Little Lost Love Letter: A Romantic Comedy Novella

by Shari L. Tapscott

  “Be patient, Ryland. I’m proud that we’ve stayed a family business all these years, and Lucy is family.”

  “She’s not my family,” I feel the need to point out.

  “That’s her now,” Dad says.

  Sharply, I look up. And there she is, my new secretary, walking with Carina and smiling like she doesn’t realize she’s already the worst employee the company has ever seen.

  The world outside my office goes muffled, and every click of the wall clock’s second hand becomes deafening. My mouth falls open as a protest forms on my tongue.

  Dad glances at me, frowning. “You’ll catch flies like that. Close your mouth, son. She’s pretty, but she’s not that pretty.”

  But it’s not the fact that Lucy is good-looking that has me gaping like a dying fish.

  Carina leads the hot mess from the coffee shop up the stairs to my office. My father holds the door for them, offering his favorite daughter-in-law and her disaster niece a warm smile.

  “Mr. Devlin,” Carina says, dropping my name in the company of the new hire. “This is my niece, Lucy Lennox. Lucy, this is Mr. Ryland Devlin.”

  Lucy’s nervous smile freezes when our eyes meet. She stares at me; I stare at her.

  She shifts one foot back, nervously edging for the door as if she’s worried she’s going to need to make a hasty getaway.

  But it’s too late for that now.

  3

  Lucy

  Two thoughts immediately jump into my head when I first spot my new boss.

  The first: all the expense and energy spent on moving to Phoenix was wasted because I’ll only have a job here for two or three more minutes.

  The second: sweet tea and kittens, that man is sexy behind that desk. Even when he’s scowling. Which he is.

  At me.

  I swallow, wondering if I should cut my losses and make a run for it. Like, ditch these heels (which thankfully now match since Tyler gave me a chance to go home and change after the coffee incident) and sprint out of here.

  Carina clears her throat, and I realize I’ve been staring at Mr. Devlin for too long, and it’s become awkward.

  “Hi,” I say nervously, and then I realize that was probably too casual. “Hello, Mr. Devlin,” I quickly amend.

  Mr. Devlin. It sounds so proper. I wonder if he’ll be requesting tea and crumpets at half-past three.

  Does he actually want me to call him that? Would he mind if I called him Ryland? We must be close to the same age. Calling anyone in their twenties something so formal feels beyond odd.

  “You’re late,” the man from the coffee shop finally says, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms. He looks like a lord who’s been saddled with an unwanted ward.

  I try to laugh, but I’m afraid I sound seasick. “It was a—”

  “Rough morning,” he supplies tonelessly.

  “Ryland,” Senior Mr. Devlin chastises under his breath.

  “No, it’s all right.” His son stands. “Miss Lennox and I have already met.”

  Miss Lennox. Oh my stars, he called me Miss Lennox. Like I stepped from a gothic romance.

  It’s not entirely unpleasant.

  “You have?” Carina says to Ryland, surprised. “But I thought—”

  “This morning.” He meets my eyes. “I had the pleasure of buying her coffee.”

  I cringe, taking another step toward the door. Without the heels, I could be to the elevator in five seconds flat. Even with them on, I think I could make it in eight.

  My new boss rounds his desk and stands in front of me, offering his hand in a gesture that should be friendly but feels rather ominous. “I expect we’ll work well together.”

  Which really means: “You best step up, Miss Lennox, because I expect nothing less than perfection.”

  Holding back a terrified laugh, I cautiously extend my hand. “I’ll do my best.”

  It’s nothing but a professional handshake: palms pressed together firmly for two-point-three seconds and then done. But it feels substantial—like I just entered a contract with the worst sort of villain. I don’t think I could be any more uneasy, even if I signed my name in blood.

  Satisfied, but obviously less than pleased, Ryland nods and releases me.

  Senior Mr. Devlin gives us a great big smile. “Now that the introductions are done, how about we all go to lunch?”

