called from amidst the clanging in the kitchen. “Could you take the apples to the serving line?”
“Sure thing.” I weaved my way around the volunteers in the kitchen and picked up a basket of freshly washed apples, carrying them back out to the empty cafeteria.
The serving counters were deserted for now, but by the time lunch hour came around, it would be lined with the steaming trays of food that were being prepared right now. I picked out roasted chicken, sautéed vegetables and mac and cheese from the aromas wafting from the chaotic kitchen.
Like every other Saturday morning, I showed up at Operation Hope Soup Kitchen to volunteer with meal prep. I had already worked up a light sweat since I arrived in the morning, but today I was extra grateful for the distraction.
Because it was already a week—a week—and I still couldn't get The Kiss out of my mind.
It wasn't for lack of trying either.
But no matter how I attempted to distract myself, all I could see when I closed my eyes was Ryland's darkened eyes as he lowered his face towards mine. All I could feel was the way he took my face in his hands as he kissed and kissed and kissed me.
Ryland, on the other hand, had been a perfect stranger, as if it never happened. We hadn't exchanged a word in person since then, and all his emails were short and curt.
And when he did pass me on his way to and from his office, his manner was just… indifferent.
It was as if I'd imagined everything—the angry, urgent way he'd kissed me, the uncontrolled side of him I'd discovered…
I would be so lucky.
I hadn’t imagined the roughness of his stubble on my cheek, and I definitely hadn’t imagined the blunt pressure of his erection between my legs.
During the days I busied myself with any task I could get my hands on to keep him out of my head.
But at night, sleep eluded me, and I tossed and turned in my bed until my sheets were tangled around my legs and my body was hot and aching.
Ryland had been right.
We’d started this, and now there was no way of stopping it. It was spreading like wildfire, and I was in danger of being devoured.
This was bad. I was just targeted by my father's ex-girlfriend not too long ago, I was trying to keep my sister safe, and I was trying to transition into a new job.
I didn't need to add this guy to the mix, no matter how he made my body hot and aching and wet—
Ugh.
Hopefully the other volunteers would mistake my flushed face as a result of exertion.
Just as I was shuffling back outside with my next batch of apples, my phone began to vibrate in my jeans pocket.
I dumped the basket down at the serving counter and checked the caller.
Private number.
Shrugging, I rejected the call, since I already had the numbers of everyone I knew or cared to contact.
Another call came in again immediately, and I canceled it again. But when the third call came in, I frowned at my phone. Why was this person so persistent?
Then my blood chilled.
Had something happened to Karin?
I quickly answered the call and clutched the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Relax,” came a familiar baritone. “Worthy just dropped your sister off at the college.”
A relieved breath escaped me, even though my heart gave an extra kick at the sound of Ryland’s voice. “How did you know what I was thinking?”
“I've been called God by several women during fucking, so I guess I’m omnipotent.”
I frowned. “O-kay…?”
Ryland cleared his throat, sounding embarrassed at what he said. “Why did you reject my call?”
“I don't answer calls from unknown people.”
In response, Ryland rattled off a series of numbers. “That was my private line. But I'm warning you, thousands of people are dying to get their hands on it. If you try to sell it to the tabloids, trust me, I'll know, and you'll regret it.”
“Speaking from experience?” I rolled my eyes. “A little niceness might make you more likable, has anyone ever told you that?”
“You know the answer to that question, Allie cat.”
At the nickname, my cheeks heated again.
The last time Ryland had called me that was in his office, where I had nearly slept with him.
I swallowed against my throat, which had gone dry. “What did you call me for?”
“Are you free tonight?”
For a breathless second, I thought Ryland was asking me on a date, but then I realized just as quickly that it wasn't possible.
Like he'd said, he was only interested in one thing I had to offer, and my company outside of his bed wasn't it.
“Why?” I asked carefully. “I'll be heading out for dinner with Karin and some friends—”
“Cancel it. You're coming with me to the gala at Lancaster.”
“I have a question.”
“Ask.”
“If you're not going to give me a choice in this, why even bother asking?”
“Out of niceness,” he drawled. “Someone told me to try being more likable. Her ideas are usually bullshit, but I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt this time.”
“Thanks for the generosity, but she wants you to know that it doesn't work when you don't mean it.”
Ryland's retort was drowned out by someone hollering from the kitchen, followed by more clanging.
I pressed a hand against my other ear. “What did you say?”
“I said, I don't give a shit as long as your ass shows up at the hotel later.” Ryland sounded irritated. “And why the hell does a soup kitchen sound like a war zone?”
I blinked, surprised that he knew where I was, until I figured that Karin had probably told Worthy, and Worthy had told Ryland.
