But you don’t tell your boss that, not when you need the financial security your job provides. Not when he pays for your health insurance and your mortgage on your little cottage and your chai lattes. So I just say, “I’ll do my best.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Now, sorry to run you both off, but something urgent’s come up.” He shifts his gaze to the windows, where rain is sheeting down. “You said you had car problems, Rune. Do you need a ride?”
Right. My Subaru, abandoned half a mile away. “I can take an Uber.”
As soon as I say it, I realize the error of my ways. Sapphire Springs has two Uber drivers (not an exaggeration), and in this weather, they’re both likely in high demand. I’ll be waiting forever.
Ethan must come to the same conclusion, because he says, “Don’t be silly. Donovan will drive you.”
Donovan will what?“That’s not necessary,” I protest, just as Donovan says stiffly, “I really don’t think?—”
“Nonsense!” Ethan says, clapping his hands. “The two of you need to learn to work together. And right now, you can barely hold a conversation. A little drive would be good for you. Get to know each other a bit.” He grins, as if he’s just announced that he’s giving us both huge raises. I’ve never seen him look so happy.
If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect Ethan Godfrey had a little matchmaking in mind.
But honestly? The only thing he’s setting us up for is failure.
Chapter
Four
Donovanand I ride down to the lobby without speaking, which is probably for the best. The smell of cedar and vanilla permeates the space between us again, and I’m still evenly split between sinking my teeth into him and lighting him on fire.
There are 150 employees at Smashbox. Of all of them, why ishethe one Ethan stuck me with? And how am I going to collaborate creatively with someone who can’t make eye contact with me or unhinge his jaw long enough to utter multisyllabic words in my general direction?
Also, how am I going to handle coming into the office every day? There is a reason I work from home. My life is carefully engineered to accommodate my…ability.
It’s just temporary, I assure myself as the elevator door opens and, with his customary excellent manners, Donovan strides out in front of me.We’ll work on it, we’ll get it done, and I’ll be free of Mr. Personality. Then, everything will go back to normal.
The security guard at the front desk gives us a cheerful wave as we walk by. Donovan, predictably, is oblivious. I waveback, trying not to look as discouraged as I feel. It’s not Sloth Security’s fault this day has turned out to be a shitshow.
Rain pelts the street outside, hammering the building so hard I can hear it. The few cars braving the weather are kicking up waves of water in their wake. Donovan yanks the door open, I step through, and together we stand beneath the awning. It’s even worse close up: the rain is falling in great slanting sheets, the wind whipping it sideways. Lightning strikes the mountains again. On its heels, thunder booms, and I flinch.
Donovan opens the umbrella he brought downstairs. Immediately, the wind threatens to rip it from his grip. “My car’s about two minutes away,” he says, holding on tight. “Can you walk in those, or…?”
He points at my feet, doubtless remembering the condition in which I arrived at Smashbox. Maybe he’s trying to be nice, but his judgmental expression tells me otherwise.
Then again, maybe that’s just his face.
“I can walk,” I say, giving him the look the question deserves and shoving my purse into my laptop bag to protect it.
Donovan sighs. “Come on, then.” He stalks out from underneath the awning, and I trot after him, doing my best to keep up with his far longer legs.
He walks quickly, not that I can blame him. I don’t want to be out here, either. But no matter what I told Donovan, my heels aren’t made for jogging in regular weather, far less in a freaking monsoon. More than once, I almost lose my balance, but I grit my teeth and persist. Rain sloshes over every inch of me as I scuttle along, threatening to soak my lavender shirt. I clutch my bag close, determined not to flash Donovan on top of everything else.
When I steal a glance at him, I can’t help but notice that he’s unaccountably, impossibly dry. Something about the angle of the umbrella, combined with his height, is protecting him,whereas I have begun to resemble a proverbial drowned rat. My hair is straggling out of its bun again, I’m pretty sure my mascara is running, and there’s something wrong with one of my shoes. It’s…wobbly, in a way that can’t bode any good.
The next time I slip, Donovan actually notices. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he says, peering down at me. “You’re not exactly dressed for this.”
I should tell him thatokayis the very last thing I am. That my knees hurt, my butt aches, I’m pretty sure the seam of my skirt is ripping, and if he could just slow down rather than zipping down the street like the lead car in the Indianapolis 500, maybe I wouldn’t have to sprint in these damn shoes to keep up. But my pride is all I have left, so I say, “I’m fine. Let’s just get there.”
He takes my word for it, heading straight for a puddle that he can easily step over. I, on the other hand, have three choices: go around and abandon the umbrella, jump, or wade through.
“Would you wait—” I begin, pitching my voice to be heard above the pounding rain. When he doesn’t respond, I jog after him…and then the heel of my shoe catches in a crack in the sidewalk and snaps straight off. I lose my balance again, and this time, there’s no getting it back.
For an instant, I entertain the bizarre notion that Donovan will catch me. But he just stares at me, mouth stretched wide like he’s got the starring role in a Munch painting, as I teeter, wheel my arms frantically for balance, and capsize into the puddle—fancy skirt, laptop bag, and all.
It says a lot about my priorities that my first instinct is to protect my laptop rather than, say, my face. But my Mac is my livelihood, after all. And it’s not like I can afford another one.