  His son’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. It would be funny if I weren’t the subject of the conversation.

  “Miss Lennox hasn’t even been here five minutes,” Ryland protests.

  Miss Lennox.

  “Never mind that, Ryland. It’s Lucy’s first day.”

  Does Ryland’s father have any idea how difficult he’s making my life right now? Just let me file something or answer phones or wash this massive wall of glass in Ryland’s office. This special treatment isn’t endearing me to my new boss.

  “Lucy was just saying she didn’t have breakfast,” Carina says. “I think an early lunch sounds fabulous.”

  “What do you think, Lucy?” Senior Mr. Devlin asks, turning to me. “Are you hungry?”

  I glance at Ryland, wary. “I think I should probably get to work…”

  “There’s plenty of time for that later,” the older man insists, adamantly shaking his head. “This will give us a chance to get to know you a little better.”

  Left with no choice, I follow Carina out the door of Ryland’s office. I can feel him behind me, radiating irritation like a heat lamp.

  I couldn’t have made a worse first impression.

  But that’s all right—it just means I’ll have to work even harder to prove myself.

  As I’m giving myself the internal pep talk, my heel skids on the stair. My arms flail as I fall backward…right into my new boss.

  Ryland lets out a startled “oof” as I crash into him, but he manages to catch me before I fall.

  For several seconds, we’re both frozen in shock. One of my legs is bent at an awkward angle, and the other hovers in the air in front of me. My arms are extended at my sides, with Ryland grasping near my armpits like we’re in the middle of choreographing an elaborate couples skating routine. If he were to let me go, I’d have no chance of righting myself before I collided with the stairs.

  As soon as his surprise fades, Ryland pushes me forward, curtly depositing me on my feet once more.

  “Are you all right, Lucy?” Carina demands. “What happened?”

  What happened? I put myself in another embarrassing situation in front of my new boss.

  “I’m fine,” I assure them all, unable to look anyone in the eye.

  Thankfully, Carina and Ryland’s father continue walking.

  To my surprise, Ryland leans in from behind me. “Perhaps you should have chosen the navy heels. They might have had better traction.”

  Startled that he made a joke, thinking maybe he’s not all bad, I look at him over my shoulder. My smile freezes when I realize he’s serious. Ryland stares down at me, barely veiling his disapproval.

  “Maybe you should wear flats tomorrow,” he suggests.

  Then he passes me, walking quickly to catch up to his father.

  And suddenly, I’m struck with the overwhelming desire to throw something at the back of his head—an impulse I haven’t had toward someone since middle school.

  Scowling, silently muttering insults I don’t dare say aloud, I yank my skirt back into place and follow him.

  Lucy

  Three Days Later

  “I’m not ready,” I plead, practically hanging onto my aunt’s arm. “Don’t do this to me.”

  “I’m in labor, Lucy,” Carina says, exasperated. “It’s not like I have a lot of say in the matter.”

  She clenches her eyes shut as another contraction hits her, and she grasps hold of my hand so tightly, I’m not certain I’ll ever have full use of my fingers again.

  My uncle-in-law rushes into the break room. “The car’s ready. Do you have your hospital bag? A robe?
That tennis ball?” His face goes white. “Are you okay?”

  “She’s having a contraction,” I manage, thankful I’ve now lost feeling in four out of five of my fingers.

  “Breathe, Cari.” Tyler sets his hands on her shoulders and draws in a slow, exaggerated breath. “Remember? The breathing exerc—”

  “Stop,” Carina hisses through clenched teeth. After another few intense seconds, her expression eases. She takes a deep breath and releases me. To her husband, she says, “I don’t want to hate you after all this is over, so please…take it down a few notches.”

  Tyler’s father bursts into the room. “What are you still doing here? Get her to the hospital.”

  I take several mournful steps back, watching as Tyler ushers Carina out of the room.

  “Keep me posted,” I call weakly.

