Chapter Nine - Ryder #2
When Briggs puts in the effort to glare at me, the look is downright lethal. After a long moment, he unlocks his rigid jaw. “Fine, but this is my jurisdiction. Don’t overstep.”
Harris’s smile grows, and we end the meeting. Knox is out of the room in an instant, no doubt going to complete the endless list of tasks he has. Harris is also quick to leave, taking a call as he walks out. Briggs doesn’t move an inch until I stand, then he does the same.
“I would follow Mr. Moreno to the ends of the earth, and as his former underboss, I respect you,” he says and takes three steps around the table to face me.
“But I do not respect traitors, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s what you are now.
Mr. Moreno might be able to give you another chance, but not everyone is so forgiving.
If you think you can come here and do whatever you like just because you used to be the underboss, you have another thing coming. ”
He’s about to step past me when I place a rigid hand on his chest. I cut my eyes at him, letting my voice drip with the icy bite that burns in my veins.
“This is a temporary arrangement. Before you know it, I’ll be at Moreno’s right hand again, so I suggest you do your best to stop from becoming my enemy.
” I want to stop at that since it’s all true, but even I have to acknowledge his accusation.
After all, I am guilty.
“I’m not proud of what I did,” I whisper, melting the ice in my tone.
“Moreno should’ve killed me for it, but he didn’t, and for that, I owe him and Elise my life.
He gave me this chance to earn his trust back, and I intend to work my ass off to do just that.
As I said before, he made his decision, and if you have a problem, take it up with him.
Otherwise, I expect the same level of respect you’d show any other capo. ”
His eyes narrow even more like he doesn’t know what to do with my admission-slash-demand.
After a long moment, he shoves my hand off his chest, pushing past me to storm through the door.
Welcome to Sacramento, I think to myself bitterly.
By the time I get home, it’s exactly five o’clock. It’s not uncommon for me to stay late into the evening, but since most of my jobs won’t start until tomorrow, I let myself take the evening to spend time with Lyla.
I expect to hear her pattering footsteps as soon as I open the door, but there’s nothing. The only sound is the television, which seems to be playing one of the endless princess movies Lyla loves so much, but when I enter the living room, she’s not there.
I take the stairs to Lyla’s room when a soft, muffled voice stops me.
“As you said yesterday, our office is no place for a small child. I assure you, Mrs. Caster, that my work is getting done just as effectively as it is when I’m in the office.” Rachel’s voice, though effortlessly alluring as always, is curt, like she’s reigning in her emotions to stay composed.
I blame my questionable morals for the fact that I feel no guilt as I halt outside the door her voice comes from.
It’s cracked just enough that I can see the minimalistic design of Rachel’s office.
I recognize all the same decor from the office of the last house, despite the fact that I specifically gave Rachel money to spend on a new setup so this house would feel different from the last. That money is probably sitting in an account, where it’ll stay until Lyla needs it.
Damn Rachel’s stubbornness.
From my position in the hall, I can also make out Lyla sitting in her bedroom in front of a dollhouse, too distracted to notice my eavesdropping on her mother.
Rachel sits with her back to me, and even though she’s working from home, she wears black slacks and a light blue sweater. Her hair is pulled into a tight ponytail that I know is giving her a headache—she’ll take it out the second she’s done working.
Which should be now.
She’s clicking through emails as she takes her phone from between a hitched shoulder and her ear, then sets it on the desk so she can grab a nearby notepad. She taps the screen of her phone, and the shrill voice on the other side of the line echoes through the room—and potentially the neighborhood.
“—and I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that your work is being watched. It’s not going to look good when you aren’t here.”
“With all due respect, my work should speak for itself.”
“But that doesn’t mean it will. Rachel, I’m telling you this as a friend—well, and as someone who is personally vouching for you—you need to be back in the office.”
Rachel sighs. “I know. I’ll do my best.”
“Wonderful,” the woman says, seemingly pleased with the outcome of the conversation. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Lance.”
“Have a wonderful evening, Mrs. Caster,” Rachel says, lifting her middle finger to the phone as she hangs up.
I crack a smile and step away from the door, intent on going to Lyla.
“For someone whose job requires stealth, you’re not very good at sneaking around.”
I quickly survey the room and stop when I see a small, circular mirror sitting on a pile of books. It’s angled right toward me, so Rachel would’ve only needed a short glance to notice me. I’m less impressed that she caught me and more impressed that she didn’t give away that she had until now.
Though I never should’ve stopped to listen without checking the space, so I suppose that’s my fault.
“Are you all right?” I ask, pushing the door the rest of the way open and stepping inside.
Rachel and I haven’t talked since the night I moved in.
I spent Saturday organizing the pool house before spending time with Lyla while Rachel ran errands.
