Unraveled (Undisputed Book 2) Read online

  Horrified at the thought of him not knowing what Full House is, I try to do quick math in my head. How old he would have been at the height of this show’s popularity? I realize that I don’t even know how old he is, but regardless of his age, it’s inexcusable in my opinion to not know who America’s first family of the ’90s was.

  Ryker: The only bell that’s ringing is the God-awful one above the front door. Seriously, if you come in one day and there’s nothing but a gaping hole where it once was, I know nothing about it.

  Me: Right?!? I hate that damn thing.

  A few minutes pass without a response, and I alternate between being relieved and disappointed. It makes no sense that I would be upset, but all the same, I am.

  I’ve got the phone locked in a death grip when a message comes through. My heart falls when I see that it’s from Breccan.

  Brec: Where’s my cup?

  Rolling my eyes at his complete lack of manners and the ability to do anything himself, I quickly type back.

  Me: Breakroom. Second cabinet on the left. Where I ALWAYS put it once I’m done washing it.

  Brec: K.

  Me: You’re welcome.

  He doesn’t respond, so I toss my phone, giving up on any response from Ryker. I decide I need to get out of the house for a little while, so I pad to the bathroom to shower. I’m just stepping under the spray when my phone dings from the bedroom. Jumping out of the spray, I run back to my bedroom, dripping, and snatch my phone off the nightstand.

  Ryker: Next client just walked in. Gotta go.

  Dammit. That shouldn't have disappointed me as much as it did. I could deny it all day long, but secretly—okay, not so secretly, considering I am naked and dripping all over my carpet—I was enjoying our little chat.

  Me: Okay, then. See you Monday.

  Ryker: Oh, I’ve got an appointment Monday. I’m working tomorrow instead.

  Double dammit!

  Okay, so what? I won’t see him again until Tuesday. No biggie. I mean, why should I care about when we are going to be at work together again? Isn’t that the entire reason I took this last-minute staycation anyway? To avoid Ryker and his penetrating gaze? Yeah, right. This sucks.

  I type out a quick response to let him know I don’t work weekends and then decide to get dressed. My home manicure —well, office, really—is starting to chip and look bad, so I decide to treat myself to a late lunch and a mani-pedi with the hopes that it’ll get my mind off the man who’s charming me no matter how hard I resist.

  I’ve just climbed into my car when my phone pings with an incoming text. I dig through my purse, wondering how it’s possible to lose something in it so quickly. Then the phone dings again. Finally, I get my hands on it and scramble to get my messages open.

  The first is from Sidney, who’s checking in on me again. I ignore it when I see the next message. It’s from Ryker. My stomach flutters as a huge smile pulls at my lips.

  Ryker: So, guess I won’t see you till Tuesday then. Have a nice weekend.

  My smile falls, and the flutters turn into dread. Seriously, what is wrong with me?

  Me: Yep. See you Tuesday.

  I toy with the thought of going into work tomorrow to see him but think better of it. I’ll see him Tuesday, and that’s soon enough.

  I toss my phone back into my purse and put the car into drive. I roll the windows down and crank up the music. It’s time to get my mind off the man I’m supposed to hate.

  After turning onto the interstate, I point my car in the direction of my favorite spa, telling myself that a little pampering is way better than any man could ever be.

  If only I could get the memory of Ryker wiping that tear away out of my mind.

  It has been a long time since I’ve found a woman interesting. In my line of work, most of the women I met were only interested in my money or being a trophy wife. Not that I minded having a pretty lady on my arm, but I preferred to actually be able to hold a conversation with one at the end of the night. Someone I could take home to meet Gram.

  Rebecca definitely falls into the interesting category. The jury is still out on taking her home to meet Gram, but I have a feeling she is exactly the kind of woman my sweet grandmother would approve of. Not only is she incredibly beautiful, but she is smart and funny and has no problem busting my balls. Balls which seem to be a lot bluer as of late.