  Suddenly, the room is too quiet. I stare at the clock on the coffee maker.

  One-seventeen.

  Three hours and forty-three minutes until I can go home.

  Three hours. Deep breath. Forty-three minutes.

  I should be excited to meet my new baby cousin—and I am. But whenever I look at him, I wonder if I’ll blame him for his mother throwing me to the wolves.

  Or, rather, wolf. Singular. One.

  Shut up, Lucy.

  With a heavy sigh, I make my way to the main floor and trudge past the junior architects’ desks. Ryland sits in his office, visible through the glass wall. He’s on a conference call, blissfully oblivious to the events that just went down in the break room.

  He thinks Carina will be here for another week to train me. He thinks that by the time she leaves, I’ll understand his color-coding system and have memorized not only the names of all our important clients, but how they take their coffee.

  Gingerly, I sit at Carina’s desk, staring at her half-finished notes. The telephone rings, and I pick it up. “Hello?”

  I quickly jot down a message for Ryland.

  “Yep, I’ll pass this along,” I say before I end the call.

  “That’s not how you’re supposed to answer,” Ryland says from behind me, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

  I freeze, terrified to turn around.

  He continues, “You’re supposed to say, ‘Devlin Architecture, this is Lucy. How may I help you?’”

  Ryland then comes around the desk, frowning down at me.

  “Right.” I force a smile. “I’ll remember next time.”

  His eyes narrow. “Why are you in Carina’s chair?”

  “Oh…well…”

  “Where is she? I need to go over—”

  “Having her baby,” I say quickly. Like a bandage, it seems best to get it over with.

  Ryland stares at me, and I swear his eyebrow twitches. “As in…right now?”

  I press my lips together and nod.

  “But she isn’t due for another three weeks.”

  “Apparently, babies don’t always come on schedule.”

  Realizing I’m politely mocking him, Ryland narrows his eyes. “If she’s in labor…that means…” He looks like he’s going to hyperventilate. “That means you…”

  We’re stuck with each other.

  I offer him the phone message. “You got a call from Juanita at Redding. She wants to add another bathroom to the second floor before you finalize the plan.”

  He stares at the paper, looking at me like I’m daft. “Don’t you remember what you’re supposed to do with phone messages?”

  I wiggle the paper in the air. “Give them to you so you can call the person back?”

  It seems logical to me.

  Looking as if he’s suppressing a sigh, Ryland shakes his head.

  “All phone messages go into a single daily email, along with the callers’ contact information. Before you leave in the evening, you will send me the email, and I will return the calls the following morning.” He points to Carina’s planner. “Nine o’clock. As you can see here: Call Response Block, promptly followed by the email response block.”

  I should acknowledge it with a smile and move on, but I can’t help myself. I really can’t.

  “Or we could simplify things.” I give the message another little friendly wave. “I could hand them to you as they come in…and then you could call the person back.”

  This time, it’s a muscle in Ryland’s jaw that jumps. “No.”

  “Right.” I look down, setting the message on the desk. “Bad idea.”

  Thankfully, the phone rings again, saving me.

  “Hello?” I say as soon as I pick up.

  “Lucy!” Ryland hisses.

  “Devlin Architecture,” I quickly amend, wincing. “This is Lucy. How may I help you?”

  Looking exasperated, Ryland goes back into his office.

  “Make sure you tell him right away,” the woman on the phone practically purrs after giving me her message. “I’ll be waiting for his call.”

  “Um…well….” I rub my temple, wondering how hard it would be to find a new job. “You see, Mr. Devlin has a syste—”

  “Right away,” she says curtly.

  “Okay.”

  I wrinkle my nose as I set the phone back in its cradle. This is not what I signed up for.

  Hating my life, I walk up the steps to Ryland’s office. I knock on the glass to get his attention because one thing I have learned in the last few days is that his very important self hates it when I simply walk in unannounced. Even if he can plainly see me approaching through his wall of windows.

  Ryland peers at me over his computer glasses. “Yes?”

