His mouth dropped open.
At the executive floor, the doors whooshed open, and she stepped out ahead of him, resuming the morning briefing as she walked. When he hesitated, she huffed a sigh and looked back at him. “Hello? This is your floor, Mr. Lloyd.”
The rest of the day unfolded in pretty much the same way. By sticking to her guns, she managed to change the way he interacted with her. He hired her as his executive assistant ten days later.
Now when they walked along, and she laid out his morning brief, he slowed his gait to accommodate however fast or slow she was walking and even held the door open. The only other person, male or female, he opened the door for was his mother. Jen knew, though, that when he did it for his assistant, the act was one of the few he made as a man.
She took it as a sign of growth. For him.
“I, uh, broke my phone,” he told her in the quiet of the elevator. “Do we have another?”
“Please be real.” She smirked at him. “Apple has you on an auto-delivery plan.”
He ducked his head to hide a sheepish expression. “I’ll assume you arranged for the gold plan,” he murmured dryly.
She met his eyes, saw the sardonic twinkle, and grinned. “Of course.”
The elevator climbed to the top floor and leveled off. This next interlude was sometimes the best part of the day—ushering her socially awkward boss through a sea of people who hung on his every word and facial expression.
Before she came along and walked him through it, John Lloyd had barely interacted with the rest of the world. He still required deft reinforcement, but after three years together, he knew the drill by heart and made an attempt without being prodded.
“Bob Reed is getting married this weekend. You sent a lovely silver coffee service.”
“The bride’s name?” he quietly asked.
“Gwen.”
The confidence in his walk showed just how much he relied on her to help navigate this particular minefield. After a brief congratulatory handshake for Bob, they continued. She kept up a murmured, running dialogue with cues and hints as several of the senior executives queued up for a second of face time.
Up ahead, she caught her first glimpse of the impressive reception area that stood as a bulwark to his private office. Mentally crossing her fingers, she reminded John in a calm, soft voice that his executive receptionist’s birthday was tomorrow. Why did she cross her fingers? Because she was hoping he got in the freakin’ game instead of directing her to make the appropriate gesture.
And why would John Lloyd need to get in the game with the woman behind the desk? Because unless Jen’s cupid radar was screwy, her boss had a thing for the pretty, single mom.
As they approached, Samantha Matthews stood and happily greeted them. “Good morning, sir,” she said.
If Jen had a love wand, this was the moment she’d start waving it. Please respond, please, she silently prayed.
“Good morning, Samantha,” he replied somewhat stiffly. His shyness was a cruel bitch.
Use one of the prompts, Jen tried to telegraph. Come on, John. You can do it.
She’d instructed him on a few polite ways to engage without putting his foot in it. Something as innocuous as ‘You look nice today’ can lead to a call from HR, so she had to help him find some simple, all-purpose words.
“Are those birthday flowers?” he asked with a nod at the small arrangement on her desk.
Samantha beamed when he mentioned her birthday.
“No, sir. These are from a friend’s garden. Hydrangeas and peonies.”
Suspecting that might be all they could expect from him, Jen was ready to move them along when he surprised the holy hell out of her.
“Have you a green thumb?” he asked with a chuckle. “I can murder plastic plants. Just ask Jenna.”
A conversation? This was … fantastic!
“Truth,” Jen drawled. “The fake jade plant on the bookcase in his office? One day it simply shriveled up and died.”
John felt like his heart would hammer out of his chest. He struggled to make small talk, but something about the efficient, no-nonsense woman manning the reception desk had been screwing with his head for some time.
Average height with curves that scared the shit out of him, Samantha Matthews packed quite a wallop. And since he was more experienced at being on the other end of a wallop, he wasn't altogether certain what the hell he was doing.
Thank god for Jenna. More than an assistant, she was a guardian angel stuffed inside an impervious outer shell of control. He'd never seen her rattled and frequently wondered what it would take to throw her off.
Where Samantha was concerned, he needed her adroit social skills. She always knew what to say.
