The Greatest Risk (Second Circle Tattoos Series Book 5)

by Scarlett Cole

  And third was that Ryan could kiss.

  Like, really kiss. The kind of kiss that drove you a little bit crazy when you were alone in your bed at night. The kind that had her seeking a release of her own under the covers while she dreamed about the way his hands had felt around her.

  Wait…there were actually four things. The way his lips had felt on hers didn’t sit well with the anger she’d felt. His comments about her had been judgmental and just plain mean. He’d known it. He’d apologized, but…

  What were they left with? A shit ton of work that needed to get done while their feelings for each other simmered beneath the surface, one vodka shot away from ruining their fragile working relationship for both of them.

  A funky jazz medley of Christmas carols flowed from the pool area behind her. Christmas was only ten days away. There were last-minute presents to send, cards to write, a tree to trim. Not that she could afford a tree. It felt like a luxury that just didn’t align with her plans to save what she made. But perhaps there were things she could do to Gremlin’s place to make it feel more festive, especially if she was going to spend Christmas Day there. She could get some branches and put them in a vase with ornaments and lights. It would be cheaper than getting a full tree, at least. Oh, and she could get snow paint or whatever that spray stuff was that people used on their windows to make it look like snow lined the panes.

  She felt displaced. Suddenly in limbo. And looking out over a white beach filled with young families certainly didn’t help her feel any more festive.

  So you and I can enjoy Christmas!

  Holly shivered at recalling the slip she’d made. Even as she’d been protesting her attraction to him, she’d known deep down inside that there was something between the two of them, something that went further than just admiring the way he filled out his suit.

  She’d seen the way he’d reassured Jordan, how he was taking the time to get to know the band. Already, she’d heard him make dozens of phone calls on their behalf and could tell that despite his professional requirement, he already deeply cared for these men.

  And she suspected, that beneath the gruffness, he cared for her.

  She needed to make it right, get them back onto an equal footing. But how?

  Hey, Ryan. About that kiss…

  Hey, Ryan. We need to talk…

  Hey, Ryan. Can we just forget about—

  “Morning, Holly,” Ryan said, his voice gruff and slightly breathless as he pulled an earbud from his ear. He was dressed in shorts and sneakers and covered in a sheen of sweat that told her he’d been pushing himself on his run. She couldn’t help letting her eyes roam momentarily over his broad tattooed shoulders, his sculpted abs, and the way his shorts hung loose on his hips with just a hint of the waistband of his underwear.

  He hadn’t shaved, the scruff looking good on him. But damn, hadn’t she just been telling herself that kisses and simmering and scruff weren’t good for their working relationship?

  When she didn’t respond, Ryan leaned against the railing in silence for a moment.

  “Are we good, Hols?” he asked eventually.

  “Define good,” she replied. If someone needed to squirm a little during this conversation, it wasn’t going to be her.

  “Fuck,” Ryan muttered beneath his breath. He reached for her hand, his thumb stroking her skin.

  She should move her hand, but she savored the way the warmth of him eased her confusion, despite her mixed feelings about last night. Something about their connection soothed her.

  “You confuse me,” he said, finally. “And you distract me, which believe me, I’m not proud of.”

  Holly looked toward the horizon. A cruise ship in the distance was sailing to who-knew-where. Kind of like her.

  “I know how that feels,” she admitted.

  Ryan placed his finger on her chin and turned her to face him. She didn’t want to look into his eyes, to really see him, because she knew if she did, he’d see her growing feelings for him reflected back at him.

  He ran his knuckle along her jaw and then placed his palm against her cheek.

  Without thinking what it would mean, she gave in to the temptation to lean against it and allowed her eyes to flutter closed, simply breathing, simply being in the moment.

  She didn’t jump when his lips brushed hers. Instead, she allowed her tongue to meet his in a gentle exchange. The wildfire of the previous night was absent, and in its place was a cool breeze, something soothing and calm that wrecked her just as much as his passion had.

