Page 48 of Irish Brute
“Have a nice day,” he says. “But don’t think you’ll get out of this conversation when you get home.”
My belly flutters in anticipation. But I force a bored tone as I say, “Promises, promises.”
His laugh is tinged with evil as he cuts short our call.
Mary ferries in stacks of paper. I’ve only been out of the office for five days, but this tsunami looks like a year’s worth of correspondence. “I’ve got one thing that’s top priority,” I tell her. “Can you get me a new phone from IT?”
“Did that operating system upgrade get you? I’ll take your old one down when I put in the request.”
“I don’t have the old one.”
She blinks. “IT needs the old phone to make the swap.”
“That’s not possible.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s a brick. They just needsomethingto keep their records straight.”
“Then draw them a pretty picture. Because that’s all they’ll get from me.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Tries again. Stops. “I don’t think…”
“Tell them I lost it on my honeymoon,” I suggest.
“On your…” Her voice trails off, and her eyes get as big as megaphones. “I’ll take care of it,” she says.
As she heads off, I settle down to excavate my desk. I leave my door closed, which helps me to avoid gossiping co-workers, as well as to forget Liam stationed outside my office.
It also makes it easier for me to stare at my roses. The red petals are so intense, the color so beautiful…. No one has ever sent me flowers before. Braiden shouldn’t have sent them now. But I’m very glad he did.
I work through lunch.
I skip a birthday party for one of the curators.
I barely look up as Mary tells me she’s on her way home.
I work through dinner.
I’m startled by a knock on the door—at 8:17, according to my computer clock.
“Come in,” I call.
One of the junior technicians enters, carrying a sleek white box. “Your new phone,” he says. “Sorry for the delay. We got everything configured from your most recent back-up, last Tuesday night.”
Before I can ask him to close the door on his way out, I catch a glimpse of Liam’s knees. I follow the tech out and say to my bodyguard, “Have you been sitting here all day long?”
“Except for bio-breaks. I coordinated with freeport security to keep my station manned.”
He thinks I’m criticizing him for taking a piss. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t thinking. With the backlog from my vacation…”
Liam shrugs. “Mary brought me some cake from the birthday party.”
I’ve never had a bodyguard before. I need to do better. “Well, she keeps emergency peanut butter crackers in the bottom right drawer of her desk. Help yourself, and I’ll be ready to leave in about two minutes.”
“Take your time,” Liam says, which he has to, because he reports to my mob-boss husband. But he goes for the crackers.
I’m unplugging my laptop when my new phone rings. I’m about to let it go to voicemail—I owe that much to Liam—when I glance at the screen for the caller’s name.
EC.
