Page 37

Shilo:

Hey, I’m sorry but I can’t make it tonight. My dad kinda sprung something on me last minute and I’ll be gone til Monday. Sorry again.

Blinking down at the message, an exasperated sigh leaves my throat as disappointment has me tossing my head back to glare at the ceiling. Part of me wants to call him and demand to know what the hell he’s talking about, while the other half shrugs it off with a vague indifference and pulls up my contact list to search through my hookup options. Just as I’m about to pull one up and give them a call, though, something has me pausing with my thumb over the button.

As much as I need a good fuck…I don’t want any company right now.

Not unless it involves a pair of light eyes and purple hair.

I dismiss that thought immediately, figuring my workload must have made me more exhausted than I thought as I pull up Declan’s message to decline his offer of poker night. I can’t stand his old college friends—a bunch of straight guys with wives, kids, pets. Shudder.

Me:

I’ll pass. No Paige tonight?

Dec:

Nope. She’s going hunting with her dad and brother I guess.

Me:

Hunting?

My brain conjures up an image of Shilo dressed in camo carrying a rifle, and it’s so ridiculous that I snort to myself.

Dec:

Yeah, they hunt their own turkey every year. The trip was supposed to be next weekend but their dad had work stuff come up.

Well, shit. There goes my weekend plans, I suppose. Casting one more glance at the hockey game, I turn off the flatscreen in disgust before pushing off the couch to head for my office. Maybe if I get a head start on some work, I can plan on at least only eight hours tomorrow instead of ten. Jesus. Hiring an assistant was supposed to help lighten my workload, and here it is, just as chaotic as before, having to correct everything that Shilo fucks up. If he were just someone we’d hired off the street, I’d have fired him after that first week. I still probably should. It would make my life a hundred times easier, and yet…

Ignoring that train of thought, I sit at my desk in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, trying to lose myself in writing a document for Ronin. The unfinished draft stares back at me when his name suddenly appears on my screen via video call.

Grinding my molars, I hesitate, staring at the blinking icon. It’s been months since we last spoke face-to-face, and I can already feel the tension coil in my chest. The last time we talked, he’d barely acknowledged my existence, and the memory of that disastrous dinner back in August still hangs heavily in my mind—right before I invited a certain Uber driver up to my condo.

With a resigned sigh, I click the accept button and lean back as Ronin’s face fills the screen.

“Father,” I greet him with practiced indifference. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Ryann,” he acknowledges curtly, the background of his study at the Manor house coming into view. “I expected the operations review this morning.”

“I’m doing well, thanks for asking.” I smile tightly. “It was just getting typed up when you graced me with your presence.”

His hazel eyes, a mirror of my own, narrow slightly, but he doesn’t engage. “Good. And the diagnostic report for AVA?”

“In progress,” I reply, even as my stomach knots at the thought of the delays. Two months until launch, and AVA is still riddled with bugs. But I keep that to myself. “You’ll receive an update by Monday.”

“Sunday morning at the latest.” His tone leaves no room for negotiation.

I clench my teeth, nodding through the tension. “I’ll do my best. Anything else?”

“Yes,” he says, reaching off-screen to accept something from his secretary-turned-wife. “Have you had dinner with Olivia yet?”

The mention of her name feels like a sucker punch.

“Not yet.” My chest tightens with frustration. “I still don’t see why Declan can’t be the one to—“

His stern look cuts me off. “Declan won’t be the one running everything next year.”