  He placed his forehead to hers. “Damn, Holly. I should give you a list of reasons why this is a bad idea, but I can’t help myself around you.”

  His words hit her hard. “I’ve never been called a bad idea before,” she said, stepping out of his reach.

  “I never said you were a bad idea. I said this was a bad idea. You and me. Together. Mixing business and pleasure. And I’m not…available.”

  Her stomach rolled. “You’re involved with someone,” she said, disgust filling her. If she’d known she would never… She would never do that to another woman.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said, grabbing her hand. “No. That’s not what I… Fuck. Believe it or not, one of the reasons I do so well in business is that I always know the right thing to say—or at least so I’ve been told. But somehow around you, everything I try to say goes to shit.” Ryan ran his free hand through his hair.

  The moment of humility was so rare that she wanted to hear him out. “So what did you mean?”

  “I’m not available because I work. All the time. Twenty-four seven. My clients are the most important people in my world. I want to do the best I can for them. So, if they’re in Japan on tour and need to call me, I answer. Whatever time of day it is. It doesn’t give me a lot of room for much else. That’s why I’m not available.”

  His words hit close to home. Wasn’t that the reason she was doing all this—to look out for everyone who’d gotten screwed over by Joshua?

  “I understand that,” she said quietly. “It’s why I am here.”

  His phone rang as if on cue, and he glanced down at it. “I need to take this,” he said.

  And she needed a moment to compose herself. “We can talk later.”

  “Hey, Jack, can you give me one second… yeah. Be right back.” He pressed a button on his earbuds, one she assumed muted his conversation. “Holly, let’s work together today. Before we leave, on the plane back. Whatever. Just don’t…” He shook his head, as if confused.

  “Don’t what?”

  Ryan sighed. “Look, this is my boss. I need to focus. Just tell me you aren’t done with this conversation. With the idea of us.”

  Something passed between them. A moment or energy that she couldn’t describe but could feel in her bones.

  The idea of us.

  She nodded gently, and he took her hand, kissing her knuckles softly. It was a sweet gesture.

  But was it enough?

  Chapter Six

  Twenty-four hours later, Ryan’s eyes felt as though they could bleed. He looked over at Holly, who sat with her legs up on the sofa of his office, her laptop perched across her thighs. She looked as though she belonged here, even though she was the only bright and vibrant thing in the place.

  The black turtleneck and burgundy cords, flares, as always, looked great with her patchwork velvet coat. Her hair was in a makeshift bun, held in place with one of the pencils she’d stolen off his desk. He’d never be able to use the thing again after he’d watched her raise her arms to put it in place. The move had revealed an inch of skin above the waistband of her cords and had lifted her breasts to the point that he was no longer able to force himself to ignore them.

  But more important than the way she’d physically distracted him, she’d been invaluable. They’d set up Preload on software that enabled them to assign and track every band member’s individual and group responsibilities and deadlines and see it all on a calendar. They’d found the deta
ils of all the commitments for which Sam, Preload’s previous manager, had signed them up for over the next three years. Unfortunately, as Ryan had suspected, Sam had gone for quantity over quality. He’d given little thought to the changing demographic of their audience, the shift in their celebrity status, and the profile of their appearances.

  Once those obligations had become clear, Ryan had cancelled projects and appearances that didn’t line up with the directions the band had given him with regards to things they wanted to be involved in. Slowly but surely, like Michelangelo chipping away at a block of marble, they’d been able to create a half-decent plan. Sure, it had gaps, now they’d removed stuff, but at least it was starting to come together.

  And Holly had begun identifying social media management firms that could take over Preload’s needs. She’d done a full assessment of the effectiveness of their current platforms, which was better than anything anyone at MCB could have pulled together.

  They’d barely spoken, yet they’d been connected. In synch. She’d sent him a report, just as he’d been about to ask. And before lunch, he’d passed her his pen just as she’d reached for her own when they’d both worked at his desk.

