I’m still gripping the phone in my other hand when another message comes through.
Ryker: Busy? Whatcha doin?
Rolling my eyes, I mutter to myself about Tripp’s poor hiring skills.
Me: Shouldn’t you be working?
After I hit send, I toss the phone on the nightstand and get up for more coffee. Telling myself I don’t want to talk to him anymore, I ignore the chime of my phone and make a cappuccino.
Sidney bought the machine for my last birthday, and while I was ecstatic over it, I have no idea how to use the damn thing, so it’s sat unused on my counter, just taking up space, for the last three months.
I have my hip propped on the counter, rubbing Prince with my toes and reading the instruction manual, when my phone goes off again.
“What does he want, Prince?” I ask aloud.
He lifts his head and blinks at me once before sighing and lying back down.
“You’re right. It is annoying. I’m going to tell him to leave me alone.” I drop the manual on the counter and give up on ever being able to use the thing before stomping back to my bedroom.
After snatching my phone, I open the thread of messages.
Ryker: My head is pounding
Ryker: It’s lunchtime.
Ryker: I’m having a protein bar. Thank you for asking.
Ryker: You’re right. There were worse things in your desk drawer than nipple clamps.
Me: Why are you going through my desk?!?! Do you need Advil? I think there’s some in the locker room. But none in my desk. So stay out of there!
I stare at my phone in my hand for a full two minutes, waiting for a response, and when nothing pops up, I huff.
I don’t know why I’m even entertaining this conversation with him.
Yeah, he’s sexy.
And good with the kids.
And funny-ish.
And sexy.
But he’s definitely not my type. I’ve never actually had a type before now, but if I did, he would not be it.
Not to mention that shit with Breccan still makes my blood boil whenever I stop to think about it.
Which is exactly why you haven’t thought about it.
He still hasn’t responded, so I send him another message.
Me: What did you find, Ryker?
The response button pops up and my stomach flips. I tell myself I’m just nervous about what he’s found and not excited that he’s actually responding to me.
Ryker: You know, I like hearing you say my name.
Me: OMG. You can’t even hear me. Stop avoiding the question. What. Did. You. Find?
A minute later, a stock photo of the largest pair of granny panties comes through.
Ryker: Funny, I figured you for a boy-shorts kinda girl.
Giggling, I reply.
Me: I’ve been looking for those! I had a date the other night I wanted to wear them to.
Ryker: A date, huh? How’d that go?
Me: Wouldn’t you like to know???
Ryker: Yes, actually, I would.
Me: It was amazing. Best date of my life. Now, if there’s nothing else you need to bug me about, I’ve got to get back to the Tanners.
It’s a lie. It was a terrible date. The guy spent the entire night staring at my breasts and talking about how much money he’d made last month. I appreciated the fact that he wasn’t a bum like the last guy I’d gone out with, but I was pretty sure it was all a ploy to get me in bed. After that, I decided to take a break from men—or, at least, online dating. I’d stick with my B.O.B., the only guy who never let me down. Especially since I was recently introduced to the plug-in version. Dead batteries have officially become a thing of the past.
Ryker: The Tanners? You know, skin cancer is not sexy, contrary to popular belief.
Looking down at my pale legs, I laugh out loud. After my dad had a bout with skin cancer when I was a teenager, I vowed never to tan again. It helped that I’ve never been able to do anything more than burn anyway. I found that I actually looked much better with sunless tanners anyway.
Me: Not the tanning bed. I’d demand a refund if this is what I looked like after tanning. The Tanners. You know, Full House?
Ryker: You have a full house? Are you going to quit the gym and join the professional poker circuit?
Me: My God, NO! You can’t not know what I’m talking about. Full House? ’90s family sitcom? Candace Cameron? Bob Sagat? “How rude”? Please tell me this is ringing a bell?
