I bet she’d whimper if I touched her.
She cleared her throat. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she stared at me, assessing. Always assessing—everything was so calculated with her, and a need to be a part of this equation ripped through me with enough force that if I hadn’t been on crutches, I’d be knocked on my ass. I was intoxicated by her, every goddamn thing about her. My need for one more taste, one more anything when it came to Zoey, had skyrocketed exponentially as her chest rose and fell, inches from mine. “That is definitely not the case,” she whispered.
“Is that why you can’t stop staring at me when you think I’m not looking?” I moved in even closer. “Either your body or your mind is lying. Which one is it, Zoey?”
She let out a shuddering breath. “I-I don’t know.”
“I think you want to try again. To see what this is between us. Tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll back off.”
Her mouth worked. I knew the answer before the word came out of her mouth because this was all part of the game. I asked her out, she said no. The outcome wouldn’t change unless the rules did. “No,” she said. “It isn’t worth risking my job, Ryder. It’d be my position on the line.” She meant it. The sudden fear in her eyes shone clear.
“Then go to dinner with me. As your client.” She was hiding behind the excuse of her job, but it was obvious there was more to it. She didn’t trust me. And I wanted to kick myself in the teeth because I’d created this doubt in the first place. I’d never jeopardize her job or try to hurt her.
“No,” she said, this time more firmly.
“I thought you said you meet with clients over meals all the time.”
Her face turned an even deeper shade of pink. “I’ll think about it.”
“All I’m asking is to share a meal with you. Nothing more. Clothing mandatory.” I didn’t even know what the hell I was doing. I’d never asked this of someone before, the platonic meal thing. But I did know I’d give my right hand for even a dinner with her. She wasn’t taking me seriously, though, and I didn’t know how to change that.
She straightened, squaring her shoulders. “I know your games—been through it before. I also know how it ends. You don’t think past one night, but I do.”
I opened my mouth to argue…and then quickly closed it.
Shit, she was right.
This entire month, I’d had one thing on my mind—my training. Once this project was done, and I finished rehab on my leg, I was gone, no matter how differently I felt about Zoey. I’d be as big a dick as she accused me of being if I pursued whatever this was between us, because it’d be the same outcome, no matter what. She’d done me a favor by calling me out for what I really was—someone who didn’t have time to commit.
I backed away, letting the topic fade into awkward silence. We wound our way through the store, and I decided that I never wanted to deal with picking out upholstery for furniture ever again. It was stupid that I’d come here in the first place.
Zoey busied herself with sifting through material, placing sample after sample on a table. “You seriously don’t agree with any of these fabrics?”
I focused back on her question. “No. They’re horrible.”
“What is so horrible about this one?” She held up a colored swatch labeled dusty rose.
“It’s too feminine. We have males staying at the resort, too, you know.”
She let out a frustrated sigh, and I could tell she was fighting to hold on to every last shred of patience. “Who do you think we’re trying to impress here? Most men won’t give a shit about the chair colors.”
I put my hand to my chest. “Why, Ms. Reynolds, that is awfully sexist of you. I happen to care deeply about this.”
She side-eyed me. “My bullshit meter is off the charts right now. Listen—” She sighed. “I’ll get back to the office and come up with a new plan, and then I’ll shoot you an email with some new designs either tonight or tomorrow. Sound good?”
There was nothing to argue with. She’d drawn the line, and I wouldn’t be crossing it again. “Okay.”
By the time the cab dropped us off at her office building, the air had turned crisp. Her breath puffed out in front of her as we exited the sedan. “Have a good night.”
Before I could stop myself, I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers grazed her cheek, and she leaned into the touch, her soft skin burning an imprint into my hand. I physically ached with the need to devour every inch of her with my mouth. “You, too, Ms. Reynolds.”
She shuddered as she slowly moved away from my touch. “Bye, Ryder.”
