Ryan's Rules

by Alison Kelly

  She sighed. While there had been times in her teens when Ryan had been justified in thinking the worst of her, she wished he’d stop judging her on her prior record. Irritated to realise she’d been staring at him ever since he left the table, she redirected her attention to her surroundings.

  The bar, designed in a relaxed, open-lounge style, wasn’t crowded. Laughter rang out from one table occupied by a group of foreign flight attendants. At another what was obviously a family group seemed to be passing the time before an awaited arrival or departure and at the far end of the room two couples chatted in animated whispers.

  It struck Kirrily that this was the first time she and Ryan had socialised together as adults without either their parents or Jayne being present. In the years since she’d attained the age of eighteen they’d only interacted at family functions and traditional celebrations such as Easter and Christmas.

  The friendship between the Cosgroves and Talbots stretched back to the childhoods of Kirrily and Ryan’s fathers; they’d grown up next door to each other, married local girls and then proceeded to raise their children within a few blocks of each other. Later it had been friendship rather than economic sense which had prompted Kirrily’s father to inject funds into Bob Talbot’s financially strapped business when the banks wouldn’t; thus a personal relationship had expanded into a professional one.

  Ryan slid into the seat opposite, interrupting her thoughts.

  ‘Here you go,’ he said, putting his orange juice on the small, low table separating their chairs and placing her drink in her hand. ‘Scotch straight up; no ice, no water, and, I promise…’ he smiled, sheepishly ‘…no lectures.’

  His subtle reference to the incident at his parents’ party caused Kirrily’s stomach to flip. Then again, the cause might have been the sensation of feeling his fingers close over hers.

  ‘Don’t tell me you can read my mind now?’ she asked, the idea scaring the hell out of her.

  ‘God, I hope not!’ He looked aghast. ‘What you do gives me enough headaches, let alone knowing what you think about doing!’

  ‘Your headaches are self-inflicted. No one’s asked you to keep sticking your nose into my life.’

  ‘Your big brother did.’

  The blandness of his response didn’t disguise the emotion in his eyes and Kirrily lowered her lashes as her mind flashed to the memory of Ryan walking into Steven’s room after the funeral and discovering her sobbing her nine-year-old heart out. She remembered how he’d sat down on the floor next to her and quietly started to tell her that he missed Steven too, that he’d loved her brother every bit as much as she did and that maybe it would be better if they were sad together. It was then that he’d said she was to think of him as her brother now, because Steven had asked him to take care of her for him.

  ‘And Jayne, too?’ she’d asked.

  ‘Yes, Jayne too,’ he’d said. ‘We’ll both have to take care of Jayne, K.C..’

  That was the first time he’d called her K.C.; until then no one but Steven had ever called her that. Now only Ryan did.

  Kirrily stared into her drink and sighed. Strange how Jayne’s decision to get on with her future had made everyone else so much more sensitive to the past…It was the first time in years that Ryan had made reference to her brother’s dying request.

  Ryan changed his mind and began wishing he was able to tap into K.C.’s thoughts!

  The lines marring her brow bothered him, nearly as much as his urge to reach out and stroke them away. In the past he’d taken pains to avoid mentioning Steve in front of K.C., never again wanting to see her hurting as she had been the night of the funeral, when he’d found her crying, curled up in the corner of Steven’s bedroom clutching his football jersey, all alone. It had ripped his heart out, and with hindsight he’d often wondered if Steve hadn’t somehow foreseen that his little sister would be almost overlooked in the emotional turmoil that had enveloped the adult members of both families. It was cruelly ironic that when Jayne had taken the final step in letting go of the past he’d been the one to toss it carelessly in the face of an already distressed K.C.

  But had it really been done carelessly?

  Ryan’s gut churned at the unbidden question, but before he could examine where it had sprung from K.C.’s voice distracted him.

  ‘What?’ he said, trying to refocus his mind. ‘Sorry, I missed what you said.’

  ‘I know.’ She smiled and lifted her glass. ‘I suggested we drink a toast to Jayne. I think it’s kind of appropriate, don’t you?’