Horrified at the thought of him not knowing what Full House is, I try to do quick math in my head. How old he would have been at the height of this show’s popularity? I realize that I don’t even know how old he is, but regardless of his age, it’s inexcusable in my opinion to not know who America’s first family of the ’90s was.
Ryker: The only bell that’s ringing is the God-awful one above the front door. Seriously, if you come in one day and there’s nothing but a gaping hole where it once was, I know nothing about it.
Me: Right?!? I hate that damn thing.
A few minutes pass without a response, and I alternate between being relieved and disappointed. It makes no sense that I would be upset, but all the same, I am.
I’ve got the phone locked in a death grip when a message comes through. My heart falls when I see that it’s from Breccan.
Brec: Where’s my cup?
Rolling my eyes at his complete lack of manners and the ability to do anything himself, I quickly type back.
Me: Breakroom. Second cabinet on the left. Where I ALWAYS put it once I’m done washing it.
Brec: K.
Me: You’re welcome.
He doesn’t respond, so I toss my phone, giving up on any response from Ryker. I decide I need to get out of the house for a little while, so I pad to the bathroom to shower. I’m just stepping under the spray when my phone dings from the bedroom. Jumping out of the spray, I run back to my bedroom, dripping, and snatch my phone off the nightstand.
Ryker: Next client just walked in. Gotta go.
Dammit. That should have disappointed me as much as it did. I could deny it all day long, but secretly—okay, not so secretly, considering I am naked and dripping all over my carpet—I was enjoying our little chat.
Me: Okay, then. See you Monday.
Ryker: Oh, I’ve got an appointment Monday. I’m working tomorrow instead.
Double dammit!
Okay, so what? I won’t see him again until Tuesday. No biggie. I mean, why should I care about when we are going to be at work together again? Isn’t that the entire reason I took this last-minute staycation anyway? To avoid Ryker and his penetrating gaze? Yeah, right. This sucks.
I type out a quick response to let him know I don’t work weekends and then decide to get dressed. My home—well, office, really—manicure is starting to chip and look bad, so I decide to treat myself to a late lunch and a mani-pedi with the hopes that it’ll get my mind off the man who’s charming me no matter how hard I resist.
I’ve just climbed in to my car when my phone pings with an incoming text. I dig through my purse, wondering how it’s possible to lose something in it so quickly. Then the phone dings again. Finally, I get my hands on it and scramble to get my messages open.
The first is from Sidney, who’s checking in on me again. I ignore it when my I see the next message. It’s from Ryker. My stomach flutters as a huge smile pulls at my lips.
Ryker: So, guess I won’t see you till Tuesday then. Have a nice weekend.
My smile falls, and the flutters turn into dread. Seriously, what is wrong with me?
Me: Yep. See you Tuesday.
I toy with the thought of going into work tomorrow to see him but think better of it. I’ll see him Tuesday, and that’s soon enough.
I toss my phone back into my purse and put the car into drive. I roll the windows down and crank up the music. It’s time to get my mind off the man I’m supposed to hate.
After turning on to the interstate, I point my car in the di
rection of my favorite spa, telling myself that a little pampering is way better than any man could ever be.
If only I could get the memory of Ryker wiping that tear away out of my mind.
Chapter Six
Ryker
It has been a long time since I’ve found a woman interesting. In my line of work, most of the women I met were only interested in my money or being a trophy wife. Not that I minded having a pretty lady on my arm, but I preferred to actually be able to hold a conversation with one at the end of the night. Someone I could take home to meet Gram.
Rebecca definitely falls in to the interesting category. The jury is still out on taking her home to meet Gram, but I have a feeling she is exactly the kind of woman my sweet grandmother would approve of. Not only is she incredibly beautiful, but she is smart and funny and has no problem busting my balls. Balls which seem to be a lot bluer as of late.
It is the first Saturday morning I’ve been scheduled to work, and I’ve spent most of the three hours I’ve been here training my new client. After the first couple of days on a trial run, Breccan started giving me a little more responsibility. I am no longer on kid duty. Instead, I’ve been assigned to a lightweight.
