6
Rowan
The Boys Club
Rowan rode past the law firm’s floor on the elevator and thought about pushing their button, but the only thing he had to tell Vivian was that she had been right—he should have talked to Barb before even moving into the building.
The sixty-something Naval retiree was his kind of people, and she knew all the ways to keep him and the other building tenants apart.
He could have gone in to tell Howard that he was right—Vivian was brilliant—but Rowan didn’t have a reason to do that either.
She was an adorably disastrous little genius, with pencils in her hair, food in her pockets, and the rest made up of sass and brains, but telling someone that would only let everyone know about his massive crush.
“Building relations seem to be going better,” said Mark, also eyeing the twenty-third floor. “The meeting with the Security Chief went OK?”
“Yeah,” agreed Rowan. “I brought bourbon. She cursed me out, then called me son and told me to get my head out of my ass. I said yes, ma’am, and now we’re friends.”
“Aw, the Navy,” said Mark fondly.
“The gift baskets went out?” asked Rowan.
“Arrived yesterday,” said Teddy, rubbing his hand over his recently buzzed hair.
His scalp looked pale. Teddy didn’t usually maintain his hair at military standards and always said he was growing it out.
But after it reached about three inches long, Teddy would freak out and shave it all down.
Rowan had been expecting a freshly shaved head for the last few weeks.
Having PTSD from military service wasn’t entirely unexpected, but no one ever mentioned it would be from the barbers.
“We got a round of thank you emails,” continued Teddy. “Estate planners and associated industries seem very formal. They all said, Dear Mr. Valkyrie.”
Rowan shrugged. He couldn’t explain why Estate Planners always had to have everything be so appropriate, but he suspected that they handed out the sticks for everyone’s asses on the first day of employment.
Vivian being the exception. He thought her hair alone kept her from being allowed in the Estate Planning club, not to mention her swearing abilities.
Being called an asshole by Vivian had pretty much been the highlight of his week.
He needed to stop. Stop thinking about Vivian. Stop fantasizing. Just stop. It wasn’t going to happen. Vivian didn’t like him. Well, maybe she liked him a little. She had fed him squirrel snacks. But Rowan was fifteen years older than she was. The idea was ridiculous.
He focused back in on what Mark was saying.
More about the upcoming workload. Rowan’s brain wanted to go back to Vivian and the things she could do with that pretty, filthy mouth.
Instead, he refocused and tried not to glare at Mark for talking about a computer upgrade.
He managed to make it through most of the morning without thinking about her again—primarily by keeping busy—so he was surprised when his phone popped up with Vivian’s number.
He was even more surprised to hear himself say he would come down to talk.
Apparently, his dick thought another encounter might further help flesh out his fantasies.
It probably would, but it wasn’t going to do his crush any good.
Vivian’s hair had been forced into tameness, and she had accessorized with high-heels today and her usual mug of tea, although the glasses had been left somewhere.
But there was another oversized cardigan to compensate for the lack of proper nerd wear and sleek hair.
He liked the heels, which had little ankle straps, like naughty Mary Janes, but he suspected they only meant she had a meeting later.
He missed the tousled hair, though. Polite buns were no fun.
“You didn’t have to come down,” she said. Rowan couldn’t tell if she was flustered or annoyed.
“I prefer to keep my communications in-person, if possible,” he said. Which was mostly true. “And I was on my way down anyway.” Also, mostly true. He could have left any time in the next half hour.
“It’s really not…” She was getting a little pink, which was fucking adorable.
“Why am I here, Vivian?” he asked suspiciously.
“It’s your own fault,” she said, getting even pinker. “You made me the company liaison, and now I’m obligated to tell you things even when…”
“Even when what?”
He liked pink and uncomfortable Vivian. He wanted to run his tongue down her neck and see if he could get the same result.
As if she’d heard his thought, she put her hand up to her neck.
She had long, graceful fingers. He wanted to see them wrapped around his cock.
He tried to focus on what she was saying, but that just brought his attention to her mouth. That he also wanted wrapped… damn it.
“Well, obviously, what you do with this information is up to you. You could choose to act, make a response, or… ignore it.”
The look on her face said that, personally, she would ignore it.
“Thank you for clarifying my options. Tell me what it is,” Rowan said, attempting to sound detached and professional.
“When you rented basement space, you were allocated parking spots that historically have been used as… incentives. And now that you’ve extended your contract beyond six months, some people think you should relinquish those spots since Mr. Hoskins refuses to co-opt more of the employee or public parking. ”
“So some people think I should give up the spots that I negotiated and paid for and am currently using because they would like a reserved spot with their name on it?”
Rowan wanted to laugh. Vivian was practically biting her tongue trying to keep her mouth shut. She knew it was ridiculous and hated that she had been forced to mention this to him.
“And they think I would do this because they are under the impression that I’m a nice person?” He didn’t see how that was possible.
“You did send those nice apology gift baskets to the businesses.” She didn’t look like she was taking her own argument seriously.
“Those were bribes.”
