He couldn’t help wondering about the bet. And if maybe he’d already lost.
Chapter 10
The clockon her computer screen barely moved. She glanced at the time again—4:47. Thirteen more minutes to wait before she could pretend she was leaving for an emergency dentist appointment, her shopping cover story.
She tapped her pen against the edge of her desk, trying to focus on an email she’d been attempting to finish for twenty minutes. The words blurred together.
“Are you ready?”
She startled at his voice and looked up to find Ronan standing by her desk, suit jacket already on, car keys in hand. Julia from Accounting, who’d been dropping off files, froze mid-motion.
“Yes,” Devney said quickly, grabbing her purse and standing. She turned to Julia with an exaggerated sigh. “I was supposed to leave an hour ago, but you know the boss—he doesn’t care much for other people’s schedules.” She gave him a pointed look, hoping Julia would buy the story. “He promised to get me to the dentist on time. I’ve got a toothache.” She pointed to her right cheek.
Julia’s curious expression relaxed into understanding. “Good luck with the tooth,” she said before heading back to her desk.
In the elevator his mouth twitched. “I care about things.”
“Sure you do,” she said. “Forecast models, profit margins, and properly aligned desk items.”
“What was that about?” he asked as the doors closed.
“I saved us from being today’s gossip on the office boards.”
His forehead creased. “We have a gossip board?”
“Two, actually,” she said. “The official one in the break room, and the unofficial Slack channel where everyone discusses everything from your ties to the disappearance of food from the communal fridge.”
“We need to stop that,” he muttered, as they reached the parking garage.
“Good luck. It’s been around longer than I have.” She slid into the passenger seat of his sleek car. “Besides, you’d have to fire half the accounting department.”
He made a noncommittal sound as he pulled out of the garage, a noise that might have passed for agreement or mild tolerance.
The drive to Neiman Marcus was surprisingly comfortable. She watched the city blur past while a tight, nervous feeling grew in her stomach. Shopping with him, a man whose suits probably had their own insurance policy, promised to be an adventure.
When they arrived, he handed his keys to the valet with the casual confidence of someone who expected perfect service as a birthright. He navigated the store with purpose, ignoring the salespeople who bustled as he passed.
“Could you slow down? Some of us aren’t built like gazelles.”
He paused, glancing back to find her several paces behind. “Sorry,” he said, actually waiting. “I’m used to moving at my pace.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” she said, catching up. “The Ronan Wilder special—everyone else’s comfort be damned.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Efficient.”
They reached the personal-shopping floor, where a woman in an impeccable black dress approached. “Mr. Wilder,” she said. “Perfect timing.”
“Natalie will be with you momentarily,” the woman said, leading them to a private suite that looked more like a luxury hotel room—plush chairs, a small table with champagne on ice, and an array of mirrors.
Natalie appeared—tall, elegant, and polished. “Mr. Wilder, how wonderful to see you again. And this must be…?”
“My fiancée,” Ronan said. The word sent a tremor down Devney’s spine. “As we discussed on the phone, she needs a full wardrobe for the weekend at the Beauchamps’ estate. Something that fits the Vineyard.”
“Of course. I’ve already pulled a selection based on the itinerary you sent over. They’re waiting in the private suite.” Natalie gestured toward a doorway draped in heavy velvet.
As they walked, Devney leaned closer to him, her voice a low murmur. “You sent an itinerary? And they already have clothes waiting?”
“Efficiency is expensive, Devney. That’s why we’re here.”
