Chapter 18
eighteen
a stupid amount of satisfaction
E lissa didn’t call that night. Ryan tried not to be disappointed. She didn’t call the next day either. Or the next.
He resigned himself to not hearing from her. At least not personally. They’d be working together, and this was a signal as clear as the night sky around the Mount Graham Observatory. Elissa didn’t want to date him. He couldn’t blame her, he’d fucked up big time. He was disappointed, but he’d deal.
Finally, Friday rolled around. Taking the lead on all the office manager crap kept him on his toes, and pulling together all the files the accountants needed familiarized him with the filing systems. It went quicker than Ryan expected.
“It’s like you planned this, Val,” he said as she looked over the files he’d pulled.
“No, Mr. DeMarco, I’d never be that sneaky.” A wide grin spread over her face.
The office had opened an hour ago, and someone was covering the front desk while Val ensured Ryan hadn’t missed anything. It was her last day, and his dad was treating the whole office to lunch.
“Looks like everything is here. Why don’t you call Karina and let her know it’s ready?”
Val loaded the files into banker’s boxes, which she’d labeled with the company’s name, date, and general description of the contents. Ryan walked up front, letting the young woman from marketing return to her own job. He found the accounting firm’s number and dialed.
“JMS Accounting,” a male voice answered. “How may I help you?”
“Karina Jansen, please,” Ryan said.
“I’m sorry, she is out of the office today. I can transfer you to her associate, Elissa Wright.”
Ryan’s heartbeat quickened at the mention of her name, and his mouth was suddenly dry. Licking his lips, he croaked out, “That’s fine.”
Soft hold music played for a moment while he willed his heart to slow down and took a sip out of the water bottle on Val’s desk.
No, his desk, now. What would Elissa think when she recognized who it was?
Would she bring up that he’d slipped his number into her bag?
Would she hate him, think him creepy? And why, for fuck’s sake, was he at all worried about any of this?
“Elissa Wright.” Her voice sent a shiver along his spine.
His words stuck halfway up his throat. All that came out was a weird creak. Great, now she would think him a heavy-breathing creep.
“Hello?”
Ryan cleared his throat and tried again, but his voice was rough and barely audible.
“Hello, Elissa.”
“Hi,” she said, all business. “How can I help you?”
He cleared his throat again, and his voice came out normal.
“This is Ryan DeMarco, over at DeMarco Property Management. The files Ms. Jansen needs are ready.”
It was her turn to clear her throat. The sound of it gave him a stupid amount of satisfaction.
“Yes, um, yes, thanks. When can I pick them up?”
Now , he wanted to say. Instead, he said, “When would be convenient for you? We’ll be closed this afternoon for Val’s going away party, but later this morning or early next week will be fine.”
“Let me check my calendar.” A long pause. “Will Monday afternoon work?”
“That will be fine. Any particular time?”
“I’ll head over after lunch, so one o’clock?”
“I’ll be here. Have a nice weekend, Elissa.”
“Thank you. You, too, Ryan.”
A current rushed straight to a part of his anatomy that had no right to be so excited during the workday.
He ended the call, chugged down half of his water, and counted to ten slowly.
If her voice over the phone could do this to him, what the fuck was going to happen when he saw her in person on Monday afternoon?
For a moment, he allowed himself to hope she hadn’t seen the number, and that was why she hadn’t called.
Ridiculous, but she seemed just as thrown by him as he was by her.
Perhaps, given their need to work together, he could convince her to see things his way.
Convince her to agree to another date, a real one where he acted like himself, and not some rich, entitled asshole.
He busied himself with typical DPM tasks for the rest of the morning, and before he knew it, Alex collected him for the farewell luncheon.
“Come on, Ry, it’s raining. I’ll give you a lift,” Alex said.
Ryan glanced out the window, the first time all morning. It was, in fact, raining. A gentle rain that sometimes hit in the winter. It wouldn’t last long, and if it did, Alex could drop him at home and he’d talk Iz into helping him retrieve his bike tomorrow.
“Why are you being nice?”
“I’m allowed to be nice to my little brother.”
“Sure, yeah, but this is twice in, like, a month. Who are you trying to impress?”
Alex chuckled, but there was an edge to it. “No one. So… do you want a ride or are you gonna be an asshole?”
“Both, duh.”
This time, Alex’s laugh was genuine. “There’s the asshat I know and love. Grab your shit and let’s go. Don’t wanna be late.”
They drove to Val’s party at her favorite bar and grill, letting Alex’s classic rock playlist fill the silence. He didn’t miss the usual awkwardness.
Burgers, beers, and cake filled their bellies, toasts were proposed, and speeches—short, thank fuck—were given.
The rain did not let up, so Alex dropped him at his complex.
Ryan watched the taillights of the Buick fade before heading to the second-floor apartment he’d shared with Iz since they both graduated college.
