Growling, I stalk to the door and stick my head out. “Lucy.”
As if she doesn’t hear me, she pours over Carina’s notes.
Her hair already escapes her clip even though it’s not yet lunchtime. It’s the color of toffee, soft and warm. A few freckles dot the bridge of her nose, giving her the look of a girl who likes the sun. She’s captivating…and apparently deaf.
“Lucy,” I repeat, exasperated.
Still, she doesn’t so much as twitch. I end up directly in front of her, looking down, wondering how long she can ignore me. Finally, losing all patience, I knock my knuckles on her desk.
That gets her attention. Lucy leaps in her seat, and her pretty blue eyes fly to mine. She blinks several times, obviously unsure how long I’ve been standing here.
“We have a strict no-music policy in the office. It’s distracting.”
Lucy frowns. “But it’s so quiet. Surely it’s not bothering anyone.”
“It’s bothering me.”
She presses her lips together, narrowing her eyes just slightly like she wants to argue.
“Please, turn it off.”
“Yes, Mr. Devlin,” she says politely, but I can tell she’s silently cursing me. She taps at her phone screen, and moments later, the noise cuts off abruptly. Then she looks up, smiling sweetly. “Better?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Though her tone is perfectly cordial, her eyes spark with quiet defiance.
And, for reasons unbeknownst to me, I want to linger just to push a few more of her buttons.
“No.” I turn back to my office and close the door with slightly more force than necessary—or wise, considering it’s glass.
I sit, staring at the schematic, reveling in the silence.
Only now, it’s too quiet.
Just as I’m about to take a break—go somewhere that doesn’t have a front-row view of my new disaster of a secretary—my phone rings.
“Hey, Chad,” I say to my college friend. “How’s the wedding prep?”
There were about seven of us in our group of friends, including Chad’s sister and his now fiancée, Breanna. I’d likely be stuck in the wedding party if it wasn’t for the blessed fact that Chad has four brothers.
He goes on for a while about flowers and finances, and I idly listen, adding a few understanding noises here and there when necessary.
“How’s your new secretary?” he asks when he’s finished. “Has she started yet?”
I grunt an affirmative, and my eyes wander back to Lucy.
“How is she working out?”
As he asks, Lucy accidentally knocks over Carina’s tall, slim aluminum pen stand. Several pens roll off the desk, and she darts around in a feeble attempt to catch them.
“She’s a mess.” I shake my head as I watch her. “Worst secretary I’ve ever had.”
“That bad, huh?”
“She’ll be fortunate if she lasts a month.”
“Bad luck,” he says with a laugh, obviously not feeling terribly sympathetic. “Is she pretty?”
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I watch a very frustrated Lucy as she shoves her bangs out of her face. She rights the pen stand and then sets her hands on her hips, scowling at it like it personally wronged her. Then, as if suddenly feeling my gaze, she looks over sharply.
Our eyes lock, and her cheeks go pink. After several long moments, she rips her attention away and hurries back to her seat.
“She’s very pretty,” I admit to Chad.
“Well, then it’s not all bad, is it?”
I press my forehead to my hand, groaning. “Actually, I think that makes it worse.”
That woman is going to be the death of me.
And where is she? Does she expect me to wait for her all evening?
I stand by Lucy’s desk, wondering how much of a headache I’ll be in for if I leave her. Probably a large one. For unknown reasons, my father and brother are attached to Carina’s niece.
Niece.
Lucy barely looks five years younger than Carina. I expected a girl fresh out of college, someone who would flirt with the mailroom boys and make me feel like I was babysitting.
Lucy, though. She’s…well…
I clear my throat, shaking my head.
A moment later, Lucy steps from the elevator. Actually, she hops.
Balancing on one leg, she attempts to remove a scrap of paper that’s attached itself to the bottom of her heel.
I told her to stop wearing those, but did she listen?
My eyes wander over her, as they are prone to do, and my chest goes uncomfortably tight. I look away sharply, irritated with both the woman and my reaction to her.
Lucy looks up, and her eyes widen with surprise when she finds me standing next to her desk. Quickly, she tosses the paper in a wastebasket and hurries forward. “You’re still here? Did I forget to do something?”
I raise my brows, gracing her with an incredulous look, and I swear her face goes white.
“You’re not actually going to drive me to the hospital…?” Lucy trails off, looking as if the thought of riding alone in a car with me makes her ill.
Irrationally offended, I cross my arms.
She brushes her warm brown bangs out of her eyes and looks at her desk as if frantically trying to think of a reason she must stay behind. “But I…”
“Are you ready?” I ask, putting an end to her search even though watching her flounder is mildly entertaining.
Lucy looks back at me, and her bright blue eyes lock on mine. There’s spirit in her gaze, something simmering under her eager-to-please facade.
It calls to me, begs me to engage in her polite jabs…makes me want to act on impulses that would get us both in trouble.
These last few days have been torture.
Chad asked if Lucy is pretty, and the truth is, she’s my own, personal workplace nightmare. With her soft-curves, bright smile, and an arsenal of silk-wrapped, barbed comments, she’s exactly my type. I want her in my arms, not answering my phone.
