Page 64 of Nailed (Dad Bod Contracting 3)
I groan again, a nearly feral sound of frustration and anger. “Damn you, damn you, damn you.”
“Damn who? Me?” Ryder is confused, worried. “What’d I do?”
“No, not you. My ex.”
“Paul? What’d he do?”
“He sent me the flowers.”
Ryder hesitates. “Oh. Ummm…okay.” He’s clearly trying to say the right thing. “Why is your ex sending you flowers?”
I have an audience, I realize.
“Laurel? Talk to me, honey.”
My office is open to the rest of the floor, a slightly larger version of the open-plan offices the rest of my employees have—it’s great most of the time…except when you want privacy. Like now. Everyone in the nearby area is listening.
“I can’t talk about it right now, Ryder. I’ll call you after work, okay?”
“Fine. It’s cool—you’re at work, and this is personal drama. I get it. Call me later.”
“Ryder, you understand, don’t you?”
“Yes, I absolutely do understand. I keep my personal shit out of work, too. It’s fine. As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.”
I’m feeling a little trembly, to be honest, but I don’t say that. “It’s just…a tricky situation. That’s all.”
“As long we’re cool, I’m cool.”
“We’re totally cool, babe,” I say, trying to fake a ditzy Valley Girl voice, and only sort of succeeding.
“Then I’m cool.”
I laugh. “This is a silly, juvenile conversation, and I have to go.”
Ryder laughs too, and I hear him returning to the work site. “Same. Talk to you later, okay?”
“Okay, bye,” I say, and hang up.
I hang up, take the vase of flowers out of my office, and bring them to the receptionist at the front of our office. “Here,” I say. “Have some flowers.”
The receptionist, Emily, is brand new and very young—fresh out of college, eager to change the world through nonprofit work, and very sweet—she also has a funny and endearing and annoying habit of making statements sound like questions. She takes the flowers, sniffs them, and looks up at me with bright eyes. “Wow, thanks, Ms. Madison. They’re beautiful. I love them!” She hesitates. “Why are you giving them to me, though?”
“Well, it’s complicated. Let’s just say they’re from someone who has no business giving me flowers, and leave it at that. They’re pretty, so I don’t want to throw them away, but I don’t want them.”
She perks up. “Oh. Well…okay!” She frowns, then. “Um, you know, I was the one who received these.”
I blink. “You were?”
“They weren’t delivered by a delivery person, and I thought it was kind of weird.”
I wait, but she’s not forthcoming with any further information. I stare at her. “And?”
“And what?”
“Who delivered them? Why was it weird?”
She tilts her head to one side. “Oh. Well, he was just some guy. He wanted to know if you were available, but you were on that conference call with Mary-Jo, so I told him no, you weren’t, and he asked when you would be available, but I was getting a weird vibe from him, so I just said I didn’t know.” She frowns up at me. “Was I wrong?”
I take my cell phone from my blazer pocket and flip through my old photos until I find one of Paul with Nate from earlier in the summer. “Was this him?”
“The older one, yeah.”
I laugh. “Well, it would awful odd if it was my son, seeing as he’s supposed to be in school.”
“Sorry. My boyfriend says I’m kind of a ditz sometimes.”
I frown at this. “That’s not okay, Emily. He shouldn’t talk down to you like that.”
“Well, it’s okay because I call him an airhead. He means it with love.” She wrinkles her brow. “So, the guy who brought the flowers—he’s your ex?”
I nod. “Yup.”
“So…why’s he bringing you flowers? Are you getting back together with him? Because, like, I know it’s none of my business, but going back to an ex is never a good idea.”
“I’m not sure why he’s bringing me flowers, but I’m definitely not getting back together with him.” I have one last question for her. “What was the weird vibe you were getting?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Just…weird. Not creepy, like I wasn’t scared of him, although I probably wouldn’t ride in an elevator alone with him. Just weird. He just randomly shows up with flowers and wants to talk to you and you’re, like, super business all the time, so it just felt weird.”
I think that’s about all I’m going to get out of her, so I let it go. “Okay, well, if you see him again, let me know. And definitely don’t ever let him back to talk to me.”
“You got it, Ms. Madison.” She grins at me, all eagerness and sweetness. “Is there anyone I should let back to see you?”
I can’t help a smile. “Yes. His name is Ryder McCann, and he’s a bit under six feet tall, he has huge muscles, red hair, and an awesome red beard.”
