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She got in and the door closed. Had she just leaped from the frying pan to the fire?
The drive to work wasn’t long. Tempting as the beckoning liquor was, it was maybe a little extreme to go into work lubed. Especially on a Monday morning. What would that mean for the rest of the week?
Daly was there to open her door before she’d even grabbed her purse. Was she living in a parallel universe? Suddenly she felt like a trophy wife on her way to the spa.
Daly closed the door behind her.
When he turned, she was right there waiting. “Are you going to follow me everywhere?”
“Yeah,” he said without shame or apology.
“You don’t have to. I’m fine. There’s no reason to—”
“Miss McLeod, you can talk to me and my guys as much as you want, but you don’t give the orders.”
“What does that mean?”
“Means talk don’t mean nothing. Unless it comes from Ire.”
Ire… “That’s what they call Connel McDade,” she said, which was stupid because, of course, Daly knew that.
“Aye,” he said. “From the top to the bottom.”
“But he is the top,” she said. “Wasn’t his father murdered?”
“Coupla decades ago.”
“On the order of Ire’s uncle, right? Burl McDade?”
“Wanna know about the boss? Ask the boss,” he said and looked at the building next to them. “We going in?”
“I’m going in. You won’t get past security.”
A sinister light sprang to his eye. “Bet you lunch I will.”
And if she didn’t make sure of that, there could be a scene. This was her life now.
Security wasn’t exactly a high priority in the Collier Communications building. The Chronicler was just one of many CollCom divisions and subsidiaries housed in the Midwest HQ.
Far as she could tell, the guard by the front desk was more for show than anything else. Somewhere in the building was a security office; she’d seen their number in the directory. Despite the rent-a-cops, they got to the elevator and up to her floor without any issues. Great, this Daly guy was going to think she was full of it.
Even their usual guy, Paolo, wasn’t in his booth on their floor. Typical.
Thoughts of humiliation quickly disappeared when she saw the massive floral arrangement sticking up from behind the reception desk hutch.
Lucy leaped to her feet. “Sersha!”
“Morning,” she said, ignoring Daly loitering behind her. “What’s going on?”
The receptionist lifted the vase to the higher level of the desk. “For you!” She didn’t even take the card. “Your secret admirer… Again…! Aren’t you curious who it is?” She knew who it was, just didn’t reveal his identity to the masses. “It’s so exciting. He’s clearly mad about you.”
“He’s mad, I’ll give you that,” she said, stepping backward, right into Daly, so he got a sharp elbow in the ribs. “That’s for sure.”
“Do you want them on your desk?”
“Do I ever want them on my desk?”
Lucy’s light faded. “No… I don’t know why you’re not stoked about this. It’s so romantic.”
