41. Ronan
S loane storms away without a glance back, as if she can’t get away from me fast enough.
I bite my tongue against the urge to recall her to explain myself while I watch her tight ass in those sexy white pants until she disappears around the corner.
What a bold woman, showing up to Wolf the way she did.
I duck back into my office and shut my door, my body vibrating with a raw need I haven’t felt in forever.
“Fuck me.” My second day as a director and I was this close to testing the desk’s weight capacity. I hadn’t meant it to go that way, but then she asked if there was something else I wanted from her, and all blood flow left my brain, heading south.
Yeah, I wanted something, all right. I quickly assessed how frosted that glass is, if the lock on the handle works, how long it would take us to get our clothes off, how the sound of her coming might carry down the hall.
And she certainly wasn’t helping matters, what with those gorgeous eyes raking over me countless times.
But she came to Wolf in the first place because she’s desperate. I would have to be a grade A prick to take advantage of that.
Did I send mixed signals? Yeah, probably.
But I didn’t expect her to kiss me. She’s hard to read, but I can tell she isn’t the kind of girl to kiss random men.
She’s also not the kind who will slide her number into a guy’s pocket and hike up her dress for him later that night.
She’s older than me—I’m not sure by how much but definitely a few years.
And she was engaged, which means she’s the settle-down type.
She’s also the one woman who will one hundred percent cost me this job if Belinda makes good on her threats, and I believe she will. As reluctant as I may have been to accept it, now that it’s mine, the idea of failing bothers me. So, the last thing I need to do is start something up with Sloane.
Or any woman, for that matter.
I need fewer women in my life, not more.
On a positive note, I haven’t been this hard for a woman since …
well, Abbi. I also haven’t kissed a woman on the mouth since Abbi.
I run my tongue along my lips now, still tasting the coconut oil of Sloane’s lip balm.
She smelled incredible too, a tropical scent that made my pulse spike.
She has no idea how difficult it was for me to hit the brakes.
But I’m not helping her so I can fuck her. I’m not even helping her because it solves the problem of what to do about those signs.
Why am I so intent on helping the crazy rooster commune lady?
I guess because it’s the right thing to do; I know that in my gut. Plus, she’s aggravating Henry, and that doesn’t bode well for her.
A knock sounds on the door.
“What?” My annoyance bleeds through my voice.
“Sir … um … Ronan?” Archie calls out. “Belinda’s asking about you. Should I tell her you’re in your office?—”
“ No .” The single word comes out too harsh. I also don’t need that woman coming in here while I have a raging hard-on. I temper my tone. “Tell her I’ll find her in ten minutes. I need to make an important call.”
“Got it.” The sound of his hurried footfalls fade.
I briefly consider dealing with my issue the old-fashioned way, but there aren’t any blinds on the windows, so I do the only thing I can think of to kill all lewd thoughts.
I call my mother.
The Sea Witch parking lot is busy when I pull in, on my way to the hotel.
I’m already annoyed that I’m working on a Saturday, especially when I was in my office until ten last night, playing a game of “read all these reports and pretend we know what the fuck they mean.” Then I came home to a house full of strangers and music blaring. Connor is already living his best life.
I briefly consider skipping this stop, but leaving things with Sloane the way we did has pricked my conscience all night. I embarrassed her, maybe even hurt her. I need to make it right so I can stop dwelling on it.
“Fuck me.” I take in the customer line that snakes around the shelves of merchandise and bags of coffee. At six to seven bucks a pour, Sloane’s got quite the racket going on here. I’m impressed. I’m also going to be late for the morning managers’ meeting if I wait.
The same girl with short, black hair from yesterday is behind the till, her black Sea Witch T-shirt stretched across her chest. She smiles wide as she chats up the customers, as if she landed her dream job and this is it.
In complete contrast, a brunette scrambles behind her to make orders, spilling milk and dropping a spoon with a clatter. Her deer-caught-in-headlights eyes say she’s new here and struggling to keep up .
There’s no sign of Sloane, but the door between the two halves of the building is open, so I slip through it and into the rentals side.
Rustling sounds in the back office.
“Hello?” I call out and cross my fingers that King Kong doesn’t appear. I’m in no mood to deal with his crusty ass this early.