  “Knock, knock,” Jack said as he entered the room.

  Ryan stepped away from his desk. “Hey, Jack. What do you need?”

  “Just got a call from Dred Zander telling me what a great job you are doing. And can I assume this is Holly?” he said, looking over to Holly who had also put down her pen and stood.

  “It is. Jack, this is Holly Eden. Holly, this is Jack Maloney, one of the owners of MCB Entertainment.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Jack,” Holly said, shaking Jack’s hand.

  “And you, Holly.” Jack turned to face Ryan. “Just wanted to congratulate you on the brilliant idea you had to reclaim their old manager’s laptop. Dred was most impressed with your ingenuity and I know Ferrica and the label will be overjoyed. Great work.”

  Shit. Ryan’s stomach flipped, and he immediately looked at Holly who, while suddenly pale, hadn’t said a word. Guilt flooded his blood vessels faster than a shot of adrenaline to the heart could have.

  “Jack,” he said, regretting his mistake. “As much as I’d love to take credit for that, it was all Holly’s idea.”

  He wanted to reach for her. Squeeze her hand. Apologize. Make her understand.

  “Either way, you two did good,” Jack replied, although some of the excitement had left his voice. He handed Ryan an envelope. “MCB’s tickets for a black-tie event at the Museum of Modern Art. It’s this evening. They were Duncan’s but we hope you can go in his place.”

  Ryan’s eyes were on Holly, who stood still as a statue as Jack left the office.

  “I don’t know what to make of that,” Holly said. “Are you taking credit for my idea?”

  Ryan shook his head, but then decided with whatever was happening between the two of them, he needed to be honest. “At the nightclub, they mentioned it. And I’ll be honest, I considered letting them think it was me, I’ll explain why in a minute. But then I felt guilty and decided to tell them, but then the party broke up and you and I… well, I intended to email them in the morning. But I’d barely slept that night because of our fight and when I went for a run to clear my head, there you were on the boardwalk. I forgot. And I’m sorry. I’ll make sure the band know they have you to thank.”

  Holly returned to the sofa and sighed as she sat down. “I’ve been let down so many times already this year that you are going to have to give me more than that.”

  Ryan sat on the low table and faced her. “I’m the interim head of this office. My former boss, under the guise of helping me, both undermined me and sold himself to two of what are now the company’s biggest bands, until they ditched me and signed with him. That’s how he got the promotion.” He reached for her hand. “I need this, you and me and Preload, to be successful to prove I am capable of doing this role. It’s not an excuse. And I realized almost immediately that it was a dick move, even though I planned to correct what the band thought. I’m sorry, Holly.”

  “I understand what it feels like… coming second when high stakes are on the line,” Holly said. “I’ve felt the pain that burns through your chest as it happens. But don’t be that guy, Ryan. The one who joins the club and starts to let others down. You are so much better than that.”

  Ryan swallowed hard at her softly spoken words. She was right. That night, his moral compass, the one he prided himself on, had wavered. “You are a very astute woman,” he said. “I’m sorry, Hols.”

  “And I believe you,” she said, placing her palm on his cheek.

  He turned to place a kiss in her palm. “Thank you. What are you doing tonight?” he asked.

  Holly shrugged. “No big plans. Just me, pasta, and binge watching whatever I can find on TV.”

  “Will you go to the event at MoMA with me, and a thousand of our closest friends, tonight?”

  “I’d love to,” she said immediately. “I can’t think of a more appropriately Christmassy thing to do.” She glanced down at the time on her phone and gasped. “I’m going to have to go,” she said, shoving everything into her fabric messenger bag.

  “Wait, we could still—”

  “No, we can’t still. A black-tie event at MoMA will take twice as long as normal to get ready for.” Holly yanked on her coat and tugged on her black hat.

  “It’s not until seven thirty, Holly, so we have three hours. We still have tons of time to get you back to where you need to be and then out to MoMA.”

