Tangled Control (Dublin Elite #1)

1. Catriona

One

Catriona

Ding.

My head snaps up and my gaze travels across four rows of desks to the far corner of the room. The lift doors part at a snail’s pace, a tiny inch at a time.

“Come on, come on, come on,” I mumble and tap my foot soundlessly against the felt floor tiles. “Thank fuck,” I add when, finally, the shape of a man appears in the sharp lift light.

I snort when he looks right and left with a smug smile plastered on his face, as if he’s bloody Daniel Cleaver from Bridget Jones.

He almost has the same effect as Daniel too – I’m not the only one with my eyes glued to him.

Half the office staff are practically fanning themselves as he steps off the lift.

Fecking bitches in heat.

As he – my boss of the last six months – strides through the large open-plan office, I weave between the desks to meet him halfway.

He stops by Gemma’s desk, leaning over the partition.

The tailored charcoal suit jacket opens, showing the lack of fat over his abs where the white shirt is tucked into his trousers.

His dark brown hair is messy, probably due to careful styling.

This man is as vain as they come. His soft murmur is accompanied by a stupid giggle.

Gemma hasn’t shut up since arriving this morning, describing their hot date last night.

‘Date’ my arse. It was a business dinner, but Rian-fucking-Kearney uses any work opportunity to woo yet another female employee.

Gemma – or Cleavage Gemma, as I’ve secretly named her – is only one of many willing victims. Don’t shit where you eat is my motto in life, but I guess when you’re the company owner’s son, you can have violent diarrhoea and it still doesn’t matter.

Imagining masculine Rian squatting, all red faced, makes me feel that tiny bit better as I take a deep breath to steel myself for what I know is coming.

“Mr Kearney?”

Rian’s flirtatious smirk hardens as he turns to me. Here we go again.

“What?” he barks, his tone rude and impatient. Not that I’d expected anything else. Flattery and smooth tactics can get him whatever he wants from anyone else, but he’s learned the hard way that it doesn’t work with me.

“Smyth was here two hours ago. He wants an update on the O’Toole contract. He asked that you report to him immediately.”

“What?” Rian says again, standing up to his full height, towering over me.

I barely manage to bite back a comment about him having a very limited vocabulary for such a smart fella. If we were in his office, behind closed doors, I wouldn’t be holding back. But I’m more careful with my words out here with almost twenty colleagues as witnesses.

“Why does he want an update on the O’Toole contract?” Rian directs his annoyance at me, which isn’t anything new. He runs his fingers through his hair, messing it up even more. “That contract isn’t scheduled to be re-negotiated for at least another month. How can he expect an update?”

“Beats me.” I shrug.

With a huff, Rian turns and starts walking back towards the lifts, with me following a few steps behind. In front of the metal doors, he pushes the call button several times while glancing down at me through the corner of his eyes, as if I’m the cause of all evil in this world.

If it was just Rian’s neck on the line, I would have enjoyed watching the frustration play over those perfect features.

But Rian is the face of this branch, representing my hard labour, and if he doesn’t do his job properly, then it will affect me too.

I’m not going to jeopardise my career because of his laziness.

Instead, I hand him the file I spent the morning preparing.

Rian finally gives me his full attention.

I fight not to squirm under his piercing, cold grey eyes.

He clenches his teeth, which only serves to highlight his sharp facial features, his chiselled jaw and high cheekbones. His lips are pressed firmly together.

I can’t look away from his intense gaze and suck in a quiet breath when he finally grabs the file.

I hate the effect he has on me; I don’t want to be one of those other women in the office who’ll do anything to get his attention.

Instead, I lift my chin and stare back at him with as much coldness as I can muster in my blue eyes.

Rian quickly flicks through the document.

“The O’Toole contract. I should have known.

Miss Goody Two Shoes, always eager to show off,” he comments sarcastically.

I straighten my back, ignore the pinch of hurt in my chest, and lift my chin even higher.

I’ve worked my butt off this morning to put that file together – to save his face – yet all he can do is insult me for it.

“Oh, you are very welcome, sir.” My tone matches his sarcasm. The lift arrives, and without waiting for his reply, I give him my back and walk away.