But I’m a professional. Lucy is my secretary. I won’t entertain these thoughts, no matter how they plague me. Not only would it be begging for a sexual harassment suit, but it would also be far too cliché.
I walk past Lucy, fully expecting her to follow. When she doesn’t, I look back. “Miss Lennox?”
Her mouth parts slightly, and then, as if catching herself, she draws her bottom lip between her teeth.
Is she trying to kill me?
Oblivious to my thoughts, Lucy says after several thick seconds, “Let me get my purse.”
I jerk my head, silently insinuating I’ll wait—but not for long.
I like to think I’m a nice guy. I would help an elderly woman cross a street if the opportunity presented itself. I’m kind to animals. I send money to several charities.
What is it about Lucy that brings out the worst in me?
Once Lucy’s gathered her things, we step onto the elevator. She stares straight ahead as the doors slide shut.
And then…we’re alone.
She stands as if frozen, and so do I. It’s the most uncomfortable elevator ride I’ve ever experienced.
Finally, the lift jerks to a stop, and the doors open. Lucy practically darts out, and I follow, not sure if I’m irritated or amused.
Her heels click on the main level’s gray granite floor as we head to the parking garage.
My parents own the building, along with several others in the city. Dad designed it, and now he leases out all but our top few floors to other businesses. Currently, we have several lawyers, a few insurance companies, an investment group, several non-profits, and a handful of startups.
Lucy jerks her head toward the coffee bar as we pass it. “Why do you go to a cafe several blocks away when you have coffee right here?”
We’ve never made small talk before—we’ve never been alone long enough to feel the need.
“I dated the ow
ner briefly,” I answer, “and now I find it best to keep my distance.”
Under her breath, Lucy mutters, “Filed a restraining order, did she?”
“Excuse me?”
She turns to me, smiling innocently. “I said that’s too bad. I tried it this morning, and it was good.”
Unable to help myself, I say, “I didn’t realize they started a policy of accepting store vouchers.”
Lucy narrows her eyes. “I accidentally left my debit card in a different purse that morning. It’s not as if my payment was declined. I wasn’t destitute before I moved here, thank you, and if I were, I wouldn’t have attempted to buy coffee.”
She has a slight Texas accent, something that gets heavier when she’s irritated. You don’t hear a lot of that around here, and I like it more than I should.
Instead of answering her, I keep walking.
Lucy practically sputters behind me. I shouldn’t find her response so satisfying, but I do. We started an unspoken battle the morning we met, and now we’re both trying to claw our way to the top.
Currently, I’m winning, but she’s gaining ground quickly.
With the enthusiasm of a teenager who’s been told she must organize the garage, Lucy follows me through the parking structure. We come to my usual spot near the door, and I walk around my silver ’63 Aston Martin to unlock the passenger door.
Lucy stares at it as if confused.
“What?” I demand, realizing I was hoping for a different reaction out of her. Most women are impressed even if they don’t know what it is.
“It’s not what I pictured you driving,” she says, practically wrinkling her nose.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s just so…old.”
I can practically feel my hackles rising. “It’s a Kentford restoration—it’s vintage.”
“Hmm,” is all Lucy says as she steps into the car that’s worth more than most starter houses, obviously unimpressed.
“It’s a DB5,” I feel the need to add as I slide into the seat. “Like the James Bond car.”
She nods as if she couldn’t care less. “It’s a little tight, though, isn’t it?”
Before I open my mouth to educate her on why this car is superior to anything you can buy today, I catch the smug look on her face.
She’s baiting me on purpose.
I bite back my frustration, refusing to let it show, and start the car. The engine rumbles to life, and I pull out of my spot.
6
Lucy
I don’t particularly like cars—new or old, they’re just not my thing.
But there is something undeniably sexy about Ryland driving his fussy, British car. Let’s face it, though. The man is dead sexy no matter what he’s doing—drumming his fingers idly on his desk while he talks to a client on the phone, pacing the conference room during a meeting, even while informing me I stapled his papers in the wrong spot. (He wanted it half an inch to the left. Half an inch.)
My body and brain are in a constant state of confusion. I want to strangle the man, and yet the idea of grasping hold of his tie and dragging his lips to mine holds an undeniable appeal.
Is it possible to want someone you loathe? It doesn’t seem healthy, that’s for certain.
“So,” Ryland says after the silence has stretched on a little too long. “You’re Carina’s niece.”
“Yes.”
Pretty sure we’ve already established that.
He glances over. “You don’t look much younger than she is.”
“Only a few years,” I say. “Grandma was twenty when my mom was born. She was thirty-six when she had Carina, so Carina is closer in age to her nieces and nephews.”
“That’s a large gap.”
I shrug. “Mom’s the oldest; Carina’s the youngest, and there are three in between.”
“Are they all still in Texas?”
“Yes, everyone except Carina, and now, me.”
We fall silent again.
“You weren’t at Carina and Tyler’s wedding,” I finally say when curiosity gets the best of me.
No doubt about it, I would have remembered Ryland. And maybe I would have made a better first impression in my designer bridesmaid gown. For one thing, both of my shoes matched.
