21. Sienna
21
SIENNA
W hen I lay down in bed, I’m worried I might get stuck on Ryker F(uck Me) Grayson’s eyes, but I don’t. They’re nice, but definitely not nice enough to keep me from my much-needed rest. Of course, now I am thinking of them again. Of how that Fuck Me in them isn’t an ask but a command, the way they lure you in and force you to take your guard down, the way they hypnotize you and turn you into pudding… if you’re not careful.
Which I was. After I heard him talking outside the door and checked to see what was going on, and he grumbled in that familiar (and equally annoying, seductive) fashion, I wished him a good night and locked the door. Twice. I washed up and went to bed where I am still lying now. The watch on my phone says 3:33 AM. Great , so I made it like two hours without thinking of him. Kind of.
Determined to not be that idiot, I turn around and will myself to sleep. All of this is about willpower.
First, willing myself not to murder him.
Then, willing myself not to kiss him.
Now, willing myself not to succumb to my lowly cravings.
I just have to will myself to stick this out for as long as I can.
For Robyn.
When my alarm clock goes off, I am already awake. I did sleep. Intermittently. Which I am sure is some kind of new-age health trend that’s supposed to be good for you. And I do feel fine, so I get up, take a shower, brush my teeth and put on a pair of yoga pants. I pack another outfit I picked out last night that, I’d like to think, Ryker would approve of, even though it doesn’t really matter because I think I look outstanding in it.
It’s 6:30 AM when I walk down the stairs and while I would like for Ryker to make me breakfast, I certainly don’t want to go to work with him. I’d rather use the rest of my remaining money to call for a cab.
The house is still quiet when I sneak down the stairs. I stop to look at some photographs of Ryker and his brothers. There’s a cute one of him in his early twenties, I assume. He’s wearing blue jeans, a white shirt, a leather jacket, and hair that makes him look like he just got electrocuted by his own sick guitar solo. It’s cute, so I take it and slip it into my bag. I am not entirely sure why I do it. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation.
When I turn a corner down by the stairs, I almost miss the person sitting at the counter sipping coffee. My quiet shriek startles him. Miles spits the liquid back into his cup. “So sorry,” he apologizes. “Didn’t mean to scare you there.”
“Oh, no, you didn’t. Sorry, for a moment I was worried you were someone else.”
He pushes the newspaper away and turns towards me. “You look like you’re headed out. Can I take you anywhere?”
“That’s okay. You probably gotta drive Mr. Lemonface later.”
Without a word, Miles gets up, opens a door in the kitchen and waits for me to enter. I follow his lead and soon find myself in the garage. There’s the limousine that I already know, a small electric vehicle that looks like it might have belonged to Ryker’s grandma and a vintage sports car that might have been his grandpa’s.
“He’d murder me if I didn’t drive you.” Miles opens the passenger door for me to get in. “And by murder, I mean he’d have a very stern talk with me, and then he’d eat kimchi straight from the jar while sitting in the passenger seat because he knows how I hate the smell.”
“What a petty bastard,” I say with a smile and climb in. I hate finding out about stuff like this. It sounds like something I would do and we’re really nothing alike. Or at least almost nothing alike.
The drive is quite pleasant. Miles tells me about his former job, his love of books, and the date he is planning for Megan, aka the Baddest Bitch who is not going out with the other guy anymore. We make it to the headquarter of Grayson Holdings with no issue. Through the parking garage, I enter the office building. Miles drives off again and I am ready for my new morning workout. This isn’t the highest skyscraper in the city but it is 68 floors nonetheless. Ryker’s office is on the very top. So in my new grandma yoga pants, I begin the climb. It’s shortly after 7 AM and I am confident I should make it to the top before Ryker gets here.
The first ten floors go by quickly, even though having to carry a bag with my new outfit does not help. By floor 22, I am cursing my lack of regular workout. On floor 24, I discover the familiar logo of Grayson Holdings. Needing a break, I stop there and take a look inside the office. A confused woman at reception takes pity on me and orders me to rest there for a while. She’s the office manager for the HR department of Grayson Holdings. I use the chance to chat with her for a while about herself, her work and, of course, her boss. After a refreshment and brief explanation that I am not a fan of elevators, I am back to climbing Ryker’s tower.
I spot another Grayson Holdings logo on floor 42 where another woman is already waiting for me with a towel and some chill lemonade. Apparently, my new friend down in HR had warned her to look out for me. Both of them have the same expression on their face when they find out that I am working directly with their boss’s boss. It’s something between pity and envy. I leave to continue my ascend after a few cramps and a nice pep talk.
