John dropped the paper he held on the desk and moved away from the blinding sunlight streaming through the windows. Unless it involved a negotiation or business deal, he sucked at reading people, but with Jen's help, he'd developed a few mechanisms that helped him focus at those times when some personal awareness was required. In this instance, he shifted into the shadows and edged closer. He wanted to see her feet. Body language was a focal point, and focal points offered clues. Clues he needed to help navigate.
“My brother is a wealthy man. The outdoor division is teetering on being an embarrassment of riches.” He rolled a shoulder and tried for a smirk. “Even without what he inherited and his portion of the company, he has a serious bank account. Not that he cares,” John added at the end.
That was when he saw it. The slight kick of her dangerous looking shoes against the leg of the sofa. Ryan and his bank account got to her. Or maybe it was his lack of fucks to give over his personal wealth. Something.
“What’s your point, John?” she snapped. “That having a lot of money gets you a wife? Seriously?”
“No,” he objected with a headshake. "I'm just saying that, all things considered, it might be a contributing factor."
She ripped out an exasperated grunt. "A contributing factor?"
The way she said it made the expression sound like a withering indictment that was in no way flattering.
“Well”—she snorted dismissively—“if money is a contributing factor in choosing a mate, count me out. Your brother is an idiot for going along with whatever this is.”
Her pissed-off hand wave intrigued him. So did the tapping of her foot.
Hmph.
"In my brother's defense, he might not know what Connie and Grace are up to."
Not knowing what the hell Constance Lloyd and her twin sister, Grace, were meddling in at any given moment was standard for their family. The two had far too much time on their hands. Time they devoted more and more often to interfering in their kids’ lives than to their usual philanthropic endeavors.
Inferring that perhaps Ryan was clueless where the Quinn Montgomery matter was involved seemed to soften Jen’s displeasure. Well, he hoped that was what happened. He wasn’t sure because her mood shifted a nanosecond later when a commotion in the vestibule outside his office grabbed their attention.
“A venti coconut macchiato says the prodigal brother has returned.”
John snorted a laugh. “Get real. You have an unlimited expense account at Starbucks. Get your own damn macchiato.”
The commotion outside his office was quite loud now. It sounded like his brother was doing his usual act—charming and cajoling all who entered his orbit.
2
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Lloyd. My little brother will be thrilled. He's a big fan. Follows you on Instagram."
Ryan Lloyd offered the junior executive one of his practiced cover photo smiles. With half the people who worked on the executive floor tagging along after him as he headed for his brother’s office, he felt like the Pied Piper of Lloyd Global. Wherever he went, people followed.
“No problem, Malik. I’d be happy to sign the magazine cover.” He looked around and asked, “Anyone got a Sharpie?”
As he glanced at the people checking their pockets, Ryan spied the door to Jen Carlton’s office. As his brother’s de facto chief of staff, she ran the inner, inner sanctum with a conveniently located office suite adjacent to the executive seat of power.
And the door wasn’t completely closed.
Without pause, he marched to it and flung it open, figuring if she were in there, he'd stop by to ruin her day, and if she wasn't ... well, he’d find some way to annoy the hell out of her.
Empty. Dammit. He would have liked to mess with the starchy, uptight dragon lady. But no matter. An empty office held so much potential.
Malik followed right behind him but remained outside the door rambling on about his younger brother and how he looked up to Ryan.
Two seconds of looking around and he was twitchy. Not a single thing was out of place. Nothing. It made his skin crawl to see the exhausting perfection and order with which she surrounded herself.
Her desktop looked staged even though he knew damn well it wasn’t. Jen Carlton was one of those types who’d spend a weeknight evening alphabetizing her spice rack.
He mentally shuddered.
A short, involuntary snicker shot from his chest when his eyes searched for a pencil cup and came up empty. A pencil cup was way too haphazard for someone so meticulous. A jumble of pens would probably drive her bat shit.