  It is the first Saturday morning I’ve been scheduled to work, and I’ve spent most of the three hours I’ve been here training my new client. After the first couple of days on a trial run, Breccan started giving me a little more responsibility. I am no longer on kid duty. Instead, I’ve been assigned to a lightweight.

  Mickey is on a losing streak, having lost his previous two fights, and this upcoming one is his last chance to stay in the organization. I need to prove to Breccan, and myself, that I am worth keeping around. Eager to impress my boss, I’ve thrown myself into his training, staying late every night this week to watch film on his next opponent. Mickey’s dedication is also commendable. We were in the gym until well after midnight last night, and he was back in here at six this morning, ready to go.

  We’ve just finished a round of stand-up and decided to break when the bell above the door chimes. After the first two days of looking up every time it went off, I learned to tune it out. I don’t even glance in the direction when I hear it.

  I’m reading the ingredient label on the Pop-Tart I’m having for breakfast and grimacing at the amount of sugar it contains when I hear her shriek.

  “What the hell happened to my desk?”

  I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling and turn in the direction of the scream to see Rebecca standing beside her chair, glaring at me, her hands on her hips.

  “Rebecca! What a surprise. I didn’t think you worked weekends.” I give up suppressing my grin and then take a bite of the Pop-Tart. “I’m having breakfast. Strawberry. Want one?” I ask, holding the foil packet in her direction.

  “No! I do not want a Pop-Tart, Ryker. I know you’re responsible for this.” She wildly waves one arm at her desk while using the other to point at me.

  The guys working out around us have all stopped to watch the scene play out in front of them. I saunter over to her desk and stop when I’m standing directly in front of her. I tap her on the nose. She bats my hand away and continues to glare at me.

  “So, what exactly are you referring to?” I ask.

  After riffling through her desk yesterday in search of paperwork, I decided to tidy it up for her. I was just going to add a couple of file folders to the drawer, but once I got started on it, I couldn’t stop myself, and before I knew it, the whole desk had been organized with the folders labeled and alphabetized.

  I wasn’t usually an organized person, but something about it being Rebecca’s mess spurred me to help her get it fixed up. I had a feeling she isn’t going to appreciate my efforts, especially after the messages she’d sent yesterday about staying out of her desk.

  Looking around at the fighters staring at us, she yells, “Get back to work, guys!”

  A few of the guys chuckle, but they immediately get back to work.

  She turns her attention back to me and snaps, “I thought I told you to stay out of my desk.”

  When she crosses her arms over her chest, I consider telling her that, every time she does that, it only makes me stare at her breasts. But then I think better of it because there’s no way I’m going to do anything that will make her stop giving me the incredible view of her perfect cleavage.

  I take another bite of my breakfast, and after slowly chewing and swallowing, I tell her, “I did you a favor. That desk was a fuckin’ mess.” I reach around her and open a drawer. “Look! I even have a folder for your vacation pamphlets. You know, you have so many you should really think about moonlighting as a travel agent. With your looks and persuasiveness, you’d be able to sell a trip to Hell to the pope.”

  She bats my hand away from the drawer and slams it, mu
ttering, “You’d be able to give the tour, I’m sure.” She looks over at her desk again, and her eyes narrow on an item. “What’s that?” She points to the empty wine bottle that holds a single silk flower.

  I grin at her. “Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer.”

  “Yeah, a cheap one. Silk flowers?” She laughs. “Who the hell wants a silk flower? What? Am I eighty?” She laughs again.

  My smile fades, her insult hitting me right in the gut.

  Scrambling to cover the hurt up, I bite the inside of my cheek, but as soon as she looks up at me, I know she can see she’s wounded me. Silk flowers aren’t really my thing, either, but I didn’t think she would be back for two days, and I couldn’t afford to buy her real flowers only for them to die before she got to see them.

  Sputtering, she asks, “Oh, uhm. I mean. Is that from you?” She glances back and forth between me and the flower but won’t make eye contact.

  Embarrassed, I don’t reply but rather nod.

