Page 16 of Royal Deception
Finally, he comes out of his office and leans against my desk. “You’re in a mood,” he says flatly. His eyes flick over me, assessing. “What’s wrong?”
I let out a short, bitter laugh. “What’s wrong?” I repeat, shaking my head. “Does it matter?”
His expression doesn’t change. “If I asked, it probably does.”
The frustration and hurt that’ve been simmering all morning boil over. “Right,” I snap, pushing away from my desk. “Because you careso much, don’t you? You give a shit about something other than work and what benefitsyou.”
Rory’s jaw ticks, his gaze darkening, but I don’t give him the chance to respond.
“You know what? Forget it. I’m taking a long lunch.”
I don’t wait for his permission. I don’t care if I have it. I grab my bag and storm toward the door, ignoring the way his stare burns into my back.
Let him watch. Let that man stew in whatever half-hearted concern he’s suddenly decided to show. It’s not like I owe him anything. I sure as hell don’t owe him an explanation.
As I burst out into the sun-drenched streets below our office, something unfurls inside my chest, like a weight finally melting away. It felt good to stand up to Rory for once, to point out his hypocrisy and mercurial attitudes.
But as I weave through the crowded sidewalk, the weight of what I just did settles in. Rory isn’t the kind of man who lets things slide. And I just threw gasoline on a fire.
I don’t know what’s going to happen when I get back, and I’m nervous to find out.
7
RORY
Iwatch Clary leave, the shocked expression on my face morphing to something darker, something bitter.
What the hell was up with that? She’s usually a good little secretary, obedient and accommodating. I don’t usually see her complain or give me attitude, but today, she’s been off.
It wasn’t just simple frustration that led her here, either. Not with that full-on explosion she released.
I should be pissed. Hell, I am pissed. Storming off in the middle of the workday like she doesn’t answer to me? Like I don’t have the power to make her life hell?
But as I watch the office door swing shut behind her, the anger cools a little and I find myself growing impressed. Clary’s always been a people-pleaser, practically a lapdog, eager for my approval, always ready to go above and beyond, but today, she didn’t roll over and show her belly. She stood her ground, told me off. So reckless and thoughtless.
Even though I could tear her apart for it.
Some sick, twisted part of me wouldn’t mind putting her back in her place, but only if that meant getting her on her knees.That thought lingers in the back of my mind as I get back to work, hovering just around the edges.
Clary slinks back into the office an hour and a half later, but I barely notice because of the phone call that’s distracting me.
The voice on the other end of the line is smooth, even, the kind of tone that knows exactly how to control the conversation. “I’m a representative for a potential client for you, Mr. Brannagan,” he says. “My client is in the market for someone in your line of work and wanted to reach out to schedule a meeting.”
I lean back in my chair, my gaze flicking toward Clary as she settles quietly at her desk. She catches my eye for a moment then ducks her head, pretending to be busy with the file in front of her.
“What incentive do I have to meet with someone who can’t even be bothered to come to me in person?” I ask, twirling a silver-plated pen between my fingers.
There’s a pause. Then a quiet chuckle.
“Let’s not pretend we don’t both know the answer to that.”
I don’t respond, waiting.
The voice continues. “This client has deep pockets. Influence. And connections in the kind of circles your family has been trying to break into.” A measured pause. “Legitimate circles.”
Now, that gets my attention.
I shift forward, elbows braced against my desk. “Go on.”
