Chapter 2
Devney skipped back to her desk and dropped into her chair with a little bounce, a triumphant grin plastered across her face. Her insistent push in Ronan’s office had finally done the trick.
She could still hear his gruff “Fine, I’ll consider it ringing in her ears. It was a reply she had wrangled out of him after twenty minutes of relentless charm, persuasion, and maybe a teensy bit of manipulation.
“Take that, Mr. Doom-and-Gloom,” she whispered under her breath, jotting down “Gala: Confirmed” with a flourish. If the universe kept score of her wins against him, she’d earned herself a gold star.
The office around her hummed with its usual intensity.
Keyboards clicked, and phones rang at exact intervals.
The space was a temple to order and control, with glass partitions, spotless desks aligned at perfect ninety-degree angles, even the air smelled faintly of expensive leather and fresh paper.
Her desk was chaos, a rebellion of color in a kingdom of straight lines.
A potted succulent wearing a tiny sombrero sat by her computer.
A stack of pastel sticky notes teetered precariously, and nestled among her pens was a bedazzled sunflower pen she reserved for moments when she wanted to annoy her boss.
Julia from Accounting peeked over her monitor with a raised brow and a smirk
“Mission accomplished.” Devney twisted in her chair. “Ronan Wilder is officially going to the gala.”
Julia’s eyes widened. “You convinced him? To attend a social event? Does he know there’s mingling involved?”
“Don’t remind me,” Devney laughed. “I had to promise him it wasn’t technically small talk if it was business-related.”
“Impressive. You deserve a medal, or hazard pay.”
“Doing my part to keep things interesting around here.” She winked before turning back to her computer.
Around her, heads popped up from cubicles, eyebrows lifting, glances shifting.
Devney, in high spirits, had a ripple effect.
Her energy lessened the starch in the air, loosening ties and coaxing the corners of mouths upward.
Even the eternally grim IT guy looked marginally less haunted whenever she passed by him.
“Sinclair,” a familiar, deep voice cut sharply from behind her.
She didn’t jump. Months of working under him had taught her to expect his stealthy approach.
“Yes, Mr. Wilder?” she responded sweetly, spinning her chair halfway to look up at him. He loomed in her peripheral vision, tall and sharp like a perfectly tailored storm cloud.
“Did you confirm the caterer for next week’s board meeting?” he asked.
“Done and dusted yesterday,” she said. “Menu finalized, including vegan options because apparently Mr. Hargrove has opinions about cheese.”
“Good,” he clipped out, but his eyes lingered a fraction longer than necessary before he turned and strode back into his office.
She pressed her lips together, barely suppressing her satisfaction as she watched him retreat. Now she could officially add “getting Ronan Wilder to a gala” to her list of unlikely victories.
Team Sunshine: one. Grumpy CEO: zero.
“Step one, Operation Loosen-Up-Ronan, is officially underway,” she muttered under her breath.
The man needed a crash course in joy. A little laughter. A little lightness. Maybe even, dare she dream, happiness.
Her eyes drifted to her computer screen. The tab was already open. If anyone could dismantle Ronan Wilder’s precisely built defenses, it was Devney Sinclair—and possibly the power of absurdly funny books.
She added several titles to her cart: How to Chill: A Guide for the Perpetually Uptight, How to Appear Normal at Social Events, and her favorite discovery, Unicorns Are Jerks: A Coloring Book Exposing Their Fluffy Underbellies. She snorted, already picturing his expression when he saw that one.
“Baby steps, Sinclair,” she coached herself, as she completed her purchase. “Getting Ronan Wilder to look remotely pleased is definitely a multi-day project.”
When the delivery man arrived from Sal’s Deli, she collected Ronan’s lunch and carried it to his office, knocking on the frame before stepping inside.
“Your lunch is here,” she announced, holding up the bag.
As expected, he didn’t look up, deep in a spreadsheet or quarterly analysis.
“Noted,” he responded quietly, still not glancing her way.
She unpacked his sandwich and set his smoothie down with a thud. “Turkey club, extra avocado, no onion, sourdough bread, light mayo. And yes, I remembered the spinach smoothie with flaxseed and absolutely no banana, because apparently bananas are the devil’s fruit.”
That made him pause. His eyes lifted, sharp and assessing. “How do you keep track of all this?” he wondered.
“Because, Mr. Wilder,” her voice dipped into mock gravity, “I am good at my job.”
“Impressive,” he acknowledged quietly, finally reaching for the smoothie like a man accepting a reluctant truce.
By the end of the day, her package had arrived. She carried the box to his office and set it squarely in the middle of his desk with a victorious flourish.
“What’s this?” he questioned, eyeing the plain cardboard box warily.
“An essential addition to your personal library.” She folded her arms. “Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”
He sliced the tape open, pulling out each book with growing disbelief. When he reached Unicorns Are Jerks, he stared at the cover for a long moment.
“Unicorns,” he stated flatly.
“Jerks,” she confirmed, nodding.
With a sigh, he closed the box and folded his hands on top of it. “You’re aware that I run a multibillion-dollar investment firm, correct?”
“Mm-hmm.” She rocked back on her heels, her grin unfaltering. “And you’re welcome.”
His lips pressed into a thin line, though the edge wavered like he was fighting off a laugh.
“Fine. But don’t expect me to color any unicorns.”