And knowing that Ryland was keeping a lookout for Karin and I made my chest feel strangely warm.
That was not a good sign.
“It's the busiest shift now,” I said archly, “and no, I won't be going to your little party. Have an extra glass of bubbly for me.”
Ryland was silent on the other end, as if he didn't quite know how to process a person disobeying his orders. It probably happened very rarely. Or maybe never.
“What's so important about this gala anyway?” I couldn't help asking. “I don't really have to be there, do I?”
Ryland exhaled on the other end. “My father extended a personal invitation to you.”
I frowned. “I'm guessing this isn't out of the goodness of his heart?”
“It isn't, it's his brand of power play—” Ryland broke off abruptly. “Look, just show up for a couple of hours. Cam will take you there. And you'll need to get your own dress,” he added. “I'm not buying it for you.”
“The last bit was random, and pass.”
“What's your price? Name anything.”
“How about for you to lose my phone number?”
“Allie,” he growled in warning.
“Ryland,” I returned.
Jemima called from the kitchen again.
“Coming!” I yelled back before turning to the phone again. “Look, I gotta get going, the kitchen's getting busy…”
Then I blinked, an idea forming my head.
“Ryland,” I said slowly, “I do have something.”
“Good. What is it?”
An evil smile curved my lips. “You're not gonna like it.”
***
“So this Ryland. Is he your boyfriend?” Jemima's greying afro bobbed as she stomped on a cardboard box to flatten it for recycling.
“No, he's just a friend,” I hastened. “I mean, an acquaintance.” Picking the cardboard off the floor, I stacked it behind the storeroom cabinet to take outside later.
Lunch hour was rolling around, and there was already a queue forming outside on the sidewalk. It looked like we would make it in time—most of the food trays were already out at the heated serving counters.
Ryland, however, hadn't arrived.
“Is he strong?”
“Yes. I-I mean, what?”
“We could use a hand with packing up,” Jemima said hopefully. “And it'll be wonderful if he can lift the heavier things. These joints aren't what they used to be.”
“Oh, absolutely, yes.” I nodded several times. “Use him to lift whatever you need. The heavier the better.”
“Perfect,” Jemima beamed.
A sudden roar of a car engine split the air, loud enough to be heard within the cafeteria. To my alarm, it sounded like it was just a few streets away.
“Oh shit.”
I hurried out to the sidewalk and looked up and down the street, hoping that it wasn't Ryland.
He wouldn't be so insensitive that he would bring a Maserati to a soup kitchen, would he?
A silver Porsche cruised by moments later, slowing slightly as it passed me.
I squinted at the tinted windows, but it was too dark to make out the driver within.
Thankfully, the car didn't stop, and the engine revved again as it sped back down the road.
I was nervous as I waited for Ryland to show up, since we haven’t spoken since that day, but after a few more minutes of fruitless waiting on the sidewalk, my nervousness became overridden by anxiousness.
Giving in, I called Ryland on his phone.
It took several rings for him to answer. “What.”
“Where are you?” I burst, striding out of earshot of the people queuing outside the soup kitchen. “You're not bailing on me, are you? I already told the director we'd have an extra set of hands today.”
“Relax, I'm just across the street.” He made a sound of impatience as I turned to look. “The other way.”
I turned again, searching for Ryland's familiar form in shirtsleeves and dark slacks.
Instead, I saw a strikingly handsome man striding towards me, wearing a dark grey sweater shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders, and fitted black jeans and black Timberlands on his long legs. His look was topped off by a pair of black rimmed glasses, and behind them, a formidable scowl.
“Ryland?” I stared as he drew nearer. “What are you wearing?”
Ryland looked annoyed at my question. “I do own clothing other than office wear.”
“How do you…” I bit my tongue before I could blurt my next words.
How do you look so good in just a sweater and jeans?
“Are you sure no one will recognize you? I asked instead. “I asked you to wear a hat.”
“I'm Ryland Wyatt,” he said acerbically. “I don't do hats. And I've already got these.” He pushed up the nosepiece of his fake glasses with his forefinger. “If they're good enough for Clark Kent, they're good enough for me.”
I raised my eyes to the sky. Of course Ryland would compare himself to Superman.
“I bet Clark Kent would look happier to be here,” I muttered as I strode back towards the cafeteria.
Ryland kept pace beside me, sliding his hands into his pockets. “There are existing plans to end world hunger,” he stated simply. “The problem is that no one can implement them. If I had Superman’s powers, there wouldn't be a need for soup kitchens.”
I exhaled. “I can't believe I'm admitting this, but I actually believe you.”