It’s 8:24 AM when I finally arrive on the 68 th floor. A familiar smile receives me with a warm welcome. It’s Barbara, Ryker’s secretary, personal assistant, anything else he might require, and avid hater of Awkward Pause’s show host. She looks absolutely stunning today.
“I’d understand if you were to quit right away,” she says and takes my bag.
“And give him the satisfaction?” I reply, dab the sweat on my forehead and then bend down to re-tie the strings of my shoes.
Right at that moment, the elevator behind us opens and the devil himself appears. His usual Grump Face turns even grumpier when he sees me. His eyes rest on my ass for a moment before he steps out of the elevator and greets Barbara.
“Miss de la Vega,” he says without looking at me, “my office. Now.”
Both of us follow and Barbara starts to brief him on his day. The rest of the employees, who seem to be gathered around someone’s desk, look at the three of us when we enter, and then quickly avert their gazes when Ryker looks their way. It’s like in a movie where people suddenly start looking at the sky when being caught staring.
We go up a flight of stairs that takes us to the very top floor of the building. Barbara closes the door to Ryker’s office behind us. The view from up here is amazing and if my thighs weren’t on fire, I could probably enjoy it.
“That would be all for now,” he interrupts his assistant and waits for her to leave.
“Rude,” I say once she is gone as I have a look around his office.
“Where were you this morning?” he asks, obviously trying not to sound annoyed.
I stand in front of a wall with awards and memorabilia when I discover the same mechanism he has installed in his house. When I pull the lever, a hidden door opens and reveals a bathroom.
“How do you do that?” he asks a little stunned.
“Well, you gotta hide them better.” The door slides open easily. “Is this a shower?” I inquire and step inside. “Outstanding. You said work starts at 9, right? That means I have half an hour left.”
Before Ryker can answer, I close the door behind me. It’s a nice bathroom. Of course, it is. It’s even nicer if you have a bit of an exhibitionist kink because there’s a rather large window front that, I assume, lets everyone take a peek at you when you’re showering. Overlooking the entire city, I take the fanciest shower of my life. My legs are already aching and I know that tomorrow I will have to get here even earlier to make it on time, but at least I’ll be in fantastic shape once I get fired.
When I am done, I put on my borrowed outfit and step back into my client’s office. He’s lounging in his chair, his legs propped up on his desk and his eyes trained on me as if he has been sitting there like this for the last 29 minutes.
“8:59 AM,” I announce, and take a seat in a leather chair opposite of him. “Not a minute too late. I’d love to do a base jump from up here. I mean, I don’t know how to do that and I’d probably die, but doesn’t it sound exciting?”
“Why are you coming to work all sweaty in yoga pants when you insisted you couldn’t wear your old clothes yesterday?”
I think about telling him the truth about me and one of the most murderous machines to ever exist, but decide not to. There’d be no use in giving him more fodder to torture me with. “All part of the job,” I claim. “I did some research into your image amongst your employees. Figured it’d be a good indicator of the kind of boss you are. The workout clothes were part of my cover. As was taking the stairs all the way up here.”
“Right,” he grunts. “And?” Ryker crosses his arms and furrows his brows, which makes him look quite serious.
“Did you know they have a group chat to alarm everyone in case you leave your office?”
“They do?” he asks with disinterest.
“No, I just made that up, but maybe I should introduce the idea in order to improve morale around here.”
“Is morale that low?”
I get out of the chair and walk around to keep him from staring into my eyes because if he continues, I’m going to need another shower. “Also, no. Surprisingly, everyone seems to enjoy working here. At least that’s what I’ve gathered from my brief interactions with the few people I’ve met so far. Your whole boss-grinch-charade seems to work to your advantage. It must have created some sort of camaraderie among your employees. They might be a little scared of you, but they respect you and your work, and at first glance, they seem to take pride in working here. They did feel quite bad for me though when I told them I’d work directly with you, which makes me think they are very kind people.” I look for my notebook that I keep in my purse. “Anyway, I should get a move on.”
“With what?” Ryker’s eyes still haven’t stopped staring.
It’s not the staring that’s bothering me, it’s the arousal that comes with it. “You. I mean your image. That’s why you hired me, no? To fix your image?”
“Oh, that. Right.”
“Yeah, so I’ll need an office where I can set up. I’ll do a proper analysis of the status quo, come up with a plan, define some realistic goals, and then we can discuss which steps to take in order to reach them. Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy.” I imagine squishing Ryker’s dumb grump face with both my hands as if squeezing a lemon. Miles would appreciate the imagery.
