Page 112 of Release Me

Connor’s leaning over a cubicle wall, dressed in a salmon-pink golf shirt and tan pants, flirting with Minnie.

“Hey.” My voice is clipped. I jerk my chin in the direction of my office and then march away, expecting him to follow.

He takes his sweet time, sauntering in a whole minute later, a scrap of paper with Minnie’s phone number between his fingers.

“No.” I snatch it and tear it up.

“Dude!” His face contorts with shock.

“That’s Belinda’s assistant.”

“Damn, even better. We can play a little game of boss and assistant—ouch!” He rubs a palm against his chest where I punched him. “That hurt.”

“Good. Stay away from her. I don’t need you causing more trouble for me.” While Belinda was decent enough yesterday, I don’t doubt she’ll change direction on me as fast a cobra when I screw up.

“What the fuck is your problem lately, man? You’re gone all weekend?—”

“Here, Con. I washere.” I throw my arms out in my office. “While you were lounging by the pool and picking up random women.” Except for that brief window when I was at Sloane’s, but he doesn’t know about that. “And this isn’t Miami. You can’t storm into the pit yelling my name. Dorian’s a dick. If he gets hold of you?—”

“DorianDorian?” Connor chuckles. “I just left a meeting with him. Me and the other supes.”

“And how’d that go?”

“Fine. The guy loves me.”

“Why am I not surprised.” Because Connor is where he belongs. I, on the other hand, am drowning. But it’s not fair that I take it out on him. I inhale a deep, calming breath to try to expel some of this tension. “Did you get your assignmentyet?” Dorian was still deciding how to divide the outdoor crew as of Friday.

“Beach,” he boasts, puffing out his chest.

I chuckle. “Okay, Ken.”

“I got my list of minions already.”

I hold out a hand. “Give it here.”

He digs his phone from his pocket and pulls up the email.

I scan it. “You’ve got AJ Brooks.” He starts Wednesday. Did he even have the guts to call Sloane to officially quit?

“Yeah. Why, you know him?”

“Not really.” But I already don’t like him. “Do me a favor and break him in. He needs to earn it.” Back in Miami, when a new guy started and he looked like he might not hack it, the supervisor gave him all the shit jobs—scrubbing toilets and dumpsters in the stifling heat.

Connor grins. “With pleasure.”

My office door swings open without warning and Belinda strolls in. She stops short when she sees Connor. “Oh.You.”

His cheery mood grows exponentially. “’Morning, boss. Love the glasses. Very strong head mistress vibes today.”

To anyone else, that might seem innocuous enough, but I know Connor well and he’s playing all kinds of dirty scenarios in his mind. At least he’s smart enough to keep his big mouth shut this time.

“Ready, Ronan?” Frosty blue eyes dissect me from behind a set of pink frames, ignoring Connor.

“For what?” Rare panic erupts within as I scan my opened calendar. “I don’t have anything for another hour.” First, my meeting with Dorian to address this drainage issue, and then a meeting with Lena and the head office operations team about the budget. I’m especially dreading that one because there’s no way to hide how clueless I am in a Zoom full of people who do this shit for a living.

Her smug smile is downright vicious. “To see how good your negotiating skills really are.”

The collarof my salmon-pink golf shirt clings to my neck in the heat as I steer us down the path toward the eleventh hole. Last week the course was empty, but today there are signs of life. Truckloads of carts are being unloaded and tested by full-timers while the first group of seasonal workers hired over the weekend get a guided tour of the grounds by a young, athletic guy Dorian tapped for supervisor of the caddies. Hank something, the email that came across my desk said.

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