  “Well, it’s nice. And really, I love sunflowers.” She trips over her words while trying to pull her foot from her mouth, but it doesn’t ease the blow to my ego.

  “Just thought your desk could use a little bit of decoration. Other than the dozen sticky notes you have attached to your screen.” I shrug. “Anyway, break time’s over. Gotta get back to work.” Shoving the rest of the Pop-Tart in my mouth, I turn to go find Mickey.

  I’m taking a step toward the locker room, thankful that no one around us seemed to have heard our exchange, when I feel a hand on my bicep. Despite the fact that she just wounded me, her touch causes a thrill to shoot up my spine.

  “Ryker, wait. Look.” Rebecca blows out a breath. “I’m a total bitch. I didn’t mean to be…” She nervously toys with the end of her hair as she trails off. “Uhm, rude.”

  It’s lighter than it was when she was last here. Even though she insulted me, I’m tempted to reach out and run my fingers through it.

  “Really, sunflowers are my favorite. How did you know?” she asks with a sincere smile.

  I don’t tell her that I’ve been semi-stalking her on social media. I doubt telling her that I also know her favorite wine, where she lives, and which sushi house she likes the best would warm her to me any more.

  Instead, I reply, “That doesn’t sound like an apology. It sounds like a subject change.”

  Her eyes, which had momentarily softened, narrow, and she scoffs, “Apology? For what? I already said I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “Okay, well, if you won’t apologize for dissin’ my flower, how about a thank-you?” I counter with a mischievous grin.

  Her eyes widen, and her nostrils flare. “A thank-you? For invading my privacy, going through my stuff, and probably throwing out half of it? I don’t think so.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Admit it. Your desk was a disaster area. One more week and we were going to have to call FEMA in.” I chuckle.

  Her lips twitch as she growls, “That’s not funny.”

  “Yes. It. Is,” I tell her, taking a step toward her with each word.

  When I come to a stop, we are chest-to-chest, and I have to remind my cock that we’re in a public place. Not that that has ever stopped me before, but I need to keep my job. The exhibitionism will have to wait.

  For several tense moments, we stare at each other in silence. All around us, the gym is full of guys punching bags and practicing takedowns. I can hear the shouts of the trainers, but all of my attention is focused on the brown-eyed woman staring up at me.

  Unable to resist, I lean down and brush my lips across her cheek. It’s brief, but my body comes alive.

  Her eyes widen, and she lifts her foot to step backward, but I grab her arm and stop her.

  Placing my lips next to her ear, I whisper, “Have dinner with me.” It’s a demand because I won’t take no for an answer.

  She stands up on her tiptoes and mimics my actions. “No.” she breathes.

  Her breath on my ear causes my cock to twitch again, and I have to grit my teeth.

  “Yes,” I murmur back, pulling her impossibly closer to me. Her chest rises and falls with each breath.

  She blinks and cuts her eyes away from me. “Not interested, Ryker.” The way her voice shakes tells me otherwise, but I decide to let it go. For now.

  “I’m not taking no for an answer. You may not say yes today, but you will.” I release her arm and take a step back.

  “I prefer men who earn their way through life, not cheat. If you happen to meet anyone who fits that description, send them my way.” Her words are laced with venom, and they hit their mark.

  I stumble backward a step as if she just struck me. I’m staring at her, my mouth gaping, when Breccan comes out of his office.

  “Yo, Ryker, have you seen––” He breaks off when he sees me standing with Rebecca. “Reb, what are you doing here?” He looks down at his watch. “It is Saturday, right? I haven’t lost a couple of days locked away in my office, have I?” He continues his path and stops in front of us.

  I’m still reeling from the bullshit she just slung my way, but I cock my head to the side and clear my throat. “Yeah. What are you doing at work? You told me yesterday you weren’t going to be in until Monday.”

  Breccan’s gaze jumps between us. “Yesterday? You two talked to each other yesterday?”

  I nod. “Yep. She schooled me on all things Full House. Not to be confused with the winning hand, right, Reb?” I tap her nose again.