And with that, she turned and walked into the building. I watched her, that confident sway in her hips, the way her coat hugged her curves, the way she put me in my place for being an asshole. This woman would be the end of me.
Chapter Eight
Zoey
To Do List:
• Fix goat-chomped locks
Two days had passed since the hair debacle. I’d managed to book an appointment with my new stylist when she’d had a last-minute cancelation. There was just something about a hair dresser’s chair that acted like a therapy session. The second I plopped my butt into the black swivel seat at Monique’s station at Bend and Snap Salon, I couldn’t stop the words from pouring out of my mouth. The chair was my confessional and Monique my priest.
I told her about Ryder and the resort, what he’d said to me, the peanut butter incident, and the goat. Everything.
“So, I’m assuming you want a round two?”
I shot her a look in the mirror. “Of course not. He’s a client!”
She pursed her lips. “Girl, sounds to me like you both just need to get laid and get it over with,” she said as she continued to work her magic with the scissors. Pieces of hair fluttered to the floor as I sat back and stewed about the situation. “Just sayin’. Sounds like you’re obsessing about the dude. Might finally get you past the whole dry spell situation so you can move on. Unless it ended between last week and now?”
“Nope, still Sahara-level conditions.”
“Is anyone going to know if you sleep with him again?”
“Besides Ryder?” I bristled at the thought of breaking one of Lance’s company commandments, because, yeah, ethics and all that jazz. “No.” Plus, Ryder was just as likely to up and leave this time around. I didn’t know which one gave me more pause.
“Then what do you have to lose?”
She had a point. Maybe I was putting too much emphasis on a future. Hell, I didn’t need forever; I just needed a night, something fun and freeing. The fact was there was absolutely no chance of a long-term investment with him, so why did it matter if I had one good night of sex? Maybe this was the key to getting back in the game.
I couldn’t tell if my brain was saying this, or if my lady bits had finally claimed domination of the Zoeyverse.
“Maybe you’re right,” I said, but even I was having a hard time convincing myself at this point. Shit, I was going through the worst dry spell of my life, and if I waited any longer to find someone, the whole nether region area might dry into sandpaper.
“Girl, I’m always right.” She gave a deep, throaty laugh. “You have need to get laid written all over your face.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” I mumbled.
She took out the blow-dryer and blew bits of hair off my cape and onto the floor. “Well, you’re all fixed up, lady. Don’t go pissing off any more goats, because I’m booked solid for the next month.” She smiled at me in the mirror.
“I’ll do my best to keep away from any animals besides my cat.” After paying Monique, I jetted to my car to escape the torrential downpour outside and made it home twenty minutes later.
As soon as I walked through the door, Jitters hopped down from his scratching post and nuzzled against my legs.
“What do you think, Jitters?”
He meowed in response and let me scratch him behind the ears. After he was done with me, he trotted over to the contain
er of cat treats on the coffee table and pawed at the top.
“Buttering me up to get treats. I see how it is.” I loved my cat, but even he had ulterior motives. I rolled my eyes and opened the jar, extracting a fish-shaped goody for him. “It’s a good thing you’re so cute.”
He gave another meow in response, and as soon as the treat was in his mouth, he scurried away to his scratching post.
I shook my head and laughed. User.
Before I had a chance to drop my purse on the counter, my phone beeped.
An unknown number with a Seattle area code flashed on the screen. Except it wasn’t unknown when I read the message.
Ryder: How is your hair doing?
I bit at my thumbnail, deciding whether or not to engage. Email was one thing. Texting held a certain intimacy, with no professional email signature or cordial messages to hide behind. Just me.
Christ on a cracker, I was going to give myself a brain aneurism if I thought any harder about a damn text message. I clicked the reply button.
Zoey: How did you get my number?
Ryder: You called me the other day. You should really be careful. Shouldn’t use your cell phone if you don’t want people to message you.
Zoey: You’re right. What was I thinking, using my phone to call a client?
Ryder: Just watching out for you.