  “Ryan,” she said, as she reached the door handle to his office, “you might be able to shower and go, but this is a treat for me. I’ll see you outside MoMA at seven twenty.” With that, she walked—no, flounced—out of his office.

  He chased her to the hallway. “Wait, Holly, I’ll come get you, pick you up.”

  “No need,” she shouted over her shoulder.

  So at seven fifteen, Ryan found himself waiting on the steps of the Museum of Modern Art. He hadn’t wanted to be late. Hadn’t wanted to miss Holly’s arrival.

  “Ryan.”

  He knew the voice, but it wasn’t the one he was expecting or looking forward to hearing. Ryan turned.

  His ex, Stephanie, leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheek for a moment too long. Her perfectly styled light brown hair, brushed his cheek. The body he’d once admired and found pleasure in pressed up against him, but it did nothing for him. Nor did the look of invitation in her pale blue eyes.

  “Stephanie,” he said, politely, “how are you?”

  She ran a finger down his cheek. “Do you really have to ask?”

  He wasn’t sure how exactly to answer the question. She’d been the one to split up with him, but his pointing that out might imply that he was waiting to get back together. But the one thing he knew for sure was that she’d been right to do what she’d done. And he’d been wrong to remain in a relationship with her and only give her a fraction of his time and consideration.

  Ryan cast a glance over her shoulder, worried that Holly would arrive while Stephanie was in his personal space and get the wrong idea. He took a step back.

  A flicker of hurt flashed across her face. Stephanie had deserved more of him when they were together. “I’m sorry, Steph,” he said quietly. “You were right. You deserved someone who could be there for you. I wasn’t that guy. I’m not that guy.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “But you could be. You could have been. I mean, how hard would it really have been for you to have at least tried?”

  Ryan shook his head. “That’s the point, Steph. I couldn’t. You deserve someone who’ll put you first.”

  “Then I’ll try… I’ll give you more time to work this out of your system. You’re practically head of the East Coast business.”

  He stared at her, wondering how she knew.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she said. “Everyone knows that Duncan was asked to leave the business, a
nd as soon as I heard, I knew you’d make your move.”

  Yes, she knew him well. “Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s going to mean more work in the short-term, though, not less.”

  A cab pulled up at the bottom of the steps, and when the door opened, he saw the leg first…bare, with a pretty silver sandal. And unless he was mistaken, bright pink toenails. A hand covered the slit, holding it closed so as not to be inappropriate, but tantalizing all the same. He knew immediately that it belonged to Holly.

  Maybe he felt it more than knew it.

  “Look, I’m sorry for my part in this. But in the long run, your decision was the best for both of us,” he said, trying to keep the smile off his face as Holly stepped out of the taxi in a low cut, fitted black dress beneath an unfastened coat. “Good luck, Steph.”

  As the words left his lips, he was already on his way down the steps.

  Holly didn’t know it yet, but he was sure that tonight would go down in history as their first date.

  “Oh my gosh,” Holly squealed as Ryan spun her one final time on the dance floor before dipping her low as the song finished. His face was close to hers, his green eyes bright with excitement. “I didn’t realize you had moves, Arden.”

  It had been an uphill battle to get him to dance. Her tuxedoed businessman had a stiff upper lip, but his gentle touches, the soft pressure of his palm on her lower back, the way he held her hand and led her to the bar and dance floor, and even the innocuous small talk whispered in her ear had turned her on.

  It had even made her decide to take a walk on the conventional side. After a look in her own closet had revealed nothing remotely close to black-tie worthy—although she had debated the Bianca Jagger-esque white tuxedo with nothing underneath—she’d called Flick and asked what conservative dresses she owned.

  She’d produced the one Holly was wearing. It pulled a little tight at the seams to accommodate Holly’s curves, but it was dark and atmospheric at MoMA, so hopefully nobody noticed.