Kaori
I make no promises.
It’s 4:55 p.m.I’m five minutes away from freedom and what Leon claims are the world’s best breadsticks. My laptop’s tucked away and my backpack is zipped closedwhen Anya appears beside my desk. “Are you on your way out?”
“Mm-hmm. And I hope you are too.”
She smiles. “I will be in a few. I have a couple emails to send off first.” Then, almost as an afterthought, she taps the folder tucked under her arm. “Actually, would you mind dropping this on Riverton’s desk on your way out? It’s the revised Quantum Leap analysis with my notes added.”
Cue record scratch. My mind frantically searches for a polite “no,” but I’m coming up empty. “Um...”
As if reading my mind, she adds, “I think he left an hour ago. He mentioned needing to pack for a meeting in Atlanta tomorrow morning. At least it’s in the same time zone.”
My shoulders loosen a notch.Phew. Crisis averted.“Sure. No problem.”
“Thanks! You’re a lifesaver.”
I slip my backpack onto my shoulders and tuck the file under my arm before I head down the hall. The lights in his office are off. Perfect. I’ll just put it next to his monitor and slip out—darn it. I knew it was too easy.
Theo is sitting at his desk, elbows braced on the mahogany surface, fingers knotted in his hair like he’s trying to keep his head from splitting in two. The only light in the room comes from his phone, face-up on speaker, its glow harsh against the planes of his face.
“I understand, Mr. Harris,” Theo says. His voice lacks the bite it had this morning. It sounds hollow. “But the issue isn’t with my staff. It’s on the client’s side. They haven’t cleared the site for the sensor install. We can’t proceed until?—”
Mr. Harris cuts him off. “Then you’ve mismanagedthem. If they haven’t cleared the site, it’s because you’ve allowed them to believe delays are negotiable.”
Theo inhales slowly. “I’ll handle it.”
“You’d bloody well better. The only reason you’re even still in charge of this project is because replacing you would cause more disruption than tolerating you a little longer.”
Theo doesn’t respond right away. “I’ll be on the next flight to Amsterdam,” he says finally, voice low. “I’ll oversee the corrections personally. I’ll have my deputy take the Atlanta meeting.”
“Do whatever you like,” Mr. Harris replies. “The next update I receive will be a confirmation the fix is done, not an explanation.”
The line goes dead.
Theo sighs, stands, and turns his back on the desk. He faces the window, one hand braced against the glass, staring out at the darkening sky as if it might offer something other than judgment.
I step back before he can see me. If this were a binge-worthy K-Drama, I might be feeling something for the lead male character. Cue the tragic backstory, sad music, and realization that he’s “misunderstood.”
Except this isn’t television. I do feel alittlebad for him. Mr. Harris is the company’s Chief Operating Officer, and he sounds like he’s a jerk. But after this morning, the petty side of me is also glad for him to be given a taste of his own medicine.
“Is someone there?” he calls out.
I take a breath, adjust my backpack, and step into the doorway as if I just arrived. “Um... hi, Mr. Riverton,” I say, holding up the manila folder. “Anya asked me to drop this off.” I set it down quickly. “I know you’re busy, so I’ll just leave it here and go.” I take a few retreating steps toward the door.
“Minami,” he says.
“Yes?”
“It’s Theo.” His brow arches. “Though most people around here prefer calling me by my surname.”
That’s what he chooses to say? Asking me to call him by his first name? Something about that feels wrong. He’s British. They’re the human embodiment of formality. Plus, calling him Theo feels like something you’d do if you worked at Disney, where everyone from the popcorn guy to the CEO goes by their first name. He is not that type of person.
Up close, Theo Riverton is annoyingly... attractive. He’s tall and lean. The type of man who probably wakes up at five a.m. to runfor pleasure. The horror. For reference, the only running I do is after our family dog when he decides squirrels are mortal enemies.
His navy shirt pulls across a set of broad shoulders. His sleeves are rolled to his elbow, revealing strong forearms and a smartwatch with a sleek chrome band. His hair is cut just long enough to hint it might fall into soft waves if he ever loosened up.
And now, thanks to Leon and Andy, I suddenly picture him deadpan in Mickey ears, surrounded by giggling tourists, like that old commercial where Darth Vader rides a carousel flanked by stormtroopers. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud.