The neighborhood might be a little sketchy—just a little, though, since in five years, only two packages had been stolen—but the rent was reasonable and the square footage was twenty-five percent larger than most comparable places.
He knew the landlord through his father, and she was a decent person.
Even if there was a family discount at a DeMarco property, he preferred to keep as much distance between himself and the family business, until now.
He unlocked the door and tossed his helmet on the table next to the door and his jacket over a nearby chair.
“Iz?”
No answer. He had the place to himself.
After working in a busy office all week, it felt remarkably quiet. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, flipped on the TV, found a Transformers movie, and fell asleep before the first smash-em-up fight.
The door slammed, jolting him out of his doze. Beer sloshed out of the can.
“Dammit, you made me spill my beer,” he mumbled.
“Dude, were you asleep? At six on a Friday?” Iz laughed, tossing their keys on the table next to Ryan’s helmet.
“Did you suddenly age fifty years?” Mateo placed take-out containers on the kitchen counter. Dinner.
Ryan hadn’t thought further than getting home and resting. Planning anything for dinner seemed like a lot. Hell, thinking more than thirty seconds into the future seemed like a lot.
“Yep. Corporate America—sucks the life right out of you.”
“Come here, Ry. Have some food and tell us about your day so we can laugh at you.”
“Best idea I’ve heard all day.” Except for Elissa’s upcoming visit on Monday.
Iz pulled out plates while Mateo opened the containers from their favorite Thai place.
The savory sweet smell of spicy coconut and lemongrass filled the living area, and despite having eaten well a few hours before, his stomach grumbled loudly.
Ryan snatched beers from the fridge and before long, all three were stuffing their faces.
“So, you gonna work on your script this weekend?” Iz asked after wolfing down three spring rolls.
“I want to, I really do, but this job is taking everything I have.” As expected, dammit. “I don’t think I have it in me this weekend.”
“My cousin is writing a novel.” Teo snagged the dumpling Ryan was a second too slow to grab. He grinned widely as he popped the delicious nugget into his mouth. Bastard . “She says it’s hard working a nine-to-five and finding time for being creative.”
Ryan hadn’t worried about it much before.
He’d loved working at Nopalitos, loved working for Iz’s family.
Sure, some days had been hard, but mostly he’d left work as energized as when he researched or tried to draft a script.
But now, his energy was gone at the end of a day.
All he wanted was to sleep away the weekend. Starting ASAP.
“How does she do it?”
Teo shrugged. “Sometimes she doesn’t. She’s been working on this book for at least six months, and I have no idea if it’s even close to being done. But she told me she sets aside a little time every week and sets achievable goals so she’s always moving forward.”
“Yeah, I guess I could try that.”
Iz snorted. “The day Ryan DeMarco sets an achievable goal is the day I will let him take me for a ride on his stupid motorcycle.”
“She’s not stupid.”
Iz had a point, though. He was a “go big or go home” kind of goal setter, but it rarely worked out great for him. It left him frustrated and discouraged, and he usually dropped whatever it was. Or scrambled at the last minute to complete something and was disappointed in the final product.
“No, she’s not,” Teo jumped in before Iz’s teasing could get under Ryan’s skin. “And neither are you, but your ADHD brain means you gotta chunk it down, man. Small, quick goals will likely work best for you.”
“You should listen to my brilliant clinical social worker boyfriend who works with neurodivergent kids all day.” Iz waved their chopsticks around wildly.
“Yeah, I should. Doesn’t mean I will.”
“Ass.” But Iz said it with a wink.
Teo had a point, but breaking down his big ideas was as difficult as meeting his unreasonable goals. Maybe someday he’d have the time and patience for it. Or he’d find a therapist who could help him with that shit. But not today.
They finished dinner, then the movie, and Ryan turned in embarrassingly early. It wasn’t even nine. But as tired as he was, Ryan found himself staring at the stain on the ceiling that looked strangely like a hippopotamus. Whenever he closed his eyes, Elissa’s face, scent, and voice filled the void.
His cock hardened. Dammit, he did not need to have sexy thoughts about someone who didn’t want him, especially when he was going to work with her over the next few months. If he tried to take care of this the usual way, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to look her in the eyes on Monday afternoon.
Fuck. He threw off the covers, stumbled to the bathroom, and took the coldest shower of his life.
It didn’t help. Instead, all he could think of was her voice on the phone, husky with some secret emotion. God, he hoped it was desire.
He squeezed his cock, trying to relieve the pressure. As the cold water pelted his back, he imagined his hand was hers, and she was in the shower with him, water streaming down her pale skin and trickling between her breasts.
His dick hardened in his hand, not the direction he wanted this to go.
But it was a harmless fantasy. He stroked, faster, harder, all the while imagining her lips, her hands, her skin, her scent, the little sounds she might make.
It took an embarrassingly short time for him to shoot his load against the tile.
Ryan thunked his head against the wall and turned up the temperature. Monday was going to be hell.