The two writing instruments on the desk were a fine line pen and a highlighter—lined up just so. He hit them with his hand when he reached for the desk drawer and watched them roll apart and stop at different angles.
“Jesus,” he muttered when the contents of the drawer came into view. Just as with everything else, his first takeaway was the excruciating order.
After finding the black Sharpie he was after, Ryan slammed the drawer shut and gave a satisfied smirk when he heard the contents shift from the force.
As he turned back to the doorway, a framed picture on a bookshelf caught his eye. Trying not to appear curious, he shimmied behind the desk chair for a better look while pretending to throw something in the trash can.
It was a framed picture of a flower. An orchid. He knew a thing or two about the fussy flower. The plant could be temperamental and required skill to keep it blooming—especially if grown within the choking confines of a concrete jungle. He understood how the flower felt. It was hard to breathe when your eyes looked found buildings, peoples, and carbon chugging cars everywhere they looked. It took less than a day for the walls to close in after getting off a plane from Alaska. He'd visit his family more often if they didn't all live in the fucking city.
As he rounded Jen’s desk and headed for the door, he paused to inspect the three magazines carefully arranged on a coffee table in front of a love seat. Just to be a dick, he lifted the one in the center, which caused the other two to fall out of alignment. The travel magazine he’d picked had an article about him from a recent journey to Africa.
“Eh, what the fuck.” He snickered softly to the empty office. Slipping the Sharpie into a pocket, he flipped open the magazine and dog-eared the article about him. Then he deliberately tossed it back on the once-organized pile and made sure to be as haphazard about it as possible.
Satisfied that his work was done, Ryan turned back to the door before Malik had a chance to pick his jaw up off the floor. Oh, shit. He forgot about the hovering fan boy watching his every move. Studying the upwardly mobile junior executive with a critical eye, he picked up on the guy’s discomfort. Fuck. He didn’t do the poor shlub any favors by defiling the dragon lady’s office right under his watchful nose.
This situation called for a thick layer of charm to smooth over the bumps and potholes his presence at the headquarters of Lloyd Global always caused.
Pulling the Sharpie from his pocket, he gave Malik a conspiratorial wink. “Got it.”
The lump of worry Malik visibly swallowed and the sudden sheen of sweaty apprehension that bloomed on his cocoa-colored skin bothered Ryan. He had a problem with anything that smelled like intimidation served from a person in a position of power and assumed Malik’s reaction was because Jen Carlton was a snotty bitch who probably made everyone’s life a workplace hell.
Like the hell she’d been making in his dreams for the past year.
Thumping the flabbergasted guy’s shoulder with his hand, Ryan steered them out of the office and tried to charm Malik into a better mood.
“Where’s the magazine? Let me sign that bad boy for your little bro. And tell you what, grab your phone and let’s do a selfie.”
They stepped back into the open vestibule and a dozen enthusiastic Lloyd employees immediately surrounded them. Someone waved the magazine in front of Malik’s face. He grabbed it and handed it to Ryan. “Trey,” he said with a half-smile. “My brother
’s name is Trey.”
Leaning his ass on someone’s desk, he pretended to spell it out loud as he quickly autographed the magazine cover with his grinning face framed against a mountaintop. He’d reached the summit after an arduous climb and was lost in the moment when the picture was snapped. Although he didn't particularly enjoy the media attention, Ryan recognized it was part and parcel of his job. But to be honest, his ego enjoyed this cover. Not because the headline described him as rugged outdoor eye candy but because the picture wasn't posed or staged. The joy reflected in his expression was real when some parts of his life didn't always feel real. Authentic moments stayed with him. Like the one on the cover.
After a hurried flurry of selfie activity, he stood and started to shake off his posse of admirers, inching closer and closer to the impressive double doors leading to John's private office. He was anxious to move things along once he realized that Jen not being on guard duty outside the office meant she was in there. With John. And if he had to guess, he imagined both of them were probably both chafing at the commotion his presence created.
Hashtag, winning.
