Page 75 of The Seven Rings
“We did this, we really did this. Good job, Corrine, good job, Ryder team. Good job, Sonya! And I’ve got another idea to try out.”
Revved up and ready, she started working on it. As she made some headway, the doorbell rang. She started to ignore it as one of Dobbs’s tricks, but Yoda scrambled up and ran out barking.
“Okay, okay, maybe somebody’s actually there.”
Though the interruption annoyed, as the new idea cooked, she went to the window, looked out. She saw a car, not a familiar one, in the drive.
“Hell, all right.”
In roomy black shorts—Ryder’s, of course—an old white T-shirt, and bare feet, she jogged down.
Opening the door, she found herself at a total loss for words.
Hair shining in the sun, khakis pressed, polo shirt blue to match his eyes, Brandon Wise, former coworker, former fiancé, lying, cheating, back-stabbing son of a bitch, stood smiling at her.
“Sonya, wow! What a place! And in the middle of nowhere. And you’ve got a dog.”
Brandon eyed Yoda as Yoda eyed him, and Yoda cautiously wagged his tail.
Pye slunk down the stairs.
“And a cat.” A shadow of irritation dimmed his megawatt smile. “You know I’m allergic to cats. Maybe you could put it away somewhere.”
“No. What are you doing here?”
He shifted as Yoda gave his Ferragamo loafers a sniff. “I had some business in Portland, and decided to take a little detour to see you, see how you’re doing. You must really ramble around this old place.”
When he started to step inside. Sonya held up a hand.
“You’re not welcome here.”
Her tone had Yoda giving a quiet little growl.
“Come on, Sonya, don’t be childish. I went out of my way just to see how you’re doing.”
He slid by her into the foyer.
Cats could growl, too, and Pye did just that. Upstairs, the iPad shouted out with Taylor Swift’s “Illicit Affairs.”
Ignoring it all, Brandon scanned the foyer, the turret sitting room, the main parlor.
“Looks like you fell right into it. I bet this old place is worth a mint. And it must cost another mint to maintain.”
His gaze ticked up the big staircase, over again to the main parlor. She could all but hear him adding up inventory.
“Way too big for you, babe. And way into the hinterlands with no nightlife, no restaurants, no shops. You must be bored brainless.”
He shot her another smile. “Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”
“No. You need to leave. I want you to get out.” She pointed at the open door. “Now.”
His smile—one she now knew had more smarm than charm—never wavered.
“Look, I made the detour because I wanted to congratulate you, in person, on the Ryder Sports job. As one professional to another.”
“Okay. Now leave.”
“Talk about sore winners.” He laughed with it as he wandered toward the turret room. “Round walls. Weird place. Anyway.”
