“Don’t sir me,” Ransom clipped. “You’re not supposed to shoot the shit with the ward.”
“I know,” Max hurried to say. “I know. I’m sorry, it’s just that she said she was not permitted to leave the house—”
“She isn’t,” Ransom cut in dryly. “You were briefed about this.”
“Yes,” Max said gravely. “Yes, I was. My apologies. I just think she’s still adapting to the new situation and wanted to keep her company. I figured if I could keep an eye on her while…”
“Also keeping an eye on a Bond girl?” Ransom finished the sentence for him. “I should demote you to the office stapler for this.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” I threw my hands in the air. “Stop being such a huge baby, Ransom. Half the time you don’t even look at me, too busy on your computer. Don’t lecture others about professionalism.”
The men whipped their heads to stare at me. Both looked shocked. Neither looked happy. I’d just dropped a truth bomb squarely on its target.
“Max,” Ransom said, his intense, darkened gaze set firmly on me. “Get out. I’ll talk to you this evening.”
“Yes, sir.”
Max scurried away, but not before saying goodbye to me. I liked that he stayed sweet and apologetic, even when Ransom was on his ass. I tried to stand a little taller, extending my spine as much as I could and tilting my chin up. I wasn’t going to cower in front of this bully.
He got in my face, scowling. His eyes were a peculiar shade of green today. Like an eternal forest. A sick thought entered my mind. How proud and cocky Mrs. Lockwood must be to have a son as gorgeous and accomplished as Ransom. I wondered how many girls he’d dated. How many he brought home. How many he took in the back of his beat-up truck I spontaneously decided that he’d owned as a teenager.
“Your phone’s ringing,” he said, making me break our stare-off to look down at the coffee table, where my phone was sitting.
“It’s Wes Morgan.” I cringed, remembering that awful night that led to Ransom becoming a part of my life for the next six months. “I promised him a photo-op if he gave me a ride home.”
It sounded supremely stupid, now that I listened to it with my own ears. It seemed a million years away from where I was today, from this new reality of mine.
“Chivalry isn’t dead,” he deadpanned.
“It wasn’t completely his fault—”
“It was. He called the paps.”
“Anyway, I don’t want to handle it.” I sighed.
“I will, then.”
Ransom studied me quietly, waiting for an okay. I felt triggered by how hot he was. How was I supposed to stand my ground when he looked like a book boyfriend?
Still staring at me with a death glare, Ransom swiped the phone from the granite coffee table between us and put the call on speaker.
Oh, God.
Oh, no.
Oh, why.
“Heyyyy, gorgeous.” Wes popped his gum loudly on the other line. “How about that photo-op? Feel like a trip to the zoo together? We can kiss by the bird cages.”
“The only trip you’ll be making is to the cemetery if you ever call this number again.”
Ransom was so stoic, so collected, his tone sent a chill up my spine. I had no doubt he meant those words. I also had no doubt Wes was dumb enough not to understand the graveness of the situation.
A brief pause on the other line was followed by Wes’ demands. “Who’s this? Do you know who I am?”
“Unfortunately,” Ransom said conversationally, leaning a hip against the credenza. “A meathead with a receding hairline and a reality show. Got a whole dossier on your ass. A hundred and thirty pages long, if you feel like a quick summer read. That’s how I also know you cannot possibly let your reality gig die while you owe 250k in unpaid plastic surgery.”
I knew those biceps weren’t real!