Mickey is on losing streak, having lost his previous two fights, and this upcoming one is his last chance to stay in the organization. I need to prove to Breccan, and myself, that I am worth keeping around. Eager to impress my boss, I’ve thrown myself into his training, staying late every night this week to watch film on his next opponent. Mickey’s dedication is also commendable. We were in the gym until well after midnight last night, and he was back in here at six this morning, ready to go.
We’ve just finished a round of stand-up and decided to break when the bell above the door chimes. After the first two days of looking up every time it went off, I learned to tune it out. I don’t even glance in the direction when I hear it.
I’m reading the ingredient label on the Pop-Tart I’m having for breakfast and grimacing at the amount of sugar it contains when I hear her shriek.
“What the hell happened to my desk?”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling and turn in the direction of the scream to see Rebecca standing beside her chair, glaring at me, her hands on her hips.
“Rebecca! What a surprise. I didn’t think you worked weekends.” I give up suppressing my grin and then take a bite of the Pop-Tart. “I’m having breakfast. Strawberry. Want one?” I ask, holding the foil packet in her direction.
“No! I do not want a Pop-Tart, Ryker. I know you’re responsible for this.” She wildly waves one arm at her desk while using the other to point at me.
The guys working out around us have all stopped to watch the scene play out in front of them. I saunter over to her desk and stop when I’m standing directly in front of her. I tap her on the nose. She bats my hand away and continues to glare at me.
“So, what exactly are you referring to?” I ask.
After riffling through her desk yesterday in search of paperwork, I decided to tidy it up for her. I was just going to add a couple of file folders to the drawer, but once I got started on it, I couldn’t stop myself, and before I knew it, the whole desk had been organized with the folders labeled and alphabetized.
I wasn’t usually an organized person, but something about it being Rebecca’s mess spurred me to help her get it fixed up. I had a feeling she isn’t going to appreciate my efforts, especially after the messages she’d sent yesterday about staying out of her desk.
Looking around at the fighters staring at us, she yells, “Get back to work, guys!”
A few of the guys chuckle, but they immediately get back to work.
She turns her attention back to me and snaps, “I thought I told you to stay out of my desk.”
When she crosses her arms over her chest, I consider telling her that, every time she does that, it only makes me stare at her breasts. But then I think better of it because there’s no way I’m going to do anything that will make her stop giving me the incredible view of her perfect cleavage.
I take another bite of my breakfast, and after slowly chewing and swallowing, I tell her, “I did you a favor. That desk was a fuckin’ mess.” I reach around her and open a drawer. “Look! I even have a folder for your vacation pamphlets. You know, you have so many you should really think about moonlighting as a travel agent. With your looks and persuasiveness, you’d be able to sell a trip to Hell to the pope.”
She bats my hand away from the drawer and slams it, muttering, “You’d be able to give the tour, I’m sure.” She looks over at her desk again, and her eyes narrow on an item. “What’s that?” She points to the empty wine bottle that holds a single silk flower.
I grin at her. “Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer.”
“Yeah, a cheap one. Silk flowers?” she laughs. “Who the hell wants a silk flower? What? Am I eighty?” She laughs again.
My smile fades, her insult hitting me right in the gut.
Scrambling to cover the hurt up, I bite the inside of my cheek, but as soon as she looks up at me, I know she can see she’s wounded me. Silk flowers aren’t really my thing, either, but I didn’t think she would be back for two days, and I couldn’t afford to buy her real flowers only for them to die before she got to see them.
Sputtering, she asks, “Oh, uhm. I mean. Is that from you?” She glances back and forth between me and the flower but won’t make eye contact.
Embarrassed, I don’t reply but rather nod.
“Well, it’s nice. And really, I love sunflowers.” She trips over her words while trying to pull her foot from her mouth, but it doesn’t ease the blow to my ego.
