by May Sage
“Sorry. I'm not even a car person.”
She slid into the passenger seat, and he closed the door behind her before circling his Jaguar and getting in the driver’s seat.
Something changed the moment he closed the door. They were completely alone now, and in his space rather than Wallace's home. Before her eyes, Desmond shed all appearance of polite demeanor and did away with niceties. He stopped smiling, and stared at her differently. The caged wild beast she'd seen in his eyes had locked on his prey and was about to pounce.
Ryn wondered if he'd hurt her. Some guys at The Tower were into that sort of thing, beating, blood play, and worse. And the worst thing was that she couldn't do a thing about it.
Another second of silence passed and the atmosphere became almost unbreathable. She looked down, biting her lips.
“No.” The order didn't leave room for negotiation. “Don't look away. I need to see your eyes.”
The reality of her life was that she couldn't afford to go against anything Wallace and his friends demanded of her, not if she wanted to have a future. Anything at all. And yet, for the first time, she was so, so tempted to tell him to fuck off and walk away.
She couldn't. It wasn't just her future at play.
Five years ago, the moment Natalie had turned eighteen, she disappeared. Her parents had come to Ryn and Bex for help, but honestly, neither of them had taken them seriously. What did they expect, that Natalie would remain in their dysfunctional, unhealthy, dirty household now that she had an actual choice? Bex and Ryn had also left as soon as they could.
After a week, though, she and Bex contacted a few of Nat's friends to see if there was news. After a month, they were starting to worry. A season passed without any news, so, pooling their meager savings, the sisters hired an IT guy from college who earned his spending money doing investigation work.
After a few days, he found her.
Ryn would never admit it—most of the time, she didn't even admit it to herself—but things might have been better if they hadn't found their little sister.
Natalie was hanging out with a notorious motorcycle club, dancing for them in the evenings, and doing who knew what for the rest of the day. Bex and Ryn begged her to go back home. Knowing how little appeal that held, they’d said that Natalie would be welcome to stay at the place they were renting together. They'd help her find a job.
Nat hadn't been interested. Bex persisted, cornering her every time she could to attempt to talk some sense into her, all in vain. The bikers saw them talking one day, and made it clear that the sisters weren’t welcome on their turf.
Ryn and Bex still came back, though. A brute kicked Bex right in the stomach, bruising her, and punched Ryn's cheek, promising it would be worse next time if they ever came back.
So, Bex and Ryn went to tell their parents what they'd found out, and stayed away.
About a year after that, Bex finally went to see the doctor about her constant migraines, and was diagnosed with cancer. Things spiraled out of hand for Ryn. She refused to lose her sister, the only sister she had left. She couldn't.
Bex couldn't afford the course of treatment that could save her life. Their parents definitely weren't in a position to help. So Ryn did what she had to do, downsizing, putting most of the savings she'd put aside to buy her first home down to cover Bex's care. She didn’t have insurance and she’d just been working temp jobs at the time of her diagnosis.
Throughout all that, Ryn hadn't quite given up on her little sister. She'd written emails to Nat practically every day, at first, then every week. A year later, she was only emailing about once a month, when a reply came.
“We need to talk.”
Just that, nothing else.
Nat met her at a cafe in Manhattan, away from her thugs. She was barely recognizable. Thinner, with straight blonde hair, fake boobs, and vacant eyes. Despite their six-year age gap, they'd looked alike, practically like twins, once Nat had grown up, but now they had almost no features in common.
None of that shocked Ryn as much as the teeny, tiny little human in her sister's arms. A baby. Her little sister had a baby.
“Oh my god, Nat.”
“Don't. I know I'm screwed up. I know I'm a mess. I know I'm not capable of handling a kid in my state. But she's here, and I can't raise her at the club. I can't do that to her, Ryn.”
The story came slowly, and interrupted by many tearful outbursts, but finally, she heard it all. Natalie was an addict. No surprise there, she could tell at first glance. The club was providing her drug of choice and in exchange, she worked for them. Ryn didn't ask how. She didn't want to know. But Natalie ended up telling her anyway.
“I'm a whore, Kathryn. I fuck them, and their clients, and they pay me in drugs. I don't mind. That's who I am, and I'll get myself out of that mess. Don't try to fix it for me. I'm not asking you to. There's only one thing I'm asking.”
She'd stopped breathing, her life passing before her eyes. Ryn woke up at seven every morning, went to work by eight thirty, came back home at seven thirty, chilled, went to bed, and did the same the next day. How the fuck was she supposed to take care of a damn baby, when she was away from home for twelve hours a day? Because that's what her sister was going to ask her to do: adopt her kid.
But it turned out, she'd guessed wrong.
“Chet says the girl is his and if I want to get her adopted, I have to pay up. Ten grand. He says little girls are worth that much, at least.” Ryn's stomach roiled. Little girls?! These guys sold kids? “He knows I can't afford that. The adoption is going to be closed, so once she's in the system, they can't get their hands on her, but I need a loan. No bank is going to give me that kind of cash; I'm an exotic dancer with bad debts, for Christ’s sake.”
