“What?” He shot me a look that told me he was totally out of his depth in this environment. He clearly was.
“Well, thanks for the lift.” I didn’t look at him but reached for the door handle, when another loud sigh filled the car and stopped me dead in my tracks. What was with this guy and all his sighing?
“Can you answer a phone?” he asked reluctantly.
“Yes!” I swung around. “I can. I swear I’m good at answering phones . . .Hello, Mr. Stark’s office how can I help you . . . I’m sorry, he’s not in, but I’d be pleased to take a message!” I hung up the fake phone receiver I’d just made with my fingers and looked at him as confidently as possible.
He shook his head. “Computer literate?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Of course.”
“I don’t tolerate lateness,” he said sternly.
“Never.” I jumped in. “I’m always on time.” That was a total lie.
“And no crying in the office.”
“Absolutely not.” (I hoped not anyway.)
“You can start work on Monday. Be in the office at seven a.m. sharp. Don’t be late,” he mumbled.
I was so overjoyed that, without thinking about it, I threw my arms around him and pulled him into a hug. I realized that I’d done the wrong thing immediately when he wriggled out of my grip and brushed the water droplets off his suit.
“And absolutely no hugging,” he quickly added. “Ever.”
“Sorry.” I smiled from ear to ear. “I won’t let you down, I promise.” I jumped out of the warm car into the cold rain and scuttled across the muddy ground to my apartment block.
CHAPTERSIX
Ryan
He sat in his car and watched the strange, wet creature running away from him. This place was a total dump. The road was full of mud-filled potholes, and every now and then she would stand in one and an explosion of brown mud shot up her leg. By the time she’d gotten to the building, both her legs were completely covered.
He watched her struggle to open the door and then . . .
“What the hell?” He was shocked to see her give the door a firm roundhouse kick before it popped open.Who was this woman?And then she disappeared into the terrible-looking building. He glanced up at it; its tiny, jail-like windows were covered in bars.Were the bars there to keep people in, or out?He couldn’t imagine living here, and for a second he felt a stab of guilt when he thought about the house he was returning to. He turned on his ignition once more and pulled away; a dodgy-looking guy came out of the shadows and glared at his car as he passed.Shit!He sped away quickly. This really wasn’t a safe area to live in and his thoughts suddenly drifted to Doris’s safety. He drove for a few more minutes before it dawned on him . . .
WTF had he just done!?
Had he really just given the job to the least qualified, and certainly the strangest person who’d applied for it? What had he been thinking? Clearly, he hadn’t been thinking, because if he had, he would never, ever, have done that! And on top of that, had he actually invited her into his car? That was completely inappropriate on so many levels. He didnotmix his business and personal life—ever. And having her in his car, his personal space, felt like it was crossing a line. He never wanted to cross that line again.
“Shit!” he mumbled to himself and slapped the steering wheel. He’d never done anything so impulsive and emotional in his entire life. The thought unnerved him. He would just have to make her quit on Monday. There was no way she would make it through the day anyway, especially when he gave her the special Ryan Stark treatment that usually had them bursting into tears and running for the door before lunchtime. And she seemed like a crier.
He drove for a while before the environment started changing. Broken pavements and potholes gave way to rolling lawns and mansions on the hill. He arrived at his house and drove up the long steep driveway that wound its way up to his modernist mansion. He parked his car and climbed out, but paused before going inside. He always did this. He’d done this for the last two years, ever since his twin sister Rachel’s death. On her deathbed, he’d promised to take care of his niece, Emmy. To care for her and raise her like his own. The only problem was, he had no idea how to be a father, let alone a father to a teenage girl. The first year she had been fine, but since turning thirteen, everything had changed. She seemed so angry and emotional all the time, and nothing he did was right. They fought constantly and he felt like he was failing her. He hated failing. He was good at everything—except raising a teenager, it would seem. And normally when he wanted advice or needed someone to talk to, he would call Rachel.
“Emmy,” he called out when he’d gathered himself enough to walk inside and face whatever was waiting for him. “Emmy?” he called again when he didn’t get an answer.
“You’re late,” a sulky voice returned from the other room. He walked in and she turned. His heart skipped a beat. She looked so much like his sister that sometimes it unnerved him. Like seeing a ghost.
“Sorry.” He tried to smile at her, but she didn’t reciprocate.
“You promised we’d have dinner together.” She stood up angrily.
He looked at his watch. “It’s not too late to eat now.”
“Whatever. It’s not like I care anyway, and I’ve already eaten.” And with that, she marched across the room and up the stairs.
He stared after her, trying to think of something to say to make this better. But before he could, she disappeared into her bedroom.