“We’re not open yet,” a woman with a southern twang answers. “If you come back”—a blond rounds the corner and stops dead when she sees me—“at eleven, we can help you then.” Her lips part in a wide grin as she smooths her hand through a lion’s mane of golden hair.
I recognize her. She was at the job fair with Sloane. “Is your boss around?”
“Sloane? No. She’s visiting Gigi.” She says this as if I personally know this Gigi woman.
“Do you know when she’ll be in?”
“Not sure. Can I help you with something?” she asks, adjusting her stance so her Sea Witch T-shirt stretches tight across tits that are almost too big for her little body.
This one is a wet-dream sorority girl, through and through.
Connor would be salivating. “No, I really needed to talk to Sloane.” To say what, exactly, I’m not sure yet.
I’m sorry I didn’t fuck you on my desk yesterday.
I’m not allowed to touch you, boss’s orders.
I can’t get hung up on another woman right now.
I’m still sort of in love with Henry Wolf’s wife.
The truth is, I doubt I’d have the guts to say any of those things, just like I never had the guts to say half the things swimming through my head where Abbi was concerned. I always kept it cool and superficial. It was an act, but it protected me where she was concerned.
“How long do you think that coffee line will take?”
“With Amanda making the orders? At least thirty minutes.”
“Damn.” I mutter more to myself, “All right. Shit coffee from the pit it is.” For all the money Wolf spent on construction, you’d think they could invest in decent coffee machines for the staff.
“Hold, please.” Blondie holds up a manicured finger.
“I’ll be right back.” She ducks through the doorway before I can say a word, leaving me alone.
I wander over to the far wall to the pictures I didn’t notice the first day, too enthralled by the beauty behind the counter.
It’s a timeline of Sea Witch’s long history in Mermaid Beach, reminiscent of a family portrait wall—dozens of group photos of staff huddled around the same woman pictured in the original Sea Witch plaque, her long, blond braids adorned with a tropical flower.
In the earliest ones, a teenage girl stands in front of her, Gigi’s hands resting possessively on her shoulders. Gigi’s daughter, I presume. With each year, the girl grows older, until suddenly she’s cradling a baby. She can’t be more than twenty.
And I’ll bet that’s Sloane.
From that point, Gigi and her daughter take turns holding Sloane, then standing with her, the little ash-blond girl wearing a bathing suit and a goofy expression.
There are a dozen pictures of the three generations together through the years as Sloane grows from an impish child to a gangly prepubescent, and then the younger woman is suddenly gone. The smiles are more forced across the group that year. Sloane’s is nonexistent.
As I move down the line, I note that her mother never reappears.
A creak of a door opening in the back sounds, and a moment later, King Kong strolls through. He grimaces when he sees me. “This side’s closed.”
“Yeah, I know. I came in to see Sloane.”
“She’s not here.”
“Thanks. I got that. I’m gonna head?—”
“Morning, big guy! Missed you at the fire last night.” The blond swoops past him, patting his trunk of an arm, before she crosses the room to hand me a large coffee. “If you need cream or sugar, you can grab it at the side bar.”
“Black is perfect. How much do I owe you?”
“This one’s on the house.” She winks. “I’m sure Sloane would agree.”
I chuckle as I dig out a ten-dollar bill and set it on the counter. “I think she’d charge me double. But thank you …”
“Skye.” Her eyes shift from the cash to me, batting long, salon-made lashes. “Have a great day.” She skips back to the coffee shop, stealing a glance over her shoulder to flash me a playful grin.
Frank glowers at me. “She’s not interested in you either.”
I would beg to differ, but I don’t want to die today. Does he know what happened between me and Sloane yesterday? “I’m just gonna …” I toss a thumb toward the door.
“Yeah, you do that.” Frank’s distrusting gaze sears into my back.
“Late, and you arrive like this .” Belinda falls into step beside me as she glares at my open collar and rolled-up sleeves. “You love to test boundaries, don’t you?”
At least I’m wearing a fucking dress shirt and pants. I despise golf shirts and was this close to throwing on my usual jeans and T-shirt. “Since when does senior management work weekends?”
Belinda flips her blond hair over her shoulder, and I’m hit with a waft of perfume. “Henry owns the entire company, and I’ve yet to see him take a weekend off. He was answering calls on his honeymoon.”
“I’m not Henry.” I sure as hell would love his bank accounts, though.