I rolled my eyes. Ryder thought he was so smooth. And maybe he was, because my stomach was doing the flip-flop thing that I’d previously reserved only for swoony words that came out of Ryan Gosling’s mouth.
Zoey: My hair is good, by the way. My stylist was able to get me in.
Ryder: Do I get to see?
I snapped a quick picture and sent it to him.
My heart raced the second I hit send. The hellhound better known as my conscience butted in next with Ooh, girl, look what you just did.
Yeah, where was my conscience twenty seconds ago when I was making that stupid duck face? I’d never send a selfie to a client. Ever. I paced the room, waiting for a response. I’d managed to lap the couch once when a text popped up on my screen.
Ryder: Looks great. Although, I thought the goat did a decent job. Chopped was a good look on you.
I stared at his message, trying to come up with a witty response. Nada.
Lainey walked into the apartment, tapping something into her phone. She plopped down beside me on the couch and swung her legs onto the coffee table.
“Nice haircut. What’s got you smiling like an idiot?”
Crap. Was I smiling? “Just something from work.” I slid my phone into the pocket of my sweatshirt, deciding to text Ryder back later. I rubbed my hand over my mouth, trying to smooth out my features. Okay, maybe I was making this more complicated than it needed to be. I had a problem, and he offered a solution.
…
Ryder
An hour later and I was still checking my phone for a response from Zoey. The last thing I’d expected was for her to send me a picture, especially when she’d been so adamant on keeping things professional. Her lips were pursed in a pout, and there was a crease in the middle of her forehead. Only Zoey could make a duck face look sexy. I’d come to terms with the fact that she wasn’t interested. Was I fine with that? Not really. But if she wanted to play the friend card, I’d take it.
This whole month had been a bizarre string of firsts. First time I couldn’t do something that had defined my life for the past fifteen years. First time my brother needed me. First time I’d let a woman get under my skin. A normal life sat on the periphery, one where people expected to be entertained by my performance on the trails. In a few short weeks, I’d be back where I started, for better or worse.
At exactly eight o’clock, I rang the doorbell to Jason’s Bellevue mansion.
I shifted from side to side as I eyed the gargoyle mounted atop one of the pillars outlining the entryway. Jason always did like to flaunt his status. Honestly, that much space seemed like a waste. When I wasn’t on tour, I preferred my downtown loft—I had my TV, my bed, a fridge, and a stove. The essentials. My mother would be appalled by his blatant display of wealth.
The door opened seconds later, to my grandmother doing her silent inventory.
“So nice of you to be on time for dinner, Ryder.” Grandmother glanced at the loosened tie around my neck and frowned. Beatrice Covington lived and breathed propriety. Growing up in the South, she had kept true to her Virginia roots when they made the move to Vermont.
Before she could say anything about redoing my tie, my grandfather marched through the entryway, his chest puffed out, holding his customary glass of scotch. “See, Beatrice, I told you he’d be on time.” He gave me a tip of the chin and took a sip from his tumbler.
I looked around the main living room area and the kitchen, scoping out where Jason was hiding. It’d been over a year since I’d visited him here since his work schedule and my training often clashed. And in a year, nothing about the place had changed. Still immaculate as ever. No indication that Jason was having a hard time adjusting to his new life.
“No traffic.”
“That’s a first. One of the reasons I hate this city,” my grandmother said. “Good thing we’re only visiting.”
Yes, good thing.
Grandfather cleared his throat and took another sip of scotch. “Please, come join us for drinks.”
My lips twitched. No amount of alcohol could prepare someone for an evening with my grandparents. But if there was the chance to dull the desire to hit myself over the head with a blunt object until unconscious, I’d take it. One drink wouldn’t hurt. “Sounds good.”
We made our way to the den, which was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a drink cart, and a massive oak desk in the corner of the room.
