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The only salient point of her word salad was that I would have to wait until tomorrow for my coffee order. What was this world coming to?
Good question, since I had no business talking about honey lapping—even if it was entirely fictional—in the workplace. But what else was I supposed to say? April had already detailed my donut weakness. If I gave Ryan any more ammunition about my preferences for sweets, who knows what she would do with such information?
And she was still emailing me. Over and over. By now, I suspected she really had resorted to one word each, becau
se there was no way she could have that much to say to a man she didn’t even know.
I didn’t click on her emails. Instead, I put a call into the IT department of the public relations firm on the second floor. Talking about lapping honey from Colleen had given me the idea that maybe she could fix my damn notifications. Quicker than I could, that was for sure.
“What did you break this time, Pres?” The laughter in her voice managed to tease out a smile.
“Nothing. I don’t think so, anyway. I keep getting email notifications and I don’t want them. You need to make them stop.”
Colleen’s laughter didn’t grate on my nerves like Ryan’s. Even in theory, her laughter pissed me off. “This is an easy one. You go into your settings, which is that gray button with the little cog wheel I showed you last time—”
“I did all that,” I said impatiently. “She’s still emailing me.”
“She?” Colleen clucked her tongue. “Are you finally dating and holding out on me?”
“No. Absolutely not. Not in this life or any other.”
“Well, that was rather vehement.” More laughter at my expense.
That was just how this week was going, evidently.
Colleen promised to stop by before lunch, and I ended the call during another flurry of email dings. Then I settled upon a novel solution. Within a few clicks, the soothing sounds of Chopin brought a sense of calm heretofore lacking in my day.
Smiling smugly, I went back to my notes. I worked on them for a while before looking up again, when the tickle in my throat turned to a full-blown need for water. I rose to pour a glass and foolishly decided to look out the window of my office to ascertain Ryan hadn’t yet burned down the place. I didn’t know what she was doing to occupy herself in lieu of instructions from me, but I hoped she could at least manage to take phone calls without being told to do so, along with dealing with any foot traffic.
One glance into the outer office told me that yes, she was dealing capably with such. Even if the feet in question were hers—as in one propped on the edge of her desk while she painted her toenails and smiled far more warmly at another man than she had at me.
The man was Dexter Shaw. Also known as my little brother.
The affable asshole.
I returned to my desk and pushed the button for April’s line. She took three rings to answer. “Hi there. Miss me?”
She sounded breathless and amused. I liked her voice that way too much, despite knowing who had made her smile—and it wasn’t me.
“Don’t let him take you to lunch.”
For a moment, silence reigned on the line. I had a feeling that didn’t happen often with Ryan. “Oh, your charming younger brother?” She chuckled. “Dex, were you going to ask me to lunch? PMS says I shouldn’t go.”
PMS? What the fuck was that all about?
It took me a few seconds to recall my unfortunate initials. No one had ever dared call me that, at least to my face. Leave it to Miss Moon.
Who was grinning up at Dexter while he raked a hand through his dark hair and grinned back. He was probably telling her I had a stick up my ass and I was jealous of him, because of course I was.
The worst of it? He was telling the truth. Everything was easy for him. He didn’t have a care in the world, and sometimes it felt as if my shoulders would crack under the weight of all I carried.
“PMS? Oh, he isn’t going to like that.”
“He doesn’t like much from what I can tell.”
“Mr. Prim and Proper has never had a nickname. Not a public one, anyway. But he gave me a good idea. Do you have lunch plans, Ry?”
He had already shortened her name. Wasn’t that sweet? He was just the best at inter-office relations.
