Page 61 of Rival Desires

Dammit.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair. I couldn’t let this go. It wasn’t right.

My phone said it was late, but my gut whispered that Rylee was still burning the midnight oil at her office. I decided to swing by, and if she wasn’t there, I’d try again tomorrow. I wasn’t exactly sure what I’d say to her, given that a part of me was still nursing a bruised ego from her accusations earlier. But I needed to talk to her and tell her face-to-face that the way the whole Nadine thing went down wasn’t right.

I couldn’t just waltz in and hand over the account, even if I had a hankering to. Legally, it was a no-go without running it by Fury first. And even if Fury gave the green light, it was ultimately Nadine’s call. If we turned her down, she might cozy up to some other third-party schmuck instead of Rylee.

By the time I rolled up to Palmer Money Management, I still hadn’t come up with a surefire plan. But when I caught sight of Rylee’s car nestled in the parking lot, I let out a relieved sigh. I couldn’t fathom waiting another minute to hash things out. I knew darn well I wouldn’t catch a wink of sleep tonight with this mess looming over me.

I finally made it to the entrance, only to realize I might’ve hit a roadblock. The lobby was half-lit, and, of course, the doors were locked. I mumbled a colorful phrase under my breath, reconsidering my options. Just as I was about to turn tail, I spotted movement inside. A security guard was heading my way, likely wondering why this guy was loitering outside his building.

I flashed him a friendly smile and kept my hands visible, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. Granted, I wasn’t the biggest McCrae, but my size could still be intimidating to some folks.

“I’m here to see Rylee Palmer,” I said once he was close enough.

“We’re closed,” he replied, stone-faced.

“Ah, right. I’m Cory McCrae from Gracen & McCrae. Mind if I show you my business card?” I asked, pulling out my wallet. Along with the card, I slipped out a crisp fifty-dollar bill and presented both to him, hoping he’d be open to a little rule-bending.

The guard hesitated for a moment before accepting my card and the cash, then peered at the card as he slid the money into his pocket.

“You have business with Ms. Palmer?” he asked, giving me the stink-eye.

“I do,” I confirmed, returning his gaze with a confident one of my own.

He sized me up as if trying to read my mind or something. Whatever he saw – or thought he saw – must’ve satisfied him because he eventually swung the door open and let me in.

“Thank you,” I said, genuinely grateful.

“If you cause any trouble, I’ll call the cops, and then I’ll come after you myself,” he warned.

Considering he was probably a good twenty-five years older than me, I wasn’t exactly intimidated, but I respected his position and the fact that he’d put himself in harm’s way to protect Rylee.

“Understood,” I said seriously.

A couple of minutes later, I entered Rylee’s office. My heart did a somersault as I watched the tears cascade down her cheeks.

“Rylee?” I ventured, inching closer without waiting for an invitation. “You alright?”

She buried her face in her palms and let out a sob. I hurried over, suddenly worried that my mere question had triggered this. I knelt beside her, my plans and thoughts about our chat evaporating in an instant. All that mattered was her pain.

“What’s up?” I asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Spill it, Ry.”

To my astonishment, she turned towards me, pressing her tear-streaked face into my shoulder as she hugged my neck. Without thinking, I embraced her, pulling her from her chair and onto my lap. As she nestled in, the word ‘fragile’ popped into my mind for the first time since we’d met. She felt delicate like a single misstep could shatter her completely.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, unsure of what else to say. I stroked her hair. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

It was bizarre. Despite not knowing the right words or actions, I felt no awkwardness, only a strange urge to soothe her, to mend whatever was broken.

“No,” she croaked, her voice trembling. “I don’t think we can.”

“Talk to me,” I commanded instead of pleading.

For a second, I half-expected her to tell me to hit the road, that her life’s drama wasn’t my cue to swoop in and play the hero. But instead, she let out this heart-wrenching sigh, and the floodgates opened.

It turned out that some of her rants were exactly what I’d anticipated. She was still reeling from the Sergio-Nadine fiasco and had lashed out at me, even though deep down, she knew I was innocent.

But there was more to her story, things that took me completely by surprise.

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