Page 119 of Lady and the Hitman
But I was already standing.
Because the man in the doorway wasn’t the delivery guy or some new freelancer trying to figure out the printer. It was Ronan.
In a suit.
Inside my coworking space.
He didn’t move. Just stood there, hands at his sides, eyes locked on mine.
My stomach dropped. “Oh, my God.”
Mina turned. “Oh, my God. That’s him, isn’t it?”
I nodded sheepishly.
He started walking.
And the world narrowed to the sound of his shoes on polished concrete.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Every woman in the place turned to look at him. And I do mean every single woman. How could they not?
Every man looked away.
He didn’t glance at them.
He didn’t glance at Mina.
He didn’t even look around.
He was coming for me.
I stood frozen, my fingers still curled around the edge of the table.
When he stopped in front of me, the silence was deafening. The soft hum of conversation from a moment ago had disappeared. Everyone was pretending not to stare.
He looked down at me, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable.
“I said I’d give you time,” he said.
My throat went dry. “Ronan?—”
“I waited,” he said, voice low but not quiet. “But I’m not going to be a ghost in your life, Zara.”
He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a folded newspaper.
The Post and Courier.
With my column on the front.
He laid it on the table like a gauntlet.
“I read your latest piece,” he said.