“I can grow anything,” Samantha told them with a laugh. “Benefit of life on a farm.”
Hmm. A thought burst in his mind and rolled off his tongue before he adequately thought it through.
"Um, would you mind looking at the plants on my terrace? I think they're overwatered."
John didn't know what the hell he was talking about, but the words sounded reasonable, so he added a hopeful spin to the request.
“If you have time. No pressure.”
He felt Jen’s eyes on him. Samantha gawked uncomfortably and then turned an attractive shade of pink. She hesitated for so long that he felt sweat-inducing heat shoot into his neck and start to dampen his collar.
“I could do that.” Her voice held a tinge of shyness that made his stomach do somersaults. The acrobatics didn’t stop the bozo grin from spreading across his face.
Beside him, Jen raised her phone and frowned. "Sorry to cut this short," she said. "Samantha, why don't you stop by after lunch, and you can look at the sad terrace plants."
He wanted to ask why the damn hurry and then remembered who he was. Chitchat had to be carved from his overly scheduled time.
Samantha waved as they walked toward his office. John sighed before shrugging off his disappointment.
In his huge office with the high ceilings, he headed for the massive executive desk sitting in the center of a wall of windows that looked out over the busy city. Like much of everything in his world, the desk and office were extravagant and designed to leave an impression. It was more or less lost on him.
He unbuttoned his suit jacket and shoved a hand in one pocket. “What was the rush? Were flowers on the No-No list?”
He felt a wave of uncertainty when his usually loquacious assistant ignored him with her back. She was neatly stacking a haphazard pile of magazines on the coffee table in a seating area and doing so with an impressive amount of fervor.
He wondered, What the hell crawled up her skirt?
“Jen?”
She turned around and looked at him. Her expression was blank, but her eyes did that dangerous squinty thing that appeared before someone got handed their ass.
“Ryan’s on his way up.”
Five words—six if you count the contraction. Each of them dripping with scorn.
“I thought he was in Alaska till next month.”
“Yes, well,” she bit out with uncharacteristic bitchiness. “Your mother suggested he come home now. Didn’t you know?”
“Whatever for?”
“I believe,” she answered with a sharp sniff, “that a wife has been found. Quinn Montgomery,” she spat in a snotty drawl.
Finding suitable wives for him and his younger brother, Ryan, was his mother’s newest hobby. The threats started when John turned forty and had only gotten worse in the two years since. He wasn’t interested in a socially acceptable arranged marriage, plus he didn’t have the time or, frankly, any interest whatsoever.
When his father unexpectedly dropped of a heart attack the year after John got his master’s from Wharton, and he’d inherited the CEO position, he lost his personal life in the exchange. There wasn’t time for friends and personal interests or pursuits. Lloyd Global was far too big for that nonsense.
If he’d ev
er thought about marriage and having a family, those possibilities turned to dust under the relentless drive required to keep the company moving forward. His mother was barking up the wrong tree if she imagined for one second that he had the time or emotional capacity to deal with the family he already had, much less a new one.
But Ryan was another thing altogether. In John’s opinion, his little brother had the perfect amount of time to play their mother’s game.
Sure, he was executive director of a huge, successful division of Lloyd Global. The outdoor recreation and sporting division that Ryan developed and oversaw was a solid moneymaker.
As the man with the vision, Ryan Lloyd carved out a niche as a globetrotting outdoorsman. The press loved him and hung on his every word and sensational deed.
The idea of clipping the guy's wings with a wife was a bit fucked up, but if his mother wanted to ensure continuity of the Lloyd family, Ryan was the better candidate.
He whistled. “Quinn Montgomery. Is she even real? I thought she was one of those hospitality robots.”
Jen snorted out a laugh. Her voice sounded like sandpaper when she replied. “Following a comprehensive review of his financials, your brother’s stock went up.”
He wasn’t good at reading people, but he and Jen did okay with each other. She’d always been extraordinarily open with him, which made it easy to trust her. That must be why he noted the grim tautness around her mouth.