She nodded understandingly. “Food and alcohol do go a long way.”
Rowan had never felt more frustrated in his life. He had managed to get her to stop fighting and agree with him… about the fact that he was not a nice person. This was not winning.
“I think that, in this case, I will take your suggestion and go with option three. I’m ignoring this.”
Vivian’s eyes went wide in alarm. “I did not suggest that!”
“Your face did. I believe your face.”
She almost laughed. It was right there, and with a heroic effort, she swallowed it back down.
“No proof. You can’t subpoena my face,” Vivian said.
“And now you know why I like to communicate in person.”
He needed to get out of this conversation before he said something else ridiculous. He pushed the elevator button and turned back to give a polite goodbye as the doors trundled open.
“There she is!” trilled a patently fake cheerful voice.
“Oh, shit balls!” gasped Vivian, and dove into the elevator.
He stepped in after her and pushed the door closed button as a woman carrying a cake rounded the corner. Vivian slammed the L button in a panic, the tea in her mug sloshing dangerously.
“Vivian, is it possible that we are fleeing your own birthday party?”
“That’s not a birthday party. That’s a passive-aggressive excuse for Susan to make me eat shit cake while she continues her rampage against anyone under forty.
I thought I managed to avoid this! My birthday isn’t until Saturday!
How did she even find out? I have told no one.
It was that bitch Stephen in HR. I bet they looked at my file.
” Her eyes narrowed in a way that promised retribution.
“Forced celebration is against the Geneva Convention. You should file a complaint.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Yes. Well, no. Committing outrages upon personal dignity, in particular, humiliating or degrading treatment, is a war crime, but you’re just at work, so it probably doesn’t count.”
“Funny, but some days, it feels like war.”
“I know what you mean.”
“It’s all very well for you,” she snapped. “You probably get Scotch and cigars on your birthday.”
He did, actually.
“Do you know what I get? I get shit cake and those disgusting chocolates with the alcohol in them.”
“Those are neither alcohol nor chocolate.”
Her tea nearly decorated the wall as she flailed her arms in rage.
“Exactly my point! And that is worse than getting nothing because now I have the chore of disposing of them along with the cruelty of knowing that if I put those in my mouth, I will only be disappointed, yet having them right there mocking me.”
They stared at each other while he tried very hard not to laugh.
“And now you are laughing at me.”
“Quietly. On the inside.”
She wilted—just sagged in defeat—and he wanted to hug her so much he took a half-step forward. Shitty birthdays were the worst. With a visible effort, she straightened up and lifted her head.
“Well, it’s nearly the lunch hour. I will go for a walk and get lunch somewhere.”
“It’s raining, and you don’t have a purse.”
She looked down at her cute shoes.
“I will… sit in the lobby. I have tea.” She put her chin up as if daring him to argue the value of tea. “I’m not going back until they’ve forgotten about me and eaten the cake themselves.”
She was being so brave, and it was the saddest thing he’d ever seen.
“I know where there is chocolate,” he said. He knew it was a bad idea even as the words came out of his mouth. He also realized he would be doing it anyway. He wanted Vivian to like him.
She looked at him suspiciously. “Where?”
With a sigh, he pulled out his badge, swiped it under the security sensor, and pushed the button for basement level two. She watched him with an expression that looked torn between curiosity and confusion.
The problem with owning a private security company was that, at some point, he’d had to admit that he had his own tiny army.
But that meant he had to perform all the duties of the logistics branch of the military.
And that meant that somewhere on his property, there had to be what amounted to a clubhouse for boys to do boy things.
He held his breath as he entered with Vivian.
Teddy and three others were in the midst of gun disassembly and cleaning, and a poker game was in full swing because...
of course it was. He was pleased to see that no one was day-drinking.
He’d put his foot down on that, but as had recently been demonstrated by their trips across the plaza, sometimes behavior codes needed to be monitored.
Everyone looked up and froze as he walked in.
The other thing about being in command of his own private military was that they expected him to tell them what to do, and they didn’t generally require much explanation.
“This is Vivian. She will be here for an hour. You will feed her chocolate. You will not embarrass yourselves or me.”
There was a general chorus of yes, sirs. He looked down at Vivian to see how she was taking being placed in the care of the inbred incels.
She was beaming at him. A genuine smile. For him.
“Thanks,” she said.
“I suggest you vet the chocolate before saying thanks,” he said drily.
“As long as there’s no singing, we’re fine,” said Vivian.
“I believe I can guarantee that.”
Rowan made eye contact with Teddy, who nodded his understanding. Vivian would be politely taken care of, or it would be Teddy’s head on the chopping block.
“Have fun,” he said, turning to go. Maybe she’d wish he’d stayed. Who was he kidding? She’d probably be happier with a group more her age, anyway. God, when had he gotten so old?
“So,” he heard Vivian say as he left, “poker? That sounds fun.”
He almost turned around and went back in but made himself keep walking. Vivian was a big girl and could handle herself against those sharks.
Probably.