  ‘Very,’ he agreed, raising his glass. ‘To Jayne. May this be the start of a happier life.’

  She touched her glass to his. ‘And may I remember everything she told me about the Talbots’ accounts.’ And she added cheekily, ‘I’m certain you’ll drink to that, Ryan.’

  ‘K.C., I won’t only drink to it,’ he said, ‘I’ll pray for it.’

  The way she sipped her drink then let the tip of her tongue creep across her lips as she savoured the Scotch caused Ryan’s stomach to clench. Desperate to douse the fire erupting there, he tossed his juice back in one swallow.

  ‘You know, Ryan…’

  He told himself that her smile wasn’t intended to be sensual. Nor was the way she hooked a long strand of dark hair behind her ear and exposed the soft young skin of her jaw and neck to him.

  ‘I might surprise you,’ she continued. ‘But knowing you expect me to stuff up will stop me from feeling guilty if I do.’

  Ryan merely grunted. She wouldn’t feel guilt because right now he held the monopoly on it!

  When they returned from the airport Ryan dropped Kirrily at the house then went to the office to catch up on some work. He wasn’t back by the time she took herself off to bed at the puritanical hour of eight o’clock and he was gone when she arrived in the kitchen, showered and dressed, at seven-ten on Monday morning.

  Which was a good thing, Kirrily decided, picking up the kettle, because even on her best days no one had ever accused her of being a morning person, and after the sleepless night she’d endured she wasn’t in the mood for a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and invariably dry-witted Ryan Talbot She did, unfortunately, find evidence of his regrettable existence in a note shoved under a magnet on the refrigerator.

  Expect you on the dot of nine and not a minute later! Try not to dress theatrically—i.e. NO BASKETBALL CAPS! If Jayne’s car needs petrol go to the garage at the intersection—I’ve a company account there.

  PS—I’ve already fed Major. But don’t forget to activate the house alarm.

  Kirrily screwed up the note and hurled it across the room, her actions sending Jayne’s usually sedate Persian rocketing from the kitchen in a blur of blue fur.

  ‘Why, you arrogant, patronising, smart-alec jerk!’ Unable to satisfy her pre-caffeine rage with a civil vocabulary, she resorted to a stream of expletives and another shout of frustration. He seemed to delight in treating her like an imbecile!

  ‘No basketball caps’! Huh! It was bad enough that he considered her brainless, but for him to have the audacity to question her dress sense as well! He whom his mother had practically had to sedate to get him into a dinner jacket so he could escort Kirrily to her debutantes’ ball! He who considered ties as something one put on a garbage bag so stray dogs couldn’t rummage through it!

  Why was it that all her life Ryan had felt it necessary to dish out advice to her, to vet her boyfriends, to watch over her like some sort of guardian angel? What did he think she had parents for? A mental picture of her mother asking, ‘Well, what does Ryan think about all this?’ popped into her head and she swore again.

  That particular image was only a couple of months old, the comment coming when she’d told her parents that she was donating her acting services to a condom commercial in the interests of safe sex. Kirrily, of course, hadn’t discussed the matter with Ryan, but remaining silent hadn’t protected her from his opinion. Recalling his terse phone call to her after the commercial had been
screened was enough to make her cringe…

  ‘K.C., don’t you make enough on that soap you do without broadcasting your sleeping habits to all and sundry?’

  ‘I didn’t get paid for doing it,’ she’d hastened to explain. ‘Well, except for the hundred free samples the company sent me!’

  Unlike her, Ryan hadn’t seen the funny side of that. She just wished she could have seen his face when the courier had delivered the fifty condoms she’d sent him! She’d included a note stating that she doubted she’d get through all one hundred by the use-by date so she was generously splitting her profits with him! Visualising Ryan’s reaction to that was amusing enough to dampen her anger.

  Trying to be objective, she looked at what she was wearing. OK, so her black ankle-length skirt and boots were this winter’s latest fashion, but surely even the most conservative of dressers wouldn’t find them theatrical? And as for the polo-necked bodysuit she’d teamed them with…Well, admittedly it was a vibrant red, but she intended wearing a black blazer, so she needed a bright contrast to stop her from looking too severe.