  “There was a woman on the phone just now, and she—”

  He pulls off his glasses and tosses them onto his desk. “What did we just talk about?”

  “Yes, the timing isn’t ideal, but—”

  “Put it in the email,” he says. “I will respond tomorrow.”

  “All right,” I say, turning to leave.

  He can’t say I didn’t try.

  “Why didn’t you tell me Tara O’Connell called me yesterday?” Ryland demands, pausing at my desk.

  I glance up, drumming my fingers on the planner while I try to remember which laundromat Carina said I was supposed to visit to pick up Ryland’s dry cleaning. “I put it in the email.”

  “But she wanted to meet for drinks last night.”

  Hence why I braved his office to tell him right after she called.

  I clasp my hands on the desk, wondering if it’s too soon to ask for a raise. “All phone messages go in the evening email.” I point to the nine o’clock line in the planner. “And they are promptly answered by you the following morning. Isn’t that what you said, Mr. Devlin?”

  Ryland stares at me. “Unless they’re time-sensitive.”

  I nod, the picture of professionalism. “I’ll remember that in the future.”

  “Call her back,” he says, turning toward his office. “See if she’ll go tonight.”

  “You want me to schedule your date?” I ask before I can stop myself.

  Ryland pauses, looking back. “You are my secretary, aren’t you?”

  “Professional assistant,” Tyler says from a few yards away, grinning like a fool.

  “What are you doing here?” Ryland asks his brother when he turns. “Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?”

  Carina had her baby at just after two in the morning. I stayed up late, waiting for the text. Now I’m running on caffeine and the chocolate I found in Carina’s desk.

  I shoot Ryland a scathing look while his attention is on his brother. I have no idea why Carina needed a secret candy stash to get through her days.

  “I’m just here to grab a shower and a change of clothes,” Tyler says. “The office is closer than our house.”

  “How are Carina and Hayden doing?” I ask.

  That question ends up being the wrong one, and I almost immediately wish I could take it back. Tyler launches into a detailed description of the birthing process. By the time he’s fin
ished, I know more about my aunt than I’ve ever wanted.

  I glance at Ryland and find him looking disturbed as well.

  There are some conversations no man wants to have about his secretary or sister-in-law. For example, if the conversation includes the words “dilated,” “placenta,” or “lactation consultant,” there’s a good chance it’s on the list. If it involves all three, such as this one, then it’s certainly on the list.

  “Don’t let us keep you,” I urge Tyler when he pauses. “Carina will wonder what happened to you.”

  “Right,” my uncle says, beaming. He turns to leave, and then he looks back. “When are you coming to the hospital to meet Hayden?”

  Ryland opens his mouth, but before he can answer, Tyler cuts him off.

  “Come tonight, right after work,” he says. “Lucy, Ryland will drive you.”

  “Excuse me?” Ryland demands.

  “She doesn’t know her way around the city yet, and she doesn’t have a car,” Tyler says with reproach. “And it’s not like it’s out of your way to pick her up.”

  I begin to protest, “I’ll be fine—”

  “Ryland doesn’t mind,” Tyler insists.

  Except, I’m pretty sure he does.

  “Yes, fine.” Ryland waves his brother off and turns back to his office.

  “I suppose this means you don’t want me to contact Tara about drinks?” I call to my boss innocently, barely suppressing an ornery smile when he shoots me a look of death over his shoulder.

  “Why is he in such a foul mood?” Tyler asks.

  I shrug as if I have no idea and return to my desk, determined to figure out Ryland’s complex color-coding system before the day is over.

  5

  Ryland

  I most certainly mind. Have I become a rideshare service? A taxi? Lucy’s personal chauffeur?

  Frustrated, I sit at my desk and try to focus on the schematic I’m working on. As I try to think, strains of music drift through the glass walls, just barely loud enough for me to hear…but too loud to ignore. It’s that perfect in-between level that leaves you straining to make it out.