He presses a button, and a second later, Barbara comes flying through the doors. “What can I do for you, Mr. Grayson?”
She really seems like a great secretary. Maybe a little too eager, but that’s probably the reason she excels at her job.
“A desk, a chair, a laptop, writing utensils,” he looks over at me with those forbidden eyes of his, “anything else you might require?”
A fucking orgasm or two so I can focus on other things again.
I shake my head. “Maybe a whiteboard?”
Barbara nods slowly. “Sure, not a problem. Up here every office is occupied, but I think we have some room down on 42.”
“Have them put it right there.” Ryker nods at the corner in his giant office that houses a mini-golf course.
“Or I could set her up in the conference room if that’s prefera?—.”
A single glance from Ryker cuts her off immediately, then he nods at the corner again. Barbara understands right away and disappears from his office. Or I guess our office, because it would appear we’re office buddies now. Which is great. That certainly takes care of my plan of silently slaving away without being seen or heard until I’ve made enough money to pay for Robyn’s debt and our emergency fund.
Ryker’s eyes finally let go of me when the phone rings. To my surprise, I am almost a little sad. Which doesn’t make any fucking sense. I mean, he is right there. He’ll look at me again, but for some reason I enjoy being the center of his attention. Naturally, I hate it just as much. Which is perfectly normal. All of those are perfectly normal emotions to have, I tell myself.
He answers the phone without a word. I can hear a muffled voice on the other side, but I can’t decipher what they’re saying. Without uttering a word, Ryker hangs up. Then he gets to his feet, straightens his shoulders and adjusts his tie. “Let’s go,” he says and walks out of the office.
I follow right behind. “Where are we going?”
“Out.”
“But I just got here.”
“So?”
We walk down a hallway and stop right in front of the elevator. I sigh and consider my options. What is he going to do when he finds out I don’t like elevators? Lock me in one? Maybe.
Then again, that might be good, actually, because I could sue him and save all of Haven with the settlement money. The doors open and Ryker steps inside, then holds them for me.
His questioning expression makes him look almost harmless. “Coming?” he asks.
“Ugh, sorry, but I can’t. If you must know, I am scared of elevators,” I admit and scratch my head in embarrassment. “You can go ahead. I’ll be there in about 45-60 minutes.”
Ryker processes my words for a moment, then, without a snide comment, exits the death trap. He opens a door to his left and waits for me to come. “Alright,” he says, “let’s literally go then.”
“Down the stairs?” I ask like some kind of moron.
“I will check to see if it’s feasible to have a slide installed. Maybe Paul was onto something with that idea, but until then, yes, I guess we’re taking the stairs.”
“Cocky doesn’t suit you,” I lie and squeeze myself through the frame of the door, which is largely occupied by Ryker’s broad body. Of course, he doesn’t even try to give me enough space. I catch a whiff of his scent. Today it’s the same one that already drove me crazy when we first met, and I know it could cause similarly bad decisions right now. Trying to get rid of it, I exhale deeply and start jogging.
It takes about 13 floors for Ryker to catch up. I can already feel my legs get heavier and heavier and I am not sure if walking down is actually easier than up. When we reach floor 42, I am pretty sure someone spots Ryker coming and quickly vanishes back into the office.
I inquire why he chose to walk with me when he could have just taken the elevator, but all he answers is that cardio is good for you. By floor 24, my legs are jiggling jelly. We rest for a minute or two before going on. Ryker notices that I am slowing down and does so as well, which I appreciate. This way at least I get to stare at his butt while mine is already thinking about where to buy steroids for the upcoming days.
Finally, we make it to the ground floor, which has me moaning with pain and delight in equal measures.
Ryker huffs in response. “Three more to go,” he scoffs and points towards the parking garage.
I groan, throw my head back in desperation and miss the second to last step. Ryker’s back doesn’t exactly cushion my fall as much as it makes for a great object to hang onto. Which is what I do when I slam into him. I hold tight for dear life.
Ryker barely moves, instinctively reaches back, puts his hands under my butt and lifts me fully onto himself. “Look, I am still not calling you fat, but you have to stop falling like this.” His eyes peek at where my head is resting on his shoulder. Involuntarily, I inhale every last bit of him. Because I am exhausted and in need of air, not because I want to smell him. I smile from all the pain in my legs.
Okay, fine. Maybe I do want to smell him a little. It’s not my fault he is the best scented human alive.
I’ve also come to terms with the fact that his hands are not at all dainty. They’re strong and strapping, pulling me tight, making sure I can’t move away from him even if I wanted to.
Which is fine. All of it. I just have to heed his advice: I can not keep falling like this.