Page 36 of Fated Love with You
I clutch the robe tighter and step into the lobby, my breath catching the second I see them—five suited men, seated like statues in velvet chairs, each one watching me like they’ve been waiting.
The one closest to the exit stands.
“Here you are,” he says, holding out an iced coffee. “I was told this is your favorite.”
It is, but…
“You can come with me now, Miss Jane,” he says. “It’s time to work.”
I blink. “What?”
“Would you prefer a different beverage before we leave?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Please tell Mr. Rochester that I won’t be leaving. I’m off today.”
“He figured you’d say that.” He taps something on his phone and holds it out.
“I don’t have time to argue with you today, Miss Jane,” Ryder says the moment I hold the phone, his voice clipped and cold.
“You said, ‘I’ll see you in two weeks.’”
“I said ‘soon,’ but I’ll probably see you then, too.”
“You literally said?—”
“I didn’t mean the next two weeks.” He cuts me off. “My apologies for not making that clearer.”
“Ryder, look?—”
“Iamlooking. Start walking with him toward the car. This is very important to me.”
“Well, ‘boundaries’ are important to me.” I feel my jaw tightening. “After this one, I really need to be done.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’d rather just… date you instead of work for you, since this randomness without a schedule doesn’t work for me.”
“I’ll print you a schedule then,” he says. “Start walking.”
He hangs up without another word.
He gestures toward the door with practiced ease—like this is just another item on his list.
I fall into step behind him, not because I want to, but because I know this isn’t a battle I’ll win. Not today. He’s made the rules clear. And for now, I’ll play along—just long enough to figure out how to break them.
The elevator humsas it ascends, the silence between Ryder’s men and me stretching longer than the ride itself. I’ve been in this building before, and as the scent of rosemary and charred wood continues to sift through the air, the memory locks into place.
Resno’s…
The doors glide open, revealing the same floor I stepped onto the day I signed my divorce papers. The day Ryder’s lawyer begged me to run away from him…
Tonight, the panoramic windows with the stunning view of the Puget Sound are nothing more than a memory. They’re covered with black papers, and guarded with steel-gray warehouse racks.
There are no clothed tables for patrons to sit and dine, only a long wooden one at the far corner with two chairs, where Ryder is standing by, waiting for me.
He gestures for me to walk forward, and I oblige.
Behind me, his men rush away, and then new men begin entering the room, rolling in stacks of boxes that they place on the warehouse shelves.
