4
Vivian
The Parking Garage
Vivian picked up her tea mug and took a sip, only to discover it was cold.
She also wasn’t entirely sure it was today’s cup.
She checked her email and saw with relief that there was nothing new in the inbox.
That meant the Victory Mission Gala was under control, and all of the work fires had yet to explode for the week.
She had a meeting with the Tates and Howard at two-fifteen, and while she was prepped on the paperwork, she probably ought to run a brush through her hair and check that she didn’t have anything in her teeth.
Not that it would matter. Charles Tate Junior was a sleazebag.
She could have an entire salad hanging out of her mouth, and he’d still say something inappropriate.
He was a puffy-faced smarmy jackass who made Vivian feel dirty with his lingering glances, and she couldn’t believe he’d shown up in the parking garage to try and weasel information out of her.
She checked her email again. Still nothing. Not one peep from Valkyrie security since the previous week. Which was disappointing.
No, it was great.
Rowan Valkyrie was a big, grumpy jerk. She didn’t want to see him again.
Her cellphone rang, and she saw with horror that the caller ID read Rowan Valkyrie. It was as if she had Beetlejuiced him into existence.
“Hello?” asked Vivian cautiously.
“Vivian.”
Vivian shivered at the sound of Rowan’s voice on the other end of the call. How he managed to make her name sound like a promise or possibly a threat, she didn’t understand.
“Would you care to explain what is going on in the parking garage?”
“Um... People are parking their cars?”
The silence on the line said that her answer was incorrect.
“Mm-hm. Vivian.” Once again, the sound of her name in his pissed-off growl sent a little shiver down her spine.
It was probably supposed to scare her, but it wasn’t fear that was fluttering her stomach.
“Perhaps you could join me on parking level one near the elevators.” It should have been a question, but there was no question mark on his command.
“Well, I have a meeting shortly,” she began, although she was already standing up.
“Now, Vivian!” he snapped.
“You are not my boss!” she barked back, but the line was dead. He’d already hung up on her.
Vivian marched out to the elevators and angrily punched the button for the parking level. Who did he think he was? Just because he was a wealthy, handsome CEO, who could probably kill people with his pinkies or something did not mean he got to order her around.
She arrived at the parking level and found him waiting directly outside the doors with his arms folded across his chest.
“I’m your liaison, not your personal parking service,” she snapped.
“I have no problem parking. I’m having trouble leaving.” He paused slightly and frowned. “You have pencils in your hair.”
Thrown off, Vivian tentatively put her hands up to her bun.
“Multiple pencils,” he said, plucking one out and handing it to her.
“That is for...” A lock of hair unrolled and fell against her face. “Structural integrity,” she said, sweeping the hair behind her ear and shoving the pencil into her pocket. One of his eyebrows went up like he couldn’t believe she’d just said that.
“Noted. Now, can we discuss my car?”
“You brought me down here to show me your car?” she demanded. What kind of rich guy weirdness was this?
He stepped aside and swept an arm behind her, pushing her gently forward with a soft hand on the small of her back.
“Well, technically, I brought you down here to show you my wheels.”
His car was a Ferrari. Sleek and a gorgeous custom blue, it looked fast standing still. Which was an illusion since it had a bright yellow parking boot clamped around the front driver’s side wheel. It was also parked in a loading zone.
“Ah.” Well, at least now she understood his problem.
“Would you care to explain why I have been booted?”
“Unpaid parking tickets?” she offered, taking out her phone and dialing Barb, who was head of building security.
“I don’t have any parking tickets,” he said through clenched teeth. “What I do have is one hour for lunch, and this is making food difficult to achieve.”
It was nearly two, and she knew he arrived between seven and eight. How had nobody fed the poor man already? No wonder he was grumpy.
“Hey, Viv,” said Barb, picking up. “I’ve got you on the security feed. I see Mr. Hot Shit finally realized his fucktard mobile is on lockdown.”
“Yes,” said Viv.
“Well, maybe he should stop acting like he owns the fucking place. We got eighteen complaints about his squad this month, and he’s been avoiding all attempts to communicate, so now playtime is over. We’ve been letting him park in the loading zone for long enough. This is his warning shot.”
“Yes, actually, I believe I had a breakthrough on that front last week. Have there been any new complaints since then?”
“No, nothing new, now that you mention it. Hoskins put you in charge?” asked Barb drily.
“Yes. I’m the new Valkyrie Security liaison, so you should let me know about all issues.”
“Sucks to be you,” said Barb. “You want me to unboot him?”
Vivian glanced at Rowan. His scorching glare and folded arms were probably supposed to communicate the heat of his anger, but all Vivian got was hot.
“Um... yeah. I think we could do that.”
“OK, your call. But I fucking want his ass on notice.”
“I will express that.”
“Uh-huh. Zots will be down in a minute.”
“Thanks!”
“This is for you, not for him. He’s a shit stain,” said Barb and hung up.