His brother and his very efficient assistant interacted a couple of times a year when Ryan did his part in the Lloyd Global dog and pony show.
Until thirty seconds ago, John assumed the two would never be able to get past their mutual dislike. Ryan was too much of a free spirit for the buttoned up and straitlaced Jenna Carlton.
But something about her tone and the severity of her pinched mouth made him pause. What pissed her off? That Quinn was motivated by money or was it something else?
John dropped the paper he held on the desk and moved away from the blinding sunlight streaming through the windows. Unless it involved a negotiation or business deal, he sucked at reading people, but with Jen's help, he'd developed a few mechanisms that helped him focus at those times when some personal awareness was required. In this instance, he shifted into the shadows and edged closer. He wanted to see her feet. Body language was a focal point, and focal points offered clues. Clues he needed to help navigate.
“My brother is a wealthy man. The outdoor division is teetering on being an embarrassment of riches.” He rolled a shoulder and tried for a smirk. “Even without what he inherited and his portion of the company, he has a serious bank account. Not that he cares,” John added at the end.
That was when he saw it. The slight kick of her dangerous looking shoes against the leg of the sofa. Ryan and his bank account got to her. Or maybe it was his lack of fucks to give over his personal wealth. Something.
“What’s your point, John?” she snapped. “That having a lot of money gets you a wife? Seriously?”
“No,” he objected with a headshake. "I'm just saying that, all things considered, it might be a contributing factor."
She ripped out an exasperated grunt. "A contributing factor?"
The way she said it made the expression sound like a withering indictment that was in no way flattering.
“Well”—she snorted dismissively—“if money is a contributing factor in choosing a mate, count me out. Your brother is an idiot for going along with whatever this is.”
Her pissed-off hand wave intrigued him. So did the tapping of her foot.
Hmph.
"In my brother's defense, he might not know what Connie and Grace are up to."
Not knowing what the hell Constance Lloyd and her twin sister, Grace, were meddling in at any given moment was standard for their family. The two had far too much time on their hands. Time they devoted more and more often to interfering in their kids’ lives than to their usual philanthropic endeavors.
Inferring that perhaps Ryan was clueless where the Quinn Montgomery matter was involved seemed to soften Jen’s displeasure. Well, he hoped that was what happened. He wasn’t sure because her mood shifted a nanosecond later when a commotion in the vestibule outside his office grabbed their attention.
“A venti coconut macchiato says the prodigal brother has returned.”
John snorted a laugh. “Get real. You have an unlimited expense account at Starbucks. Get your own damn macchiato.”
The commotion outside his office was quite loud now. It sounded like his brother was doing his usual act—charming and cajoling all who entered his orbit.
Chapter 2
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Lloyd. My little brother will be thrilled. He's a big fan. Follows you on Instagram."
Ryan Lloyd offered the junior executive one of his practiced cover photo smiles. With half the people who worked on the executive floor tagging along after him as he headed for his brother’s office, he felt like the Pied Piper of Lloyd Global. Wherever he went, people followed.
“No problem, Malik. I’d be happy to sign the magazine cover.” He looked around and asked, “Anyone got a Sharpie?”
As he glanced at the people checking their pockets, Ryan spied the door to Jen Carlton’s office. As his brother’s de facto chief of staff, she ran the inner, inner sanctum with a conveniently located office suite adjacent to the executive seat of power.
And the door wasn’t completely closed.
Without pause, he marched to it and flung it open, figuring if she were in there, he'd stop by to ruin her day, and if she wasn't ... well, he’d find some way to annoy the hell out of her.
Empty. Dammit. He would have liked to mess with the starchy, uptight dragon lady. But no matter. An empty office held so much potential.
Malik followed right behind him but remained outside the door rambling on about his younger brother and how he looked up to Ryan.
Two seconds of looking around and he was twitchy. Not a single thing was out of place. Nothing. It made his skin crawl to see the exhausting perfection and order with which she surrounded herself.
