant business.
“Ryan, Ryan!” he called, somewhat frantically. “Please can you get this crazy woman off my back.”
“Miss Granger . . .” Ryan stood up and walked over to me. He tapped me on the shoulder and I turned my head and looked at him.
“Yes, Mr. Stark?”
“Please will you dismount Mr. Mabuza.”
Mr. Mabuza. That name sounded familiar. “But you said never to let anyone into your office.”
“It’s lunchtime. My private time. I can have whoever I like in my office during this hour.”
“Uh . . .” I slowly loosened my grip and finally let go of the man, sliding down his back and onto the floor. “I see,” I said softly. Well, this wasn’t embarrassing. At all.
Ryan smiled at me. A small, slow, sly, skewed smile that lit up his blue eyes. It was the first smile I’d seen all day and it reminded me of that scene fromThe Addams Familywhen Wednesday Addams smiles and everyone gasps. “This is the lawyer that will be . . .” he leaned in closer to me and whispered, “orgasming the contract.”
My cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. “Oh. Uh . . . sorry.” I moved off and headed for the door but his voice stopped me.
“My lunch and coffee,” he said.
“Of course.” I turned and smiled sheepishly at the lawyer.
He was staring at me now, a strange look plastered across his face. He looked both confused and terrified.
“She’s very dedicated to her job.” Ryan leaned across the desk and spoke to Mr. Mabuza.
The lawyer ran his eyes up and down me curiously. “I can see. Very dedicated,” he said flatly, still unimpressed.
“And can you get Mr. Mabuza a . . .?” Ryan spoke again.
“Coffee. Strong. Black,” he said, not tearing his eyes away from me.
What was up with this man? Had he never been tackled by anyone’s assistant before?
“Coming right up.” I gave him a smile and then ran from the office. Oh God, what a monumental screw-up. I made the coffee and grabbed Ryan’s food from my desk, hoping to hell I’d remembered his mayo preference correctly. I walked back into the office and laid it all down for them.
“There we go,” I said as sweetly as I could.
“It’snomayonnaise, Miss Granger. No mayonnaise.”
“Sorry,” I muttered as I walked out of the office. Oh my God, this day just couldn’t get any worse, could it?
CHAPTERTHIRTY-NINE
Ryan
He had a meeting later that afternoon. It was a Friday afternoon meeting and, contrary to popular belief, he hated Friday afternoon meetings because he did like to go home and relax after a long week. He allowed himself this one small moment a week when he relaxed. Emmy’s grandmother always fetched her from school on a Friday, and she spent the night with her; this meant that he had his own Friday night ritual. He got home, took his suit off, dropped it on the floor, or wherever he was, ordered greasy fast food, watched Netflix and then drank at least three single malt whiskeys before he climbed into bed early and slept the night away. He looked forward to Friday nights, the one day in which he unwound slightly.
He reached for his phone and pressed a few numbers. It immediately rang, and she jumped as if she’d gotten a fright and then answered.
“Miss Granger . . .” He spoke into the phone and looked at her through the glass wall. She made eye contact briefly and then looked away.
“We have a meeting this afternoon, you’ve seen it in the diary, no doubt?”
“I have,” she said anxiously.
“We need to leave for it in one hour, and I need you to go to the laundry and fetch me another shirt,” he said. “You might not be able to see it from your desk, but I have mayonnaise on my collar, which is why I don’t like to eat sandwiches with mayonnaise on when I’m at work.”