“Ah, Naval communication,” said Vivian. “Such an art form.”
“What?” he asked, frowning.
“That was Barb. She’s in charge of Security and is also a retired Chief Petty Officer.”
Rowan put a hand up and itched his eyebrow, which was a blatant tell that he knew he was in deep shit.
“Which you would know if you had bothered to talk to her when you moved in. In fact, her crew could have been buffering you against the other tenants, but... you would rather act like they’re E1 and you’re Recon.”
“I am Recon,” he growled furiously, and Vivian nearly laughed. Sometimes pissing off Marines was too easy.
“Well, right now, the Chief Petty Officer says you’re a shit stain and has your car in her pocket, and you’ve used up all the leniency they were giving you.”
“They were giving me leniency?”
“That is a loading zone,” Vivian said. “They probably assumed you could read the sign and between the lines.”
If looks could have killed, she would have been toe-up on the pavement.
“We were only supposed to be here for six months! We were supposed to be a blip on everyone’s radar. There wasn’t supposed to be a need for leniency, buffering, or... anything!” He waved his arms in frustration. Mr. Bigshot CEO was having a minor meltdown. He definitely needed a snack.
“But now you’re here for longer, so maybe you should try acting like you’re part of our community,” said Vivian, fishing in her sweater pocket.
Rowan opened his mouth, but he was cut off by a smooth voice from behind her, and Vivian’s spine instinctually stiffened in dislike.
“Ah, Vivian.”
“Mr. Tate,” she said, pivoting and giving Charles Tate Junior a wintery smile. Privately, she called him Chucky, but she tried not to be anything less than professional to his face.
“You’re not going to be late for our meeting, are you? I’d hate to tell Howard where I found you.” His look said he had every intention of doing just that and would probably also imply that she was down here selling herself to the nearest stranger.
“Actually,” snapped Rowan, stepping forward to stand next to her, “regardless of the location, this is a tenant meeting that you are interrupting. Ms. Kaye will be available when we are done and not before. Feel free to tell Howard whatever you like. Don’t let us keep you.”
Vivian relished Rowan’s clear dismissal and sharp use of Ms. Kaye. Chucky gave Rowan a surly glance that lingered on Rowan’s watch and correctly assessed that Rowan was a match for him financially.
Vivian wanted to stick out her tongue at him.
Rowan might be a grump, but he wasn’t an icky little turd.
Tate’s eyes returned to Vivian, and she felt Rowan shift his weight, moving closer to her.
She didn’t feel in need of protection, and she didn’t really think Chucky was a threat—at least not one she couldn’t handle—but she liked feeling Rowan next to her.
And she liked that he wasn’t posturing or making grandiose threats.
He was just making himself very, very present.
“Building business,” said Vivian, with another plastic smile. “I’m sure I’ll be up shortly for the meeting with you and your father.”
“Of course,” said Chucky and stalked off toward the elevators, but he ruined his grand exit by awkwardly glancing over his shoulders at them as if uncomfortable at being watched.
“He exists in the universe, but I’m a shit stain?” asked Rowan when the elevator doors had closed.
Vivian couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped her.
“I wouldn’t be concerned. I believe that Chucky could only aspire to achieve the rank of shit stain.”
“Chucky?” he repeated, his eyes twinkling as a lazy grin spread across his face.
“Mr. Tate,” Vivian corrected guiltily.
“Mm-hmm. Sure.”
“Zots will be down to unlock your car momentarily,” said Vivian, trying to get back on track.
“Great. Thank you.”
“Well, you should probably also thank Barb.”
“I will do that. Thank you for your advice,” Rowan said, and Vivian blinked. “I appreciate the operational insight.”
Vivian found herself with nothing to say. CEOs didn’t take advice. She could barely get lawyers who liked her to listen when she spoke. His eyes twinkled again. His smug expression said he knew damn well he’d thrown her and clearly enjoyed rendering her speechless.
“Well. Then.” In the pocket of her cardigan, her fingers locked around the granola bar she’d stashed there as emergency rations. “You may have a squirrel snack.” She held out the bar, and he looked like he could not believe what he was seeing.
“Squirrel snack?”
“It’s mostly made of nuts and chocolate,” she said, already wishing she could take it back. “Your lunch is very late.” Why was she such a dork?
He took the bar out of her hand. “Squirrel snacks. Got it.”
“OK,” said Vivian, backing up. “I’m leaving. Try not to be an asshole to anyone while I’m not around.”
“Being an asshole is my specialty,” he said, tearing open the wrapper. “And I stick to my strengths.”
Vivian rolled her eyes. Men. Well, this man, anyway.
God, why did he have to be so annoying and good-looking at the same time?
It was unfair. Vivian marched back to the elevator and almost managed to not look back before she got in.
But she wasn’t as strong as she would like to be.
Her last glimpse of Rowan was of him leaning against his car, enjoying his granola bar, as he watched her leave.