Her desktop looked staged even though he knew damn well it wasn’t. Jen Carlton was one of those types who’d spend a weeknight evening alphabetizing her spice rack.
He mentally shuddered.
A short, involuntary snicker shot from his chest when his eyes searched for a pencil cup and came up empty. A pencil cup was way too haphazard for someone so meticulous. A jumble of pens would probably drive her bat shit.
The two writing instruments on the desk were a fine line pen and a highlighter—lined up just so. He hit them with his hand when he reached for the desk drawer and watched them roll apart and stop at different angles.
“Jesus,” he muttered when the contents of the drawer came into view. Just as with everything else, his first takeaway was the excruciating order.
After finding the black Sharpie he was after, Ryan slammed the drawer shut and gave a satisfied smirk when he heard the contents shift from the force.
As he turned back to the doorway, a framed picture on a bookshelf caught his eye. Trying not to appear curious, he shimmied behind the desk chair for a better look while pretending to throw something in the trash can.
It was a framed picture of a flower. An orchid. He knew a thing or two about the fussy flower. The plant could be temperamental and required skill to keep it blooming—especially if grown within the choking confines of a concrete jungle. He understood how the flower felt. It was hard to breathe when your eyes looked found buildings, peoples, and carbon chugging cars everywhere they looked. It took less than a day for the walls to close in after getting off a plane from Alaska. He'd visit his family more often if they didn't all live in the fucking city.
As he rounded Jen’s desk and headed for the door, he paused to inspect the three magazines carefully arranged on a coffee table in front of a love seat. Just to be a dick, he lifted the one in the center, which caused the other two to fall out of alignment. The travel maga
zine he’d picked had an article about him from a recent journey to Africa.
“Eh, what the fuck.” He snickered softly to the empty office. Slipping the Sharpie into a pocket, he flipped open the magazine and dog-eared the article about him. Then he deliberately tossed it back on the once-organized pile and made sure to be as haphazard about it as possible.
Satisfied that his work was done, Ryan turned back to the door before Malik had a chance to pick his jaw up off the floor. Oh, shit. He forgot about the hovering fan boy watching his every move. Studying the upwardly mobile junior executive with a critical eye, he picked up on the guy’s discomfort. Fuck. He didn’t do the poor shlub any favors by defiling the dragon lady’s office right under his watchful nose.
This situation called for a thick layer of charm to smooth over the bumps and potholes his presence at the headquarters of Lloyd Global always caused.
Pulling the Sharpie from his pocket, he gave Malik a conspiratorial wink. “Got it.”
The lump of worry Malik visibly swallowed and the sudden sheen of sweaty apprehension that bloomed on his cocoa-colored skin bothered Ryan. He had a problem with anything that smelled like intimidation served from a person in a position of power and assumed Malik’s reaction was because Jen Carlton was a snotty bitch who probably made everyone’s life a workplace hell.
Like the hell she’d been making in his dreams for the past year.
Thumping the flabbergasted guy’s shoulder with his hand, Ryan steered them out of the office and tried to charm Malik into a better mood.
“Where’s the magazine? Let me sign that bad boy for your little bro. And tell you what, grab your phone and let’s do a selfie.”
They stepped back into the open vestibule and a dozen enthusiastic Lloyd employees immediately surrounded them. Someone waved the magazine in front of Malik’s face. He grabbed it and handed it to Ryan. “Trey,” he said with a half-smile. “My brother’s name is Trey.”
Leaning his ass on someone’s desk, he pretended to spell it out loud as he quickly autographed the magazine cover with his grinning face framed against a mountaintop. He’d reached the summit after an arduous climb and was lost in the moment when the picture was snapped. Although he didn't particularly enjoy the media attention, Ryan recognized it was part and parcel of his job. But to be honest, his ego enjoyed this cover. Not because the headline described him as rugged outdoor eye candy but because the picture wasn't posed or staged. The joy reflected in his expression was real when some parts of his life didn't always feel real. Authentic moments stayed with him. Like the one on the cover.
Enduring (Family Justice Book 8) Page 47
