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Her pulse was pounding so hard and fast, and she could feel her heart beating in her throat and hear it in her ears. She gripped the handle with one hand, tightened her hold on it, and used her other hand to bring her knuckle down on the wood.
“Come in.”
His voice was so deep, so penetrating, that she swore she felt the vibrations right through the doors. Sorcha pushed the door open and stopped at the sight before her. There was a caterer off to the side, hands behind his white clothed body, and a cooking station set up in front of him. He was focused on nothing in particular in front of him, and the spread of food that was laid out on the table was impressive. Rian was sitting behind his desk, this impatient and slightly angry look on his face.
“You’re late,” he said in that bastard-like voice of his.
She looked at the stainless steel clock on the wall, noticed she was only fifteen minutes late, but still knew it was no excuse. “I know, and I’m sorry. Traffic was horrible.” She didn’t explain that she had slept in, or that she was suffering from a slowly heightening hangover and was still slightly drunk.
“Timothy, please start cooking two ham and cheese omelets,” Rian said to the chef, but kept his focus on her. “What else would you like in your omelet, Miss Case?”
Her stomach protested to the very thought of food, and she felt nauseous when the sound of the ham sizzling on the skillet came through. And then the sound of Timothy using the whisk on the eggs was what sent her over, because all she could think about was the slimy consistency of the eggs.
“Excuse me.” She barely got the words out before she dashed out of the office and into the small, private bathroom in the front lobby. She made it to the toilet just as her stomach heaved and she emptied the water she had drunk this morning. For several seconds she breathed in and out. When she was relatively sure she wouldn’t throw up anymore she stood, walked over to the sink, and braced her hands on the lip of it.
She stared at herself in the mirror, saw the beads of perspiration line her forehead, and quickly washed her face. She felt like shit, and of course she had to make an ass out of herself by running out of Mr. Hartford’s office. There was a knock on the door, and before she heard his voice she knew it was her boss.
“Miss Case, are you all right?” Rian asked in that ever-present calm and collected voice of his.
“I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.” She looked back at her reflection, watched the trails of water move down her face, and breathed out. “Get your shit together,” she whispered to herself, and grabbed a few paper towels to dry herself off. Her purse was one of the big bulky ones, and she grabbed a small bottle of mouthwash. Cora made fun of her for her “backpack”, but hell, in times like this she was glad she had a little bit of everything. After rinsing out her mouth, making sure she looked semi-decent and not like she had just hurled, she left the bathroom. Sorcha stopped when she saw Rian standing on the opposite side, leaning against the wall with his hands in the front pockets of his pants. He certainly looked different today. But seeing him standing across from her, wearing a pair of dark, most likely designer and very expensive jeans, and a white button down shirt that was tucked in the waistband, was vastly different from his tailored suits.
He looked almost … human. She looked like shit, she knew that, but the way he was watching her, as if he was trying to figure her out, made her feel even sicker, if that was possible. Did he know she was hungover, or maybe he jumped to a different kind of conclusion, like she was having morning sickness or something?
Good grief, Sorcha. Why in the hell would you think that?
“If you’re not feeling well we can always do this another time,” he said with a blank expression, and this whole air around him made her feel even more unstable than she already was. Something was up, that was for sure.
“No, I’m fine. I feel much better actually.” She didn’t want anything to eat, but she also knew getting something in her stomach might help her.
He nodded once, pushed away from the wall, but didn’t say anything for several seconds. He just continued to watch her, and she found herself shifting on her feet. She glanced at the ground, looked at his polished loafers, and then slowly worked her gaze back up his body. She hadn’t meant to seem like she was checking him out, but she supposed he might take it that way. Because you were, Sorcha. He was a big man all around, at least half a foot taller than her five-foot-seven height, and his body was toned, muscular, and she could tell he had restrained power beneath his flesh.