Before flinging open the doors, he waved everyone away but pulled Malik in close for one final thing.
“Dude, don’t be a pussy.”
Ryan chuckled at the guy’s swift grimace. Malik knew exactly what he was referencing.
“Look,” he continued with a measure of sick humor. “She’ll know it was me. You’re totally in the clear.”
Malik hesitated.
“What?” Ryan asked encouragingly. “Go ahead. Say what’s on your mind.”
“Well, sir,” he murmured. “Your visits to headquarters generally end up adding pages to the Book of Snark you and Ms. Carlton inspire.”
Really? Did people discuss them? Hmph. This was news to him.
“I’m only bringing it up because …”
Ryan arched a brow and waited.
“She’s the best, sir. Ms. Carlton manages the pressure of Lloyd Global better than just about anyone. Your brother has been something of an asshole lately. The Goodwin deal fell through,” he growled. “And she’s been taking it on the chin. Can you maybe go easy on her, Mr. Lloyd?”
Ryan jerked slightly but schooled his expression to stay neutral. His assumption that Jen was a right royal bitch to work for just got shot straight to hell. He made an inward grimace when the sound of his aunt’s voice ricocheted inside his head. Ya know what they say about assuming stuff. Don’t make an ass out of u and me.
Dammit. He’d been a dick.
Two seconds later, he shrugged and thought, Oh, fucking well, as he extended his hand to Malik.
“Thanks for the insight, and it’s Ryan. Mr. Lloyd is my brother. Hang in there, Malik,” he told the smiling guy as he enthusiastically shook his hand.
Then he turned and all but kicked open his brother’s office door and loudly announced his presence.
“Crank open the vault, bro,” he boomed. “I’m here for my allowance.”
A quick glance in the mirror above the washroom sink inside the private bathroom cleverly tucked behind a floor-to-ceiling bookcase at the rear of her office let Jen know she was safe from an outward appearance perspective. Not a hair out of place and the all-day lip stain she’d been fangirling over earned a solid five stars for surviving an encounter with the Prince of Jock Straps.
Running her fingers across her bangs, she smoothed them against her forehead and fiddled with the small pearl dangling from her ear. She’d always tackled whatever life threw at her and wrestled that shit to the ground. Her mom said that, even as a baby, Jen was one of those kids who went with the flow.
But Ryan Lloyd didn’t flow. He sort of unleashed. Like a torrent of water released from a dam with perfect aim.
Shithead.
Good-looking, arrogant shithead.
Turning off the light as she left the washroom, Jen rounded the bookcase and went straight to her desk. Work was what she needed to block out the past hour.
Taking a deep breath, she straightened and tugged on the hem of the smart little jacket of her designer suit as she stepped up to her desk. The breath caught in her throat when she noticed her pen and highlighter spread out instead of lined up in their usual way.
“That son of a bitch,” she growled.
Her eyes scanned the room to see what else the arrogant jerk face had done when he’d stepped over the line and helped himself to her office. The jumble of magazines immediately caught her gaze. Seriously?
Stomping to the coffee table, she started to re-arrange the mess when her eyes picked up on the sloppily dog-eared page. Forcefully opening it to the crinkled page, she felt heat rush into her neck when Ryan's pompous smirk came into view.
Did he think she was drooling over the article full of effusive compliments? The thought made her wince.
She slammed the magazine shut and replaced it on the table with the others.
Idiot.
Returning to her desk, she sat and went through a cascade of messages on her tablet while trying to banish Ryan Lloyd from her thoughts. She was far too busy to get caught up in thinking about the likes of him.
Unfortunately, no amount of working distraction kept her eyes from drifting to the damn coffee table and the magazine he used to purposely taunt her.
“Conceited ass clown,” she murmured aloud.
Forcing herself to concentrate on work, Jen shifted several times, searching for a comfortable position. She didn’t realize she’d been biting her lip until an especially vicious nip made her flinch.