So, her sister had come to her for money, and with a story she couldn't ignore.
“I'll pay.” She didn't have ten grand, not after paying for Bex's treatments, but she had a great job.
Ryn started working at King Construction during her second year of college, and had moved up over the last four years. At twenty-five, she was a junior assistant in the COO's office. She had savings and a decent salary. She'd get a loan.
“But just so it's clear, Natalie, you're not ever, ever coming back to me for money.”
Her sister swore she wouldn't, and took the money. Three months later, she asked for more. Ryn said no. Then, Nat threatened her. Ryn told her to get the fuck out of her life. The next day, she was called into Wallace Clarke's office, and her life was over.
7
Scrutiny
Now
“I’m not dressed for an interview," she stated.
He considered pointing out that he liked her dress, but dismissed the idea. Kathryn Woodrow didn't need to hear anything that could be considered even close to flirting from a businessman in a position of power. Not ever again.
“I know you're perfectly able to look professional when you need to, Ryn. Now, tell me what you're looking for right now.”
"A job where I'm not required to blow my boss would be great."
"My brothers and I have had a set of values drilled into us, often and early. We don't shit where we eat, so to speak. Callum swears, he can be rude and demanding, but he'll never cross a line that way. If he did, you report to HR first, then to me, so that I also get the opportunity to kick his ass into next year."
She rolled her eyes. "I don't need a white knight coming to my rescue, Desmond. Contrary to what you may assume, I can take care of myself."
His first instinct was to snap, to remind her of the position she'd been in just a few weeks ago, but a waitress arrived with their drink orders, giving him a second to breathe. Pissing Ryn off would be counterproductive.
Desmond forced himself to nod tightly. "Fair enough."
Desmond sipped his Earl Grey for a moment, trying to decide what the hell he was doing here. Was Hester right? Should he have just sent lawyers to deal with her? Because God knew he wasn't in his right mind arou
nd her. She made him lose control like no one else could, without even trying.
Ryn was one of the very few women who said what they thought in front of him. Pushed. Told him when they thought he was being out of line. There was Hester, Tori Parker, and now Ryn Woodrow. Hester and Tori entertained him. Ryn, on the other hand, infuriated him.
To his surprise, she was the one who broke the silence.
"I started working right out of high school. I had a couple of part-time gigs, as a waitress and a barista to help with my expenses. In my sophomore year of college, I was required to do a temporary internship. I interned at K.C."
She was taking the interview seriously. Good. Desmond could have told her that the rundown of her job experience was unnecessary; he'd read her file before suggesting that she work for Cal. He certainly wouldn't have even suggested that she could take up the position if she hadn't had the qualifications. But he let her talk, if only because she seemed more confident, more relaxed with every word. She was reminding herself of an impressive journey.
"The internship was exciting. At the end of the two months, they offered me a paid position, so I quit my job at the cafe and went to work there. I liked that the job was challenging. I loved the benefits. I loved the opportunity for growth." Past tense. All of that had been before Wallace. She didn't have to say it. "I'd love to work in a similar environment again."
Desmond backtracked a little, going back to her first year at K.C.
"You didn't quit waitressing at the restaurant, just the cafe. Why?"
That sort of thing wasn't written on résumés.
"I believe in taking measured risks. My contract with K.C. stipulated that I was on probation for six months. You could have fired me very easily for any reason at all during that period. Downsizing, the smallest error, not meeting my targets, not smiling enough to the right person. If that had happened, I could have gotten by with the restaurant gig until I found a second part-time job."
Desmond approved. He took similar steps in most of his decision making.
What the hell had happened to make a woman like her break?
He inclined his head, inviting her to continue. Instead of shedding some light onto who she was, every word she said made her more complex, harder to decipher.
"When my contract became permanent, I stopped waitressing." She hesitated. "I also moved. I'd saved my income and tips for a few months, so I thought I was in a position to get my own place. Being with roommates was overrated. My studio was small but close to work."
Desmond hesitated. "I thought," she'd said, insinuating that that assumption had been erroneous. Something had gone wrong along the way. Obviously, or she wouldn't be living in that dump in the meatpacking district.
Instead of pushing, he said, "Go on," determined to hear her version before he dug deeper.
"I had a lot of energy, since I didn't have to stay up until the early hours of the morning three nights a week anymore, and I directed that to my job. The company was growing and I saw people getting promoted. I stayed late when they needed extra help, which was often. I worked through my lunch if I had to. I was hungry, and my bosses noticed. They promoted me to the personal assistant of an associate in your legal department, and the following year, they offered to train me to join the executive team. The pay raise was definitely welcome at that point." Her eyes darted to the left. "My financial situation had shifted. Anyway, that's about it."
She stopped talking then.
Desmond knew what followed.
Then, Wallace happened. She didn't take credit for that promotion, and she didn't mention anything after that. Like her life had ended then, three years ago.
