Her desk was chaos, a rebellion of color in a kingdom of straight lines. A potted succulent wearing a tiny sombrero sat by her computer. A stack of pastel sticky notes teetered precariously, and nestled among her pens was a bedazzledsunflower pen she reserved for moments when she wanted to annoy her boss.
Julia from Accounting peeked over her monitor with a raised brow and a smirk
“Mission accomplished.” Devney twisted in her chair. “Ronan Wilder is officially going to the gala.”
Julia’s eyes widened. “You convinced him? To attend a social event? Does he know there’s mingling involved?”
“Don’t remind me,” Devney laughed. “I had to promise him it wasn’t technically small talk if it was business-related.”
“Impressive. You deserve a medal, or hazard pay.”
“Doing my part to keep things interesting around here.” She winked before turning back to her computer.
Around her, heads popped up from cubicles, eyebrows lifting, glances shifting. Devney, in high spirits, had a ripple effect. Her energy lessened the starch in the air, loosening ties and coaxing the corners of mouths upward. Even the eternally grim IT guy looked marginally less haunted whenever she passed by him.
“Sinclair,” a familiar, deep voice cut sharply from behind her.
She didn’t jump. Months of working under him had taught her to expect his stealthy approach.
“Yes, Mr. Wilder?” she responded sweetly, spinning her chair halfway to look up at him. He loomed in her peripheral vision, tall and sharp like a perfectly tailored storm cloud.
“Did you confirm the caterer for next week’s board meeting?” he asked.
“Done and dusted yesterday,” she said. “Menu finalized, including vegan options because apparently Mr. Hargrove has opinions about cheese.”
“Good,” he clipped out, but his eyes lingered a fraction longer than necessary before he turned and strode back into his office.
She pressed her lips together, barely suppressing her satisfaction as she watched him retreat. Now she could officially add “getting Ronan Wilder to a gala” to her list of unlikely victories.
Team Sunshine: one. Grumpy CEO: zero.
“Step one, Operation Loosen-Up-Ronan, is officially underway,” she muttered under her breath.
The man needed a crash course in joy. A little laughter. A little lightness. Maybe even, dare she dream, happiness.
Her eyes drifted to her computer screen. The Amazon tab was already open. If anyone could dismantle Ronan Wilder’s precisely built defenses, it was Devney Sinclair—and possibly the power of absurdly funny books.
She added several titles to her cart:How to Chill: A Guide for the Perpetually Uptight,How to Appear Normal at Social Events, and her favorite discovery,Unicorns Are Jerks: A Coloring Book Exposing Their Fluffy Underbellies. She snorted, already picturing his expression when he saw that one.
“Baby steps, Sinclair,” she coached herself, as she completed her purchase. “Getting Ronan Wilder to look remotely pleased is definitely a multi-day project.”
When the delivery man arrived from Sal’s Deli, she collected Ronan’s lunch and carried it to his office, knocking on the frame before stepping inside.
“Your lunch is here,” she announced, holding up the bag.
As expected, he didn’t look up, deep in a spreadsheet or quarterly analysis.
“Noted,” he responded quietly, still not glancing her way.
She unpacked his sandwich and set his smoothie down with a thud. “Turkey club, extra avocado, no onion, sourdough bread, light mayo. And yes, I remembered the spinach smoothie with flaxseed and absolutely no banana, because apparently bananas are the devil’s fruit.”
That made him pause. His eyes lifted, sharp and assessing. “How do you keep track of all this?” he wondered.
“Because, Mr. Wilder,” her voice dipped into mock gravity, “I am good at my job.”
“Impressive,” he acknowledged quietly, finally reaching for the smoothie like a man accepting a reluctant truce.
By the end of the day, her Amazon package had arrived. She carried the box to his office and set it squarely in the middle of his desk with a victorious flourish.