She backed toward the door. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
“Neither was my patience,” he muttered, but she caught it—and the faintest lift at the corner of his mouth.
“Goodnight, Ronan.”
“Goodnight, Devney.” His tone was so muted she wondered if he’d spoken at all.
The bar was inviting as she stepped inside, spotting Lucy at a high-top table near the window, already halfway through what looked like a generous pour of Merlot. Her friend had closed Flour & Honey early to meet her—a rare occurrence for someone who lived and breathed her Park Slope bakery.
“Finally!” Lucy exclaimed. “I was thinking you and your grumpy billionaire got caught up solving a corporate crisis or eloping to Fiji.”
“Ha, ha.” Devney slid onto the stool across from her friend. “For the record, Ronan would never go to Fiji. That would give in to fun. And no crises today, only me saving the world one sandwich order at a time.”
“Heroic,” Lucy acknowledged, raising her glass in a salute.
After ordering her wine, Devney leaned in conspiratorially. “Okay, so, you are going to love this.”
“Out with it,” Lucy urged. “You’re wearing the grin of a child who’s unearthed the hidden cookie jar.”
“I got him to agree to go to a gala.”
Lucy blinked. Then blinked again. “Wait, what? Your boss is willingly attending a social function that isn’t a power lunch? You’re joking.”
“Scout’s honor.” Devney held up three fingers. “And it wasn’t even that hard! A little charm, a lot of persistence, and maybe the tiniest bit of emotional manipulation.”
“Unbelievable,” Lucy breathed, shaking her head with a grin. “You must have some kind of superpower.”
“I think our frosty CEO is thawing a tad,” Devney mused. “We’re making headway one painstakingly precise sugar grain at a time.”
“Or maybe he’s realized how charming you are and can’t say no to that sunshiny face of yours.”
“Doubtful,” Devney laughed, though her cheeks heated. “He probably figured it was easier to give in than listen to me nag him about it for another week.”
Lucy went still for a beat. “You sure there’s not more going on here? Like maybe you’re trying to get him out of his fortress of solitude because you actually care if he has fun?”
“Of course I care,” Devney admitted. “I mean, it’s my job to make sure he shows up to these things and doesn’t look like he’d rather be doing long division in his office.”
“Mm-hmm,” Lucy hummed, clearly unconvinced. “And that’s all it is? Professional concern?”
“Yes,” Devney insisted, though she couldn’t ignore the way Lucy’s smug little grin made her stomach do a weird little flip.
“People aren’t résumés, Dev,” Lucy pointed out, leaning forward. “And for the record, I’ve seen you blush twice since we started talking about him.”
“That’s because you’re embarrassing me!” Devney protested. “Seriously, there’s nothing there. He’s my boss, and we could not be more different if we tried. Oil and water, remember?”
“But you know what they say about opposites attracting…”
“Lucy!”
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. For now.” Lucy raised her glass with a wink. “But mark my words, this is not the last time we’re having this conversation.”
As they continued sipping their drinks, Lucy leaned forward, her eyes lit up with the kind of gleam that promised chaos and cocktails. “So, when he agreed to go to this oh-so-important gala, it wasn’t because you batted those Bambi eyes of yours and he melted like a forgotten ice cream cone?”
Devney nearly choked on her laugh. “I don’t bat my eyes!”
“You hesitated.” Lucy leaned forward with a wicked grin. “You totally hesitated.”
“That proves nothing,” Devney shot back, but her cheeks betrayed her, heating despite her best efforts.
“For someone who claims there’s ‘nothing there,’ you sure get pink whenever his name comes up.”
Devney groaned. “Stop,” she begged, covering her face with both hands. “Seriously, Lucy, this is ridiculous. He’s my boss. My grumpy boss. End of story. There’s no attraction or whatever you’re trying to imply.”
“Sure, sure,” Lucy conceded, nodding. “No attraction whatsoever. That’s why you spend half your day trying to get a reaction out of him, and the other half pretending you don’t notice how annoyingly good he looks.”
“Lucy Wang, I swear to all things holy—”
“Relax, Dev. Your secret’s safe with me. For now.” Lucy’s tone was light. Then, with a sly grin, she added, “But seriously, have you considered that your little ‘mission’ to loosen him up might be step one in your grand plan to become Mrs. Wilder?”
Devney’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
“All I’m saying is,” Lucy continued, “I’ve heard the way you talk about him. You two already have this spark. It’s practically a fire hazard. Throw in this gala event, and who can predict what might happen.”
“You are officially the worst.”
“Maybe. But I’m also right. And when you two inevitably end up together, I expect full credit as your fairy godfriend.”
“Not happening,” Devney stated firmly, though the heat in her cheeks made her doubt her own words.
“Whatever you say, Dev, but don’t think for a second that I’m letting this go.”
Lucy raised her glass. “To you, Devs. For surviving another day in the trenches of corporate America and somehow staying your ridiculously optimistic self.”
“To us,” Devney echoed, tapping her glass against Lucy’s. “For always having each other’s backs and calling out nonsense at exactly the right moment.”
As they sipped their drinks, she felt a warm glow settle over her.
No matter how chaotic or confusing her life became, whether it involved grumpy billionaires or gala planning, she knew she could face it all.
With Lucy in her corner and her own unshakable optimism, anything seemed possible.
Even maybe figuring out the mystery that was Ronan Wilder.