Desmond said, "The file I have on you was comprehensive. It includes short interviews from your colleagues; everyone has a good word for you, Kathryn." After a moment, he asked, "You realize that working directly under a CEO is a twenty-four/seven position? There are office hours, but Callum would be able to contact you any day of the week, any time of the day or night."
She shrugged. "Not a problem. I don't have a life."
"That means you'd have to be of sound mind at any time," he clarified pointedly.
Ryn lifted a brow. "I see. You're wondering if I take recreational drugs."
Desmond said nothing, entirely unapologetic.
"You're a dick." Accurate assessment. "And," she added, her tone rising to a shout. Some people turned to their table. "For your information, the answer is no. I never touched anything stronger than weed. Even that was in my college days, and legally, in California." On that note, she got to her feet, muttering, "I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here."
Desmond did finally apologize. As that didn’t work, he added, "Sit."
She stubbornly remained on her feet, and started to turn away. Desmond stood up and reached out for her hand.
They both froze.
It had been less than a week since he'd touched her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders instinctively, and he'd believed his mind had exaggerated the experience, but now, just as then, a potent jolt ran through him, almost painful. A force he couldn't explain. Part of him wanted to let go of the small, soft, warm hand, while another part urged him to pull her to him, and keep her there.
Ryn wasn't trying to break his hold or walk away anymore. She turned to him instead, still visibly pissed off.
“Please, Ryn. I am sorry. But I had to ask, given our circumstances. I know you have secrets, and I know to what lengths you went to keep them from getting out. You were blackmailed. It's your problem, unless you become Callum's assistant. Then, it could be my little brother's problem, which makes it potentially my problem.”
"Why am I even here, then?" she challenged, rightly so.
A very pertinent question to which he had no answer. A dozen employees due for a promotion could fit the bill.
"Because you're qualified, already vetted, and because I believe you deserve a second chance."
All true, but it wasn't the reason. No, if he was honest, he guessed she would quit soon, knew she’d probably also refuse compensation, and that she wasn’t in a position to do either.
He was considering her for the job because she needed one right now. If she hadn’t been qualified, he would have figured out something else, made a few phone calls to open doors. He wanted to take care of her. He wanted to make up for the past, atone for the fact that he hadn’t been there for her before.
This was an entirely selfish inclination. What had happened to her enraged him, and he just needed to fix it.
For the fourth time in fifteen minutes, they engaged in another wordless battle, glaring at each other in silence.
“Two farmer's omelets. Sorry for the wait.”
Desmond didn't move his gaze from Ryn, refusing to give in first, but he thanked the waitress as she placed their well-presented breakfast on the table.
Ryn glanced to the food.
"Sit. It's good food. You wouldn't want to miss out."
8
Inquisition
At long last, Ryn broke eye contact and sat down.
“I’m only staying because that smells ridiculously good."
Desmond smiled victoriously for all of three seconds; then he was frowning.
Did she get enough to eat? That concern hadn't crossed his mind because he'd never been in a position where he'd had to worry about food, but she was on a very tight budget; Nate's investigation had made that clear.
His nostrils flared at the thought of her going hungry.
"Can I have my hand back?" she asked.
To his surprise, their hands were still interlinked, now resting on the table between them. Oh. He let go. His skin felt cold now that he wasn't touching her anymore.
"My apologies. Let's eat in peace."
"Are you capable of being pleasant?" she challenged, before attacking her food with gusto.
Desmond started to eat his, his mind otherwise engaged. Watching her, he found himself becoming concerned again, but he was
pretty sure that if he dared ask her about her food budget, she'd definitely leave, possibly after kicking him. Ryn certainly had spirit.
After devouring half of her omelet in three minutes, she grabbed her latte and drank it like it was the nectar of the gods. For the first time since she'd gotten to the restaurant, she smiled and her shoulders dropped as a small sigh of relief passed her lips.
"All right. About that job."
He lifted a brow. Suddenly she was interested?
"I'll be honest, I probably need it. But you're pushing all my buttons. Is your brother anything like you? Because if so, I'm not sure I'd even want it."
"Callum is honest, and straightforward. He'll tell you if you mess up, he'll tell you how to get things right, and he'll demote you if he has to repeat himself more than three times. Maverick calls him the boring one among us. What he means is that Cal’s the most hard- working and focused one. He runs a tight ship, but some would think that the pay is worth it."
That did get her attention.
"How much are we talking about?"
He shrugged. "It depends on experience."
Ryn returned to her omelet, cutting a small piece and chewing it while she thought things through. "None of what you said scares me. It seems fair. I meant, is he a domineering, demanding asshole, and does he see me as a charity case, like you?"
He was surprised. That was what she thought she was—a charity case? That didn't even make sense to him. She wasn't a tax write-off. It wasn't impersonal. He wanted her to have a job and stand back on her feet as soon as possible because he was feeling protective of her and needed her to be safe.
But he couldn’t tell why he felt so invested—given the fact that he didn’t quite know himself—so he understood why she was misinterpreting his intentions. Desmond would have made a mess of any attempt at an explanation, so instead, he focused on what was important.