  ‘Stop it, Kirrily!’ she ordered. She knew she was more than acceptably attired for work in an office, but as usual Ryan’s habit of expecting the worst from her had caused her momentarily to question her own judgement. She really hated it when she did that—hated him for having such influence over her! A desire for retaliation tempted her to march back to her room and don the shortest, skimpiest dress she’d brought with her! Thinking of the emerald Lycra number hanging in her wardrobe, she giggled.

  ‘Now, that, Major,’ she said as the cat waddled back into the room, ‘has what I’d call an Academy-award shock rating.’ The animal turned its squashed-in face towards her and miaowed. ‘You’re right,’ she said, proceeding to organise some breakfast for herself. ‘Much too obvious a response. Not to mention childish. I’m staying as I am. But boy,’ she vowed, ‘am I going to rattle his cage when he least expects it!

  * * *

  ‘Kirrily, this is Ron Flemming. He’s our senior sales rep and my second in charge. Ron—Kirrily Cosgrove, Jack’s daughter, she’s covering for Jayne while she’s away.’

  As Ryan introduced her to the last of Talbot’s Building Supplies’ thirteen full-time employees Kirrily smiled and extended her hand.

  ‘My wife and kids aren’t going to believe me when I tell them the star of Hot Heaven is working with me,’ Ron said, a friendly smile and a slight flush spreading over his chubby thirty-something face.

  ‘Thanks for the compliment,’ Kirrily said, ‘but I wasn’t the star.’

  ‘You were as far as my mates are concerned!’ Ron countered. “Specially after the episode with you and what’s-his-name in the bath.’

  Kirrily rolled her eyes at Ron’s teasingly lecherous grin. ‘I don’t think I’m ever going to live that down! People are still asking me if I was really nude or wearing cover in strategic places.’

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘Ron,’ Ryan interrupted, ‘aren’t you due out at the Perrelli site?’

  ‘Yeah, but not for—’

  ‘Then I suggest you get out there.’

  Sympathetic to anyone on the receiving end of one of Ryan’s glares, Kirrily produced her brightest smile. ‘We’ll have heaps of time to talk, Ron. I’ll be working here for at least three weeks.’

  ‘The operative word being working,’ Ryan muttered, guiding her away from the salesman’s desk. ‘I’m not running a Kirrily Cosgrove fan club here.’

  ‘I’m sure there’s some union rule which stipulates employees must be allowed to talk to each other in their lunch hours,’ she retorted.

  ‘I wouldn’t know. I’m not up on union rules; round here I make the rules, and number one is, Don’t go flirting ing with my male employees! Especially the married ones.’

  Kirrily was genuinely shocked. Oh, sure, the general public tended to perceive the acting fraternity as being morally corrupt, but in reality she’d not found actors any worse or better than people outside the industry. That someone who’d known her as long as Ryan had would make such a comment, even light-heartedly, irked her.

  ‘For your information, Mr Morality, I would never hit on a married man!’

  His mouth twitched. ‘Good. Then we won’t have a problem with rule number one, will we?’

  ‘No, but, knowing you, there are probably another hundred or so I’m expected to keep.’

  ‘Hard to say,’ he said, looking pensive. ‘It’s an openended sort of thing. But don’t worry—as they occur to me I’ll give them the next sequential number and pass them on to you.’

  ‘Gee, thanks! You know it was lucky for Moses that it was God and not you handing out the commandments, otherwise he’d still be carting them down the mountain.’

  ‘I know,’ Ryan said, holding open the door of Jayne’s office and motioning her through. ‘God and I considered that at the time.’

  Annoyed because she couldn’t keep her face straight, she punched his arm as she walked past him into what would be her office for the next month.