Ryland impatiently taps his fingers on the steering wheel as we sit at a red light. “I was at a seminar in Kansas City, and my flight was canceled thanks to a storm.”
“Oh, you were that groomsman.”
He flashes me a look that’s impossible to decipher.
“Tyler wanted to put a cardboard cutout of you in your place, but Carina wouldn’t let him.”
Suddenly, a rogue smile toys at Ryland’s mouth. He glances at me again, and for the first time ever, his eyes hold amusement instead of disappointment. “That sounds like Tyler.”
And just like that, my heart gives an extra thump, and butterflies wing about in my stomach. The car is suddenly a bazillion degrees, and I must resist the urge to fan my face.
Obviously, I’m coming down with something because I refuse to admit I’m developing a school-girl crush on my boss.
How embarrassing.
How juvenile.
Exactly how difficult would it be to make out in this vintage car?
Bad, Lucy.
No, no, no.
There are numerous reasons I mustn’t go there, not the least of which is the fact that Ryland would be horrified at the very thought.
Just picturing the look on his face brings me back to reality. Ryland is my boss. I’m his secretary. We have a business relationship, and I will keep my imagination in check.
Somehow.
“Make sure Lucy gets home all right,” Carina says to her brother-in-law, presiding over her hospital bed like a queen. I’m not sure if it’s genes or what, but she looks crazy gorgeous for having a baby in the middle of the night.
If it is a product of good genes, I’m pretty sure they’re not from our side of the family because I don’t think I got them. I look like crap when I have allergies. I’m confident I’ll look like death after having a baby.
Not that it’s an imminent concern.
My last boyfriend broke up with me a year ago. He said he needed a girlfriend who “got him,” and apparently, that wasn’t me.
He must have found her a few months later. He’s married now, and his new wife is welcome to him.
I do all right by myself.
Sure, it would be nice to have someone tall and brawny to deal with the smoke detector when it chirps in the wee hours of the morning—preferably shirtless. And it would be nice to cuddle with someone on the couch in the evenings. Again, shirtless would be okay.
And, all right, I admit I wouldn’t mind having a little blue-blanket-wrapped bundle of my own someday.
But for now, I’m good.
My eyes wander to Ryland before I can stop them, and once again, I must remind myself to leash my imagination.
Mr. Devlin probably doesn’t even know how to change the battery in a smoke detector. No doubt, he has people for that.
Tyler’s mom hovers next to me, desperate to spirit her grandson into her arms. She’s been a grandmother for less than twenty-four hours, but I can tell she’s going to be a good one.
“Back to Grandma,” I say, reluctantly relinquishing my baby cousin.
Ryland and I say our goodbyes and leave the hospital room. As soon as we’re in the fluorescent-lit hallway, I turn to my boss. “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Devlin. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Ryland,” he says gruffly.
I blink at him.
“When we’re not at work,” he adds.
It’s a strange situation we’ve found ourselves in.
“I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow,” I say awkwardly. “Ryland?”
His name comes out as a question. Why did he have to go and make it weird?
Ryland studies me, and his expression is difficult to read. His gray eyes give nothing away, but he rolls
his keys in the palm of his hand. I’m not the only one uncomfortable.
“I’ll drive you home,” he finally says.
It’s not a friendly offer, nor a kind gesture, but a command. And as such, since we’re not at work, I feel I have no choice but to refuse…even if I’d rather not ride the bus this time of night.
“No, I’m fine.” I start walking. “Have a good night. If you hurry, you could still meet Tara.”
Ryland matches my pace. Wryly, he says, “My secretary didn’t set up the appointment.”
I school my expression. “Maybe your secretary is uncomfortable scheduling your dates.”
“Maybe she’s jealous.”
Something hot and highly inappropriate unfurls in my stomach, stretching like a lazy cat in the sun, not caring that Ryland is my boss or that he’s the most difficult man I’ve ever met.
I stop in my tracks, looking at him sharply.
“I’m sure your social life will improve after you’ve been in the city a few months,” Ryland continues without so much as a hint of flirtatious humor in his eyes. “Don’t fret over mine.”
Oh.
Oh.
He didn’t mean…
Of course he didn’t. Good grief, Lucy.
Thankfully, my phone rings, saving me from answering him. I glance at the screen, delighted to see it’s a spam call warning.
Without the slightest hesitation, I answer the call.
“I was just thinking about you,” I say in a flirtatious tone. “Where are you?”
Ryland narrows his eyes.
“I can be there in twenty minutes,” I continue, ignoring the confused criminal on the other line. Then I giggle, dropping my tone to a faux whisper as I turn away from Ryland. “I’m looking forward to seeing you too.”
Pulling the phone from my ear, I turn back to my boss and give him an absent wave. “Night, Mr. Devlin.”
Ryland watches me. Though his face is almost expressionless, there’s something in his eyes that makes my knees wobble. Before I can lose my nerve, I hurry down the hall. Though I’m dreading the walk to the nearest bus stop, I’m proud of myself for staying strong.
Little Lost Love Letter: A Romantic Comedy Novella Page 3