“Just thought your desk could use a little bit of decoration. Other than the dozen sticky notes you have attached to your screen.” I shrug. “Anyway, break time’s over. Gotta get back to work.” Shoving the rest of the Pop-Tart in my mouth, I turn to go find Mickey.
I’m taking a step toward the locker room, thankful that no one around us seemed to have heard our exchange, when I feel a hand on my bicep. Despite the fact that she just wounded me, her touch causes a thrill to shoot up my spine.
“Ryker, wait. Look.” Rebecca blows out a breath. “I’m a total bitch. I didn’t mean to be…” She nervously toys with the end of her hair as she trails off. “Uhm, rude.”
It’s lighter than it was when she was last here. Even though she insulted me, I’m tempted to reach out and run my fingers through it.
“Really, sunflowers are my favorite. How did you know?” she asks with a sincere smile.
I don’t tell her that I’ve been semi-stalking her on social media. I doubt telling her that I also know her favorite wine, where she lives, and which sushi house she likes the best would warm her to me any more.
Instead, I reply, “That doesn’t sound like an apology. It sounds like a subject change.”
Her eyes, which had momentarily softened, narrow, and she scoffs, “Apology? For what? I already said I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“Okay, well, if you won’t apologize for dissin’ my flower, how about a thank-you?” I counter with a mischievous grin.
Her eyes widen, and her nostrils flare. “A thank-you? For invading my privacy, going through my stuff, and probably throwing out half of it? I don’t think so.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Admit it. Your desk was a disaster area. One more week and we were going to have to call FEMA in.” I chuckle.
Her lips twitch as she growls, “That’s not funny.”
“Yes. It. Is,” I tell her, taking a step toward her with each word.
When I come to a stop, we are chest-to-chest and I have to remind my cock that we’re in a public place. Not that that has ever stopped me before, but I need to keep my job. The exhibitionism will have to wait.
For several tense moments, we stare at each other in silence. All around us, the gym is full of guys punching bags and practicing takedowns. I can hear the shouts of the trainers, but all
of my attention is focused on the brown-eyed woman staring up at me.
Unable to resist, I lean down and brush my lips across her cheek. It’s brief, but my body comes alive.
Her eyes widen, and she lifts her foot to step backward, but I grab her arm and stop her.
Placing my lips next to her ear, I whisper, “Have dinner with me.” It’s a demand because I won’t take no for an answer.
She stands up on her tiptoes and mimics my actions. “No.” she breathes.
Her breath on my ear causes my cock to twitch again, and I have to grit my teeth.
“Yes,” I murmur back, pulling her impossibly closer to me. Her chest rises and falls with each breath.
She blinks and cuts her eyes away from me. “Not interested, Ryker.” The way her voice shakes tells me otherwise, but I decide to let it go. For now.
“I’m not taking no for an answer. You may not say yes today, but you will.” I release her arm and take a step back.
“I prefer men who earn their way through life, not cheat. If you happen to meet anyone who fits that description, send them my way.” Her words are laced with venom, and they hit their mark.
I stumble backward a step as if she just struck me. I’m staring at her, my mouth gaping, when Breccan comes out of his office.
“Yo, Ryker, have you seen––” He breaks off when he sees me standing with Rebecca. “Reb, what are you doing here?” He looks down at his watch. “It is Saturday, right? I haven’t lost a couple of days locked away in my office, have I?” He continues his path and stops in front of us.
I’m still reeling from the bullshit she just slung my way, but I cock my head to the side and clear my throat. “Yeah. What are you doing at work? You told me yesterday you weren’t going to be in until Monday.”
Breccan’s gaze jumps between us. “Yesterday? You two talked to each other yesterday?”
I nod. “Yep. She schooled me on all things Full House. Not to be confused with the winning hand, right, Reb?” I tap her nose again.
The annoyance on her face makes me grin, and just like that, I’ve forgiven her. She doesn’t know shit about me. No one in this place does. But, for her, I’m more than willing to change that.
The Undisputed Series Page 34