“You sure no one knows I'm here?” Ryland asked as we neared the soup kitchen. “Don't volunteers have to fill out clearance forms or some shit?”
“Usually. But we're really shorthanded today, and since I know you, I guess we could let it go this time.” I slid him an uneasy glance. “Just…try to keep a low profile, okay? If you're recognized, things could get out of hand.”
Ryland scoffed. “No kidding. My board will flip if this gets out. And my PR team.”
I frowned. “That sounds serious.”
“You just realized? I represent the company, Allie cat. Whatever I do in public has to be managed.”
“Hmm.” I chewed my lip worriedly. “Maybe this isn't such a good idea—”
Ryland spun on his heel and began walking back where he'd come from.
“Wait!” I grabbed onto his arm and hung on with all my weight.
Ryland didn't even break his stride.
“We can't back out now,” I protested as I stumbled along. “I promised Jemmy extra help. We'll just have to be careful. Please?”
Ryland rolled his eyes, but he let me drag him back towards the kitchen.
“This is the last time I let you talk me into anything,” he muttered.
The line of people on the sidewalk outside the cafeteria had doubled since the time I came out. I greeted some of the familiar guests as we passed, but most of the attention was Ryland, who looked oblivious to the curious—and appreciative—glances he was getting.
So much for a low profile.
“Is your friend here, Allie?” Jemima called as we entered the cafeteria. “Thank god, we're all ready to start—oh my.” She drew up short when she saw Ryland, her fingers partway to her lips.
“Jemmy, here's Ryland, my…friend. Ryland, this is Jemima, the director of Operation Hope Soup Kitchen.”
“Thanks for having me.” Ryland shook Jemima's limp hand and offered her a smile that showcased precisely one dimple.
Jemima, a woman who has been happily-married for over forty years, blushed.
“No, thank you for coming,” she said breathlessly.
“Right, let's get to work.” I grabbed Ryland's arm before Jemima could swoon for real, dragging him with me behind the serving counters where the other volunteers were already getting in position.
Some of them gave us friendly smiles as we passed behind them, but I didn't miss the curious looks they gave Ryland.
“If any of them recognizes me or snaps a photo,” Ryland murmured, “I'm done.”
“They're just wondering what a big guy like you is doing here on a Saturday morning,” I whispered back, “instead of lifting and putting down heavy things at the gym.”
“Funny, I'm wondering the same thing myself.”
“Stop complaining. It won’t kill you to do something nice once in a while.”
We stopped behind the trays at the salad section, and I ducked under the counter, coming back up with two black aprons.
Ryland regarded them with an expression of disgust. “Tell me there's a way I can skip that.”
“Nope, sorry,” I said, taking perverse delight in his discomfort. Ryland in a soup kitchen was like a fish out of water. It was a nice role reversal.
Taking one apron, I shook it out and held the neck straps up at him.
“Come on, think of the gala,” I coaxed. “All you need to do is put this on and wear a smile for three hours, then I'll go to your party and you can show up your dad to your heart's content.”
Ryland’s jaw tightened, but he lowered anyway, letting me slip the apron over his head.
“Arms up.” I put my arms around his waist to tie the strings behind him.
That was a mistake.
Because it put my cheek right against his chest.
Ryland's breath caught, and my heartbeat began to speed up. This was the closest we'd come since the kiss.
I looked up to find Ryland staring down at me with a slight notch between his brows.
He was thinking the same thing, watching me as if I were a puzzle he was trying to figure out.
Then a sudden shout of laughter from the crowd outside startled me, and I took a hasty step back.
I turned to put on my own apron, feeling Ryland's gaze on me the whole time.
Once I was done, I cleared my throat and assumed a businesslike tone.
“So here's what you do. When the guest comes up to us, you greet them with a smile and a “How are you?” Then you take one scoop of the coleslaw—”
“I run a Fortune 500 company employing eight thousand people,” Ryland drawled. “I think serving salad won’t be a problem for me.”
I glowered at him. “Can you stop cutting me off while I'm speaking?”
He raised a mocking brow. “Why? So you'll like me better?”
“I probably would, since the bar is already so low to begin with,” I retorted.
Ryland gave me an acerbic look. “Just get on with it.”
I cleared my throat again. “Each guest gets one serving. If they ask for a little more, it's not a problem, but for extra portions, we'll have to ask them to return again when they're done with their food. There won't be enough to go around if everyone else wants double too.”
“What if there isn't any left by then?”
“That's the hard part,” I admitted. “We'll have to offer them something else that's available. And if we're out…we're out.” I toyed with the straps of my apron.
There were times when we had to turn away a mother and her kids, or an elderly person who’d come