Chapter 9
Nine
“What a waste of time. It’ll take them at least a week to fix something that never should’ve slipped through the cracks in the first place,” Theo grumbles removing his hard hat.
I nod and peel off my own vest and helmet, more than happy to dump both into the Honda’s back seat. The Florida sun has been relentless. We’ve been standing out in the heat for a couple hours.
As we climb into the car, I lean my head back against the seat, feeling completely drained. All I want is to sit in a dark, air-conditioned room and eat an entire pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream.
I glance his way. “Do mistakes like that happen often?”
“No.” He pulls his door shut and turns the key. The car hums to life. “That joint could’ve failed during testing. If it had . . .” He exhales through his nose, short and controlled. “I should’ve caught the mistake when I walked the track.”
“You can’t catch everything,” I say softly as I fasten my seat belt. “That’s why you brought me. I’m a fresh set of eyes.”
He doesn’t answer right away. “Maybe,” he finally says. “But I don’t like slipping up. I’m glad it was you out there today, Minami.”
I glance at him. His jaw is rigid. His shoulders are drawn tight with tension. Nevertheless, I decide this is the moment to push, just a little. “You don’t have to be so hard on yourself. You’re like some kind of Dalek robot waiting on a firmware upgrade.”
A huff escapes him before he can stop it. “A Dalek?” he mutters. “Please. At least give me the dignity of being a Cyberman. Daleks look like salt shakers with plungers.”
I snort. “Fine. You’re a Cyberman. I should’ve guessed you’d be a Doctor Who fan.”
“It comes with the territory of being British and an engineer,” he says dryly. “That along with an innate need for tea, a talent for queuing, and a lifelong commitment to complaining about the weather.”
I laugh. “I knew you were a nerd just like the rest of us.”
“Us?” He lifts one of his brows.
“You know, your team—Derrick, Leon, Andy, Anya,” I say, ticking them off on my fingers. “We do stuff like binge The Office and debate whether the Death Star’s weak point was a design flaw or a management failure.” I shrug. “Normal-people stuff.”
He leans back in his seat. “I’ve never seen it,” he admits, and there’s a hint of stubborn pride in his voice. “I don’t really do sitcoms. I’ve never had the patience for watching people be idiots on purpose. I get quite enough of that in real life.”
I raise a brow. “So what do you watch?”
He exhales and mumbles, “The old Top Gear. The Clarkson years. And occasionally Grand Designs, when I can’t sleep.”
I blink at him. The car show, I can picture, especially knowing he owns a Jaguar. But a home-design show? That catches me off guard. “Grand Designs? That’s your guilty pleasure?”
His lips twitch. “There’s nothing guilty about it. It’s the same formula every time—a couple pours their life savings into a ruin, ignores the architect’s warnings about the plumbing or the foundation, and then looks genuinely shocked when the budget triples.”
I stare at him, incredulous. “So your idea of a relaxing evening is watching people go into debt and have their dreams crushed?”
“No,” he says, his voice losing its sharp, professional edge.
He shifts his grip on the wheel, looking uncharacteristically reflective.
“It’s about the predictability. Some people enjoy Hallmark movies and Austen period dramas.
For me, it’s the same thing. Only home design.
Being an architect was something I considered once. ”
I stay quiet for a beat. I wonder if anyone else back at the office knows that the boss has the heart of an artist. Because it feels like I’ve just been handed a key to a room he keeps double-locked, and the weight of that trust makes my pulse skip.
I’m catching a rare glimpse of Theo Riverton that no one else sees. And I’m enjoying it.
When we arrive back at the empty office, we commandeer Conference Room B. Theo retrieves a thick stack of papers from his desk and arranges them into careful piles. He lines up his pen, squares his laptop, then starts typing at a speed that could seriously challenge the office’s admin assistants.
I fall into rhythm beside him, tapping notes into my tablet while he dictates what needs to be amended, clarified, and rewritten. We work through weld schedules and safety audits, cross-check incident logs, and attach photo after photo until the documents start to blur together.
It’s not until my stomach growls that I glance at the wall clock. “It’s five-thirty?”
No wonder my wrists ache and my eyes burn. We’ve rewritten the same explanation of the same three bolts at least a hundred times, all so someone important doesn’t ask us for it to be worded differently later.
Theo checks his watch. “Actually, it’s closer to five forty-five.”
I slump back in my chair. “Do you mind if I take a quick break? I’m starving. I just want to grab a protein bar or something from the vending machine.”
He grimaces. “No.”
I blink, certain I misheard him. “No?”
“No,” he repeats flatly.
“Theo, I’ve been here all day. I need to eat something and use the restroom. I promise I won’t be too long.”
He lifts a hand, stopping me mid-rise. “Minami. What I was going to say is that you’re not a uni student anymore.” He shuts his laptop with a decisive click. “We’re taking a proper meal break. HR would have my head if they knew we’d worked straight through the last several hours.”
“So we’re stopping for the day?” I ask, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Yes,” he says. “We’ll pick this up on Tuesday.”
“Not Monday?”
He finally looks at me, expression unreadable. “No. You worked today. I expect you to take Monday off.” Theo pushes back his chair, stands, and stretches. “Let’s grab dinner.” He gathers his files, sliding them into his briefcase with practiced precision. “You earned it today.”
My pulse stutters, a hopeful little skip I can’t quite control. “Dinner?” I echo. “With you?”
“Yes. Think of it as a finder’s fee for that joint you caught today,” he says, clicking his briefcase shut. “The company owes you significantly more than a dinner for the headache you just saved us.”
The flutter in my chest dies a quick, unceremonious death. Dumb-dumb. Of course it’s a company dinner.
His brow quirks. “Unless you’d rather make a meal out of the vending machine.”
I snap my mouth shut and stuff my tablet and notebook into my backpack before I can overthink it.
Theo slings his work bag over his shoulder. “Come on, Minami.” He reaches into the front pocket and tosses me something. “I can’t have you fainting on the way to the parking lot. This should buy us a few minutes.”
I catch it instinctively and turn it over.
It’s not a cheap candy bar from the lobby; it’s a square of high-end European chocolate, the kind with sea salt and a gold-foil lining.
I tear the wrapper and take a greedy bite, the thick, dark caramel melting across my tongue.
“I’m surprised this isn’t one of your Rocky Road bars. ”
His step falters. “No,” he says carefully. “I’m saving those. This one came from Amsterdam.” He looks me in the eye. “So I have you to thank,” he says softly. “You’re the mysterious chocolate fairy.”
My pulse gives an embarrassing little jump. My eyes stay focused on the wrapper in my hand. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Nice try, Minami, but the game is up.” A faint glimmer of amusement lights up his eyes.
“There’s only one other person in this city who knows I have a weakness for those specific chocolate and marshmallow bars, and I know for a fact he wouldn’t take the trouble to leave a steaming cup of coffee to go with it. ”
“No, you’re right. Knowing Leon, it’d be an empty cup.” I chuckle, finally relaxing my shoulders. “He would’ve drunk all the coffee on the way to your desk and just left you the bill.”
“And possibly eaten the candy bar,” Theo adds. We share a quiet, genuine chuckle that seems to vibrate in the small space between us.
He studies the floor, then looks back at me. “I truly appreciate the chocolate. I’ve had a remarkable string of good mornings lately. Now I know who to thank.”
My pulse hitches. The idea that I was the reason for his improved mood—that my secret coffee runs were the highlight of his day—makes my face feel dangerously hot.
“You’re welcome. And while we’re at it . . .” I break the chocolate bar in half and hand him a piece. “Here. I can’t have you fainting on me either.”
He takes it, fingers brushing mine. “For the record,” he says, snapping off a square, “I don’t faint.”
“Everyone faints if they forget to eat,” I reply, tucking the wrapper into my bag. “It’s biology, not a personal failing.”
“That sounds like an answer I’d give.”
I shrug as we step outside. It’s nearly six, but the air is still thick and sticky. “So, um . . . how do you want to do this? Are we taking a company car? Or should I meet you wherever we’re going?”
Theo veers toward the far corner of the lot and stops beside his gleaming black motorcycle, the chrome flashing in the fading light. He pats the seat. “No Honda tonight. We’re taking the bike.”
Is he joking?
I watch as he lifts a spare helmet from the saddlebag and holds it out. His eyes aren’t just calm. They’re dancing with a rare, boyish challenge.
So no. He isn’t joking. He actually expects me to climb onto the back of that thing.
I don’t have anything against motorcycles, in theory.
If you enjoy the wind whipping through your hair and flirting with adrenaline, more power to you.
But I’ve seen one too many near-misses like cars cutting riders off and people weaving through traffic like they’re invincible to ever feel comfortable on one myself.
“No thanks,” I say quickly. “I’ll drive myself. I’ll meet you wherever we’re going.”