Jason sat in his wheelchair next to a large L-shaped couch in the center of the room, sipping from a tumbler of amber liquid on the rocks. Dark circles etched the skin under his eyes, and his shirt hung loosely from his shoulders. Even though he’d been busy preparing to take over our grandfather’s company for the past six years, he’d always found time to hit the gym, and could always go pound for pound when we’d lift together. An unexpected lump settled in the base of my throat seeing him like this. This wasn’t my brother.
“Hey, J.” I nodded toward him. My stomach clenched just thinking about how four months ago he’d been out on the slopes, carefree. And now here he was, paralyzed from the waist down because of some stupid trick he was trying to maneuver on a rail.
He smiled. “Ryder.”
We both paused for a second, looking at each other. His eyes widened a fraction and darted toward my grandparents. I understood exactly what he was saying. What we always thought when we were all in the same room together. Kill me with a hammer. Make it quick.
I gave him a slow nod. I hear you, brother. Loud and clear.
Grandfather sat on the leather couch alongside my grandmother. I took my place on the couch opposite them and took a long swig of my drink. Let the games begin in five, four, three, two…
On cue, my grandfather started in. “Now that we’re all together, we can discuss what needs to be done with Jason’s recent investment.”
Grandmother crossed her arms. A united front. A storm front might be more accurate. Category five hurricane. Record high winds with a side of pretention and snobbery. They’d done a similar routine each time I’d managed to get expelled from a boarding school. Granted, I was a little shit back then. But even now their high-horse mentality set my molars grinding together.
Jason let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m right here, Grandfather. Not like I’m dead or anything,” he deadpanned.
Clearly, this conversation was going to go as well as I expected.
My grandfather leaned forward on his elbows, steepling his hands under his chin. He had this way, ever since I was old enough to remember, of trying to intimidate people with his presence. “You’ve been out of commission for over three months. Did the doctor tell you when you�
�d be able to go back to work?”
“Rehab has taken up a lot of time. I’ve been working from home—Heidi is handling all the clerical issues at the office. Plus, Ryder is heading the resort project.”
He motioned my way.
My grandfather bristled. “I’m fully aware of your purchase with the Covington account funds.” He shifted his gaze to Jason, looking down at him over the bridge of his nose.
They were in fine form tonight. In fact, I hadn’t seen them this concerned since high school, when I came home in the back of a cop car after a group of buddies and I left a lit paper bag of dog shit on the headmaster’s doorstep. Yes, I was the kid who deserved a good ass-whooping. While I never had a hand laid on me, my grandparents took psychological warfare to the next level, loading me with more extracurricular activities at my boarding school, more tutoring sessions, until the day I graduated and high-tailed it out of there. But while I’d gone balls to the walls making my grandparents’ lives miserable, Jason had always been the good grandson, the dependable one.
Jason squared his shoulders, sitting taller than he had moments before. “You’ve never questioned my purchases before.”
“They’ve never been of a personal nature. I don’t think your head was in the right place during this acquisition.”
I clutched the edge of the sofa, looking around the room. From my view of the window, there didn’t appear to be an alien invasion. The world hadn’t split into two. And yet doomsday must be fast approaching because I just agreed with something my grandfather said. I had the common sense and brotherly loyalty to refrain from sharing my opinion, though.
“I respectfully disagree,” Jason said. “Snow sports and lodging are a great investment in the Northwest. You’re just upset that it was Mom’s favorite vacation spot.”
He turned bright red and shifted on the couch. “That’s not it at all.”
My grandmother interjected. “I think what your grandfather is trying to say is that we’re worried about you. We can still take care of this mess and sell the property to the highest bidder.”
Jason lowered his voice, narrowing his eyes as he regarded our grandparents. “I can’t believe you two. I’ve been essentially running this company for five years, without complaint. And now because of the accident, and me taking time off, you feel I’m too fragile to manage things?” There was an edge in his voice that stiffened my spine.
The Rule Maker (Rule Breakers) Page 10