  The first thing she noticed was that the desk, which had earlier been clear except for a telephone, blotter and calculator, now had three stacks of paper on it, one of which was a very large stack. At a glance she identified it as invoices and statements; the other two were letters and promotional catalogues. Obviously Julie, the firm’s receptionist, had distributed the mail while Ryan had been introducing her around. Now it was time for Kirrily to ‘get down and dirty’, so to speak.

  ‘Look, when you feel like you’re getting snowed under just let me know, OK?’

  Ryan’s words jerked her head back up. He must have picked up on the hint of apprehension she was feeling, but he hadn’t said, if you feel you’re getting snowed under…Oh, no! He’d said when because, as usual, Ryan thought she didn’t know what she was doing! And he-big, kind-hearted white knight—was rushing to rescue her without even waiting to see if she needed, much less wanted rescuing!

  ‘Listen, Ryan!’ she said hotly. ‘I can handle things!’

  ‘I know but—’

  ‘Jayne spent all Saturday explaining things to me and, contrary to what you expect, she was convinced I could cover this job without getting “snowed under”.’

  For a moment she thought he was going to argue the point; instead he shook his head as if he were taking the biggest risk of his business life by just letting her into the building. Reaching for the typed list of duties that Jayne had left for reference, she studied it as if he wasn’t there.

  ‘I take it, then, you don’t have any questions you want me to answer?’

  She racked her brain for one he wouldn’t be able to answer.

  ‘Well, then, K.C.,’ he said, and started from the room, ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

  ‘Wait! I do have one question.’ She produced an innocent smile.

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted, glancing at his watch as if calculating whether there was time to give her an answer in three one-syllable words or less. He frowned at her continued silence. ‘Well, what is it you want to know?’

  ‘How are you off for condoms, Ryan?’ Fighting to keep her face bland, she looked him right in the eye. ‘Be sure and let me know if you need any more.’

  Apart from a minuscule tightening of his mouth, there was nothing to suggest she’d fazed him. His silky smile revealed even white teeth and superiority. ‘Thank you, K.C., but I’m well covered in that area—pardon the pun. I bought a new box last week.’

  ‘A new box!’ Kirrily felt her jaw practically hit the floor! ‘You’ve used fifty in two months?’

  His ocean-blue eyes widened a fraction as if he himself was surprised by the fact, then he shrugged. ‘Who counts?’

  Obviously she’d been under a misconception—she flinched at her own pun; she’d assumed that since busting up with the gold-digging peroxide blonde who’d adorned his arm last Christmas Ryan had been burying himself in his work. Apparently that wasn’t all he was burying himself in! Fifty in
less than two months—what did that average out at? Mentally she couldn’t begin to work it out, but surely most people would be bedridden with RSI doing it that often? And she’d called him Mr Morality! Ha! More like Mr Amorality.

  ‘Now, K.C., if there’s nothing else…’

  Mutely she shook her head.

  ‘In that case we can both get on with our work, then.’

  The minute he was out of the door, Kirrily reached for both calculator and desk calendar. Fifty in two months?

  CHAPTER THREE

  FOR Kirrily the first few days on a new project always passed quickly. She found the excitement of working with new people and the challenge of a new task pleasantly invigorating on a mental level. However, the first few days of working for Ryan passed too quickly! It seemed as if the eight hours a day she should have had to perform her duties had somehow shrunk, and by five o’clock on Thursday she was forced to concede that she was further behind with the accounts than she wanted to be and light years behind where she should be. Though she’d been as busy as a workaholic bee all week, there was no evidence of it, and when Ryan found out it wouldn’t be honey-sweet praise he’d heap on her!

  Rats! Where had she gone wrong? She’d followed the instructions that Jayne had left to the letter, being careful to maintain the other woman’s rigid routine. Careful? She’d been downright pedantic!

  The daily duties were simple enough: attach any incoming account statements to the appropriate invoices from the previous month, check the pricing of incoming invoices against the original quotes then input them into the appropriate creditors’ records on the computer. Jayne had said that the task could take anything from a few minutes in the middle of the month to three or four hours at the start or end of a month. With a glance at the mountain of paperwork sitting on her desk, Kirrily dropped her head into her hands.