That’s what you get for pretending you weren’t salivating over the damn article.
“Shut up,” she drawled to the silence.
Pushing away from the desk, she whirled around and stopped when the wall of windows with its corner-to-corner view of gray dominated her line of sight. Why couldn’t CEOs run their kingdoms from someplace pretty? Like the Hamptons or the mountains?
Jen glanced at her watch. Almost lunchtime. Not that she needed a break since virtually nothing of substance had been accomplished.
Dropping her head on the back of her chair, she closed her eyes. “Why’s it gotta be this way?”
Her heart answered the question with a tiny flutter that matched the one in her stomach.
Launching from her chair like a marionette whose strings were pulled, she mutter-growled how she felt. “Nope. No way. I don’t do hot guy fantasies. Especially when the guy is a certified asshat.”
From the first second of the first moment of the first time they met, she pegged Ryan for what she was sure he was—a spoiled, ego-driven, trust fund loser. His tedious environmentalist talking points and scruffy appearance struck her as self-indulgent crap next to John’s impeccable, buttoned up, and serious demeanor.
Not much had changed in the years since. While John ran a global enterprise and played the part, Ryan wandered the world in a vagabond way that fooled no one. His eight-figure net worth didn’t include the mind-boggling wealth he shared with his family. Jen highly doubted he was slumming it on his travels.
The only reason she put up with him at all was that, as John kept reminding her, he developed Lloyd Outdoor from scratch and that counted for a lot. The division hauled in profit like crazy because of Ryan’s enticing lifestyle. His backpack-driven existence appealed to a lot of people.
She snorted dismissively. Whatever.
The desk intercom buzzed. Dammit. John was contacting her.
She answered tersely and groaned at how disagreeable she sounded. “Yes?”
“Jen,” John replied. “I, uh, want a … um, what I mean to say is, oh shit. I’ll text you.”
“Tell your assistant to bring me a coffee,” Ryan snottily barked in the background.
“Ignore him,” John snapped before she had a chance to respond with something equally as rude. “He’s auditioning for lead dick in a corporate drama.”
Jen disconnected the intercom before her laughter rang out. No way was she giv
ing that idiot the satisfaction.
On cue, her phone vibrated. She snatched it off the desk and opened John’s message.
I’m stuck. Need help.
Expecting an explanation, she waited but no further texts came.
Aargh. She growled. “Is this national men are exhausting day?”
Letting her thumbs fly was way more satisfying than it should have been.
Is there some reason you’re making me ask?
His reply was immediate.
No. Sorry. Distracted. Don’t I have an important lunch meeting?
Oh, for heaven’s sake. What was he nattering on about? Did he have a meeting? What was she? His secretary?
Grumbling disagreeably, she tapped a few keys on the fancy desktop system and brought up her boss’s schedule. Nothing. His entire day was mostly open. There was no way John Lloyd didn’t know what his day looked like. What the hell was he up to?
Or better yet ... what was she missing?
Betting on impulse, she came back with a clever response that demanded his input. Whichever way he answered would give Jen all she needed to proceed.
Do you want there to be something important?
She’d only taken a few breaths when his swift reply caused a sharp inhale and a groan followed by a long sigh.
Desperately. Please.
The first word he chose was unusual—the second, shocking. John rarely asked for help. Men like him had a hard time admitting to anything less than total control.
Sorry to interrupt, John, but you have an important sit-down with Mr. Peterman of the Clueless Executive Agency. You’re meeting at the corner of Get a Grip and Bite Me. Will that get you out of whatever jam you’ve gotten into?
He jumped on her response with a fast answer.
Thanks, Jen. That’s perfect. Do you mind distracting Ryan?
“Do I mind?” she muttered irritably. “Sadly, the man is serious.”
I’m a little busy. Can’t your mother babysit?
For no one’s benefit except hers, Jen dropped the phone with a clatter and stuck her tongue out. Of course, the damn thing pinged right away.
Cupid In Heels Page 2