On Sunday, I went through emails and unpacked the boxes that had taken up half the dining room—most of which were random cleaning supplies or holiday decorations—while Rachel took Lyla to Meredith’s house to play with Dominic.
Anytime we’ve ended up in the same room, it’s been for no longer than five minutes before she thinks of somewhere else to be or something else to do.
“Why wouldn’t I be? Obviously, Mrs. Caster and I are great buds,” she says dryly.
“Sounds like Caster’s an asshole.”
Making Rachel smile feels like being handed a coveted award.
“She’s not. She’s just uptight because our work is being watched.”
“Why?”
Rachel leans back in her chair, a mixed look of exhaustion and excitement creasing her features. “I’m up for a promotion, but since I’m technically only a PA, my work is being examined over the next few weeks to see if I’ll be a good fit.”
“That’s amazing. Congrat—.”
She holds up a hand. “Nothing is official yet. Caster wants me in the office full-time to show that I care for office morale, but Lyla isn’t ready to be without me.”
“I’ll work from home,” I offer before the words settle in my brain.
“What?”
“I’ll work from here, and you can go into the office to get Caster off your back.”
“No. No way.”
“Why not?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning against the doorframe.
“We literally just agreed that Lyla shouldn’t be around your work, and now you’re suggesting bringing that work into this home?”
“She won’t be around anything dangerous. It’s mostly desk work.”
“How on earth can you be so sure?”
“Do you really think I’d intentionally put her in harm’s way?”
“No, but I do think you’d unintentionally put her in harm’s way.”
There’s a sinking in her eyes that makes me think she regrets saying the words so blatantly, but she doesn’t take them back.
“We need to move forward, right? That’s what Dr. Danver suggested. How do you intend to move forward if you won’t go back to work?”
She eyes me, conscious of the fact that she never mentioned the doctor’s advice to move forward.
I may have hacked into Dr. Danver’s computer to read the files from Lyla’s appointment. Sue me—and good luck finding the evidence to do so.
Rachel shakes her head with an exasperated huff. “Don’t change the subject. The point is, your work is harmful to Lyla and should be kept from her at all costs.”
“And it will be. Nothing even remotely dangerous will take place on this property. I can promise you that, Rachel,” I say earnestly. “Are you really willing to give up this chance of a promotion when I’m certain she’ll be safe?”
Her face shows every bit of her wary contemplation.
“Besides, I’ve been away from her too long. I want to spend more time with Lyla,” I remind her.
With a reluctant sigh, Rachel lifts her hands in surrender. “Fine, but I mean it, Ryder. Any triggers, and I swear I’ll kick your ass out.”
“Fair enough.”
I’m already mentally planning to go to the base in the middle of the night to complete the work I’ll have to do in order to justify staying home tomorrow, not that Rachel needs to know that.
It’s the first time I’m actually glad to be staying in the pool house, where Rachel won’t be able to hear me leave for work.
My strategizing is interrupted when I notice that Rachel is popping her knuckles and tugging at the bulky charm on her necklace. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it’s work that’s still bothering her.
But I do.
“What is it?”
“My parents,” she mutters, staring at her phone, which lights up with a text from her mother at that moment.
“How are Bill and Lynette?” I ask, and wonder when the last time I saw them was. Christmas maybe? No, Easter. Definitely Easter.
Rachel rolls her eyes. “Annoying since they found out you moved in.”
“Didn’t they know?”
She shakes her head, staring at nowhere in particular, and I’m willing to bet it’s just to get out of making eye contact with me. “Lyla told them yesterday on a video call.”
“And why didn’t you tell them?”
“Because I knew they’d do this.”
“Do what, exactly?”
She leans back in the rolling chair and glares at the phone as it lights up again. “They—quite desperately—would like to have all of us over for dinner tomorrow night.”
“And that’s an issue?”
“I just need a break,” she says with a sigh. “The last thing I need is to have my mother talking about her friend’s kids who are getting married, then dropping poorly disguised hints about how we should get married.”
That is a spot-on description of how nights with Lynette and Bill usually go. Sometimes, I wonder if Rachel would prefer that her parents view me as an irresponsible asshole who knocked up their daughter instead of as their dream son-in-law.
I push off the doorway and move to the desk, peering over to read—yet another—message from her mother.
Mom: What time will you be over tomorrow?
Mom: Does Ryder still like Brussels sprouts? Can you ask him?
Mom: Rachel? Are you there?
“Let’s just get it over with,” I tell her.
“I’m starting to think we don’t have much of a choice,” she grumbles from her slouched position in the desk chair.
I breathe a laugh and hold out one hand to her.
With a dramatic sigh, Rachel takes it, and I help her to a standing position.
“Fine, but you’re the designated driver.”
I laugh, shaking the hand I still hold before releasing it.
“Deal.”