  The annoyance on her face makes me grin, and just like that, I’ve forgiven her. She doesn’t know shit about me. No one in this place does. But, for her, I’m more than willing to change that.

  I haven’t been able to figure out why she dislikes me so much, but I know she’s attracted. And I’ll give her that, because she won’t be able to fight much longer.

  She closes her eyes and purses her lips before replying to Breccan. “He texted me looking for some papers and then wouldn’t leave me alone.”

  “That doesn’t answer the question of what you’re doing at work on a Saturday.” Breccan arches an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, Reb. Sounds like you’re avoiding the question to me.” I smirk at her.

  “I’ve told you to stop calling me that!” she groans. Turning toward Breccan, she hesitates. “I, uh…”

  Her obvious discomfort of not being able to come up with an excuse makes me smile, and I have to stop myself from pumping my fist in victory. I know she came in to work today to see me even if she refuses to admit it.

  Rolling her eyes, she finishes with, “I figured that, since I was out most of the week, I would pop in today. That way, I won’t drown in my to-do list on Monday.” She waves her hand at her desk and continues. “It’s a good thing I did, too. Ryker’s been busy fuckin’ up my stuff. It’ll take me all day to get my desk back together.”

  Breccan peers around her and then barks out a laugh. “Looks to me like Ryker did you a favor. Your desk was a shithole.”

  She growls and gives Breccan a shove. “It was not. Whose side are you on here?”

  He shrugs. “Never thought I’d say it, but if Ryker can get your shit organized, then I guess I’m on his side.”

  Rebecca slams her hands onto her hips and stomps a foot before she threatens him. “Don’t make me kick your ass, Breccan Carlisle.”

  I start laughing but notice the look of fear on Breccan’s face. Confused about why her silly threat would cause such panic, I furrow my brow at him.

  “She plays dirty, man,” he whispers, shaking his head.

  “Mm-hmm. That’s right. And don’t you forget it.” Spinning, she turns her focus toward her computer and plops down in her chair.

  Breccan mutters something under his breath and then walks away, leaving me standing awkwardly beside Rebecca.

  “What do you have on him that has him so scared of you?” I ask in equal parts awe and fear.

  She looks up at me, feigning ignorance. “Hm? Oh, that? Nothing for y
ou to worry about, Ryker.” She steeples her fingers together and begins tapping them, a devilish smile playing at her lips.

  I’m not sure if she seriously has some dirt on him or if she’s just giving me a hard time, but I’m finding it rather difficult to focus on not worrying about it when she looks at me that way. Her lips are painted red today, and the way she says my name with them has me envisioning what they would feel like pressed against my…

  The bell above the door chimes, snapping me out of my head-fueled daydream, and I look up to see Mickey walking back in. Sighing, I greet him.

  “Hey, man. Ready to get back to work?” Then I realize I spent my entire break of the day chatting with Rebecca instead of getting any of the tasks I had planned on taking care of done.

  And you didn’t even get a date out of it.

  “Yeah, man,” he replies, walking up to the desk. “What’s going on, Rebecca? You’re lookin’ good today.” He waggles his eyebrows, turning the charm on.

  She giggles. “Hey, Mick. Didn’t know I’d be seeing you today. What a pleasant surprise.” She touches his forearm, and I hone my gaze in on her fingertips.

  He’s flirting with her and she’s flirting back, and it’s making my blood simmer. Not that I have any claim over her, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand here and watch some skinny asshole make a move on her.

  When I snap my gaze away from her hand, she’s watching me for a reaction.

  “Mickey!” I bark. “Get your ass in the cage. Time to spar.”

  His head snaps up, and confusion paints his face, but when he sees my arms crossed over my chest, he simply lifts his chin at me. “See ya later, Rebecca.”

  I watch him walk away and count backward from five to get myself in check before looking at Rebecca. “Dinner?” I ask one last time.

  She presses her lips together and shakes her head. “No.”