Chapter 2 #2
Caleb, Ryder’s brother, was built like the professional hockey player he’d almost been, and had the appetite of one.
He claimed to live for my breakfast burritos.
Ryder’s other brother, Tucker, reportedly the family rebel, was lanky, even though he could inhale a dozen of my chorizo street tacos in one sitting.
Bill, mid-fifties, gruff but fair, round as a barrel—he liked my lunch wraps, all of them.
Daniella, I think she was the operations manager, always wanted my breakfast casseroles.
Each of them was putting out pissed off vibes.
For me.
It both made my throat tighten and my tummy jangle. “I’m fine,” I kept saying, proud that my voice wasn’t shaking like the rest of me.
When everything was loaded back onto the cart, the group got a single nod from Ryder and vanished.
“I’m really okay,” I said for maybe the fiftieth time.
Ignoring this, as he had every other time I’d said it, Ryder began to push the cart toward the brick-and-glass building with one hand, the other firmly entangled with one of mine. I was still shaking, I realized, and even as I thought it, he glanced at me with concern.
I smiled, but it wasn’t real until I stepped inside the building, and as always, my blood pressure immediately lowered.
Tools and equipment from a long-past era hung from the open-beamed ceiling three stories above—wagon wheels, saw blades taller than any man, and a collection of antique construction tools.
Complementing the brick-and-mortar walls were black steel posts and open staircases that led to a large mezzanine filled with work spaces broken up by glass walls.
Ryder was watching me carefully, his tension stirring a need in me to reduce his stress.
“I love this building.”
“Me too.” He looked around like he was trying to see it from my eyes. “A hundred and twenty-five years ago, it was a lumber mill. A few decades ago, someone turned it into a furniture warehouse. Then I got my hands on it.”
And he’d modernized it, while also somehow romanticizing its past. “Being here feels relaxing, even though I’m working.”
Those hazel eyes of his warmed. “Same.”
We made our way with my cart to the staff kitchen. The large room had rustic wooden countertops, cream cupboards, and a center island with barstools. I loved all kitchens, but especially this one.
“And speaking of work…” I tried to push him from the cart so I could inspect the food, but instead, I found myself nudged into a chair that he pulled out from one of the employees’ lunch tables.
Worried about the time, especially if I needed to go back and remake the food, I could feel my anxiety kick into gear. “I re ally am fine.”
“I know. You’re Wonder Woman.”
I snorted. “I need to?—”
“You’re bleeding.” He gestured to my palms, and then the ripped knees of my black trousers, revealing torn skin.
I hadn’t registered the sting until I saw blood. Huh. And ouch.
Ryder’s gaze touched briefly on the bandage just beneath my jaw. “Your lip’s bleeding, and you scraped your chin just above and to the left of that bandage on your jaw?—”
“It’s nothing. I need to?—”
“This first.” Pushing off from the counter, he pulled a first aid kit from a cabinet above the industrial-size refrigerator and set it on the table between us. “Can I see your hands?”
Seriously, where was a big black hole to swallow me up when I needed one? Grandma had once told me the only way out of a situation you don’t like was straight through. Going around never worked.
Straight through…
So I flashed him my torn-up palms that now burned like a bitch. “Just a little road rash.”
He looked unconvinced. “Needs to be cleaned out. Your knees as well.” He’d remained a respectful few feet back, hands in his pockets. “Can I take a closer look?” His voice was quiet. Calm.
I could feel his need to step in and fix, like it was an essential part of him. When I nodded, he came close and lifted a hand, keeping it inches from my face, another question in his eyes, silent this time.
I nodded again and my skin tingled as his rough, calloused fingers whispered across my temple, tucking a strand of hair back before tipping my face up so he could see my chin.
I shivered.
He frowned. “Cold?”
I was a whole bunch of things, but cold wasn’t one of them. All this time, I’d thought his eyes to be a swirling, intriguing mix of green and browns, but there was some gold swirled in there too?—
He ran his finger just below the bandage along my jawline, his voice a quiet rumble. “Is this covering stitches?”
I closed my eyes. “Yes, but they’re almost dissolved now.”
“Could you have torn open the injury?”
Again, I had no idea. “No.”
He blew out a long breath. “And your knees?”
The holes in my trousers didn’t reveal much. But if he was expecting me to pull my pants down and let him play doctor, he couldn’t be more mistaken.
Clearly my expression told him that much, because his eyes flashed amusement. “Happy to assist.”
“Over your dead body.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “There she is…”
Not being anything close to a trusting soul, I crossed my arms, but I ruined the stare down by wincing as my palms brushed against the material of my shirt. “Don’t you have an empire to run? Aren’t you busy?”
“Yes and yes.”
He confused me, and I didn’t like being confused.
Plus, there was an odd…crackle in the air between us.
I knew what it was, and I didn’t want it.
I eyed the suit that fit his leanly muscled body to perfection, relieved that while he had some gravel and dust on him, there were no obvious injuries.
“You’re clearly on your way to an important take-over-the-world meeting.
You should go. It’s okay—I’ ve got this. ”
“Sure. Soon as you either let me clean your wounds or…” A tinge of amusement hit his eyes when my own flashed a death glare his way. “You do it so you don’t get an infection.”
Door number two it was. I grabbed the kit and stalked past him, heading to the employee bathroom down the hall.
I cleaned everything that was bleeding, bandaged my knees and palms, and then stared at the woman in the mirror.
Torn black trousers, dirty white button-down, thick light brown hair more out of the ponytail than in, my matching light brown eyes, wide with something that I couldn’t name.
My skin wasn’t quite white, nor quite brown, but something in between, a shade my grandma always said came from her Brazilian mother and the Italian man she’d cheated on her husband with.
I’d never met any of them before they passed but was grateful for the genes because my life might be difficult, but I could tan just walking to the mailbox. Got to celebrate the little things…
I fixed my hair, but there was little to be done for my swollen lip or my chin, which had turned the color of a ripe raspberry. I both looked and felt like a complete wreck.
Nothing new there. I opened the bathroom door and stopped in surprise. Ryder stood leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his broad chest.
Waiting for me.
Pushing away from the wall, he stepped close, his gaze sliding down my body, missing nothing as he handed me a small, soft ice pack.
“I don’t need it.”
“Okay,” he said with a shrug. “But if you don’t get the swelling down, your clients are going to ask you what happened.”
Ugh. I snatched the ice pack and pressed it to my lip first, sucking a breath in through my teeth as the cold hit.
Ryder’s “I told you so” was silent, but I rolled my eyes again anyway.
“I’ll call your work and tell them you’re going home for the day,” he said.
“No!” I drew a deep breath and lowered my voice with some effort. “I’m good.” I’d already taken a day off this week to go hunt down Wyatt when he’d played hooky from school. “I’m okay.”
Before he could object, I strode back to the kitchen, going still when I realized the cart had been emptied and had been set by the door.
The chafing dishes were filled and ready to be consumed.
I knew the woman who worked the reception desk here always refilled everything as necessary, but she didn’t come in this early, so she hadn’t done this.
I whirled to face him. “What did you do?”
“I believe it’s called helping.”
“Nothing was ruined? Are you sure?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”
Narrowing my eyes, I inspected the spread again, more closely this time, then opened the trash. I couldn’t stop the sound of distress that escaped me at the sight of some of the breakfast casserole mixed in with a few breakfast burritos.
“There were a few casualties,” he said calmly.
Oh my God. Kiera was going to kill me. “I’ll make more and come right back?—”
“There’s plenty.”
“Thank you,” I breathed with such relief my stinging knees nearly collapsed. “And for making sure I didn’t turn into a human pancake.”
His mouth quirked. “I’m very glad you’re not a pancake.”
This morning at the house, I’d been irritated at the sight of him looking—and smelling—like a million bucks, while I’d stood there with bed head and Cheetos falling out of my pj’s. But it sure as hell wasn’t irritation I felt now warming me from the inside out. Dumb. I was so dumb.
“I owe you.”
“You don’t.”
“I do. I insist.”
Those eyes of his lit with something that looked a whole bunch like an undeniably sexy playfulness, and he murmured, “What did you have in mind?”
A shiver went down my spine, and I had no idea if it was a thrill or trepidation.
No, that was a lie. Trepidation had nothing to do with it and I knew it.
He smiled one of those knee-buckling smiles. “You’ve got panic all over your face.”
I covered my hot cheeks and he gave a low, throaty laugh. “Have a good one, Wonder Woman.”
My ensuing hot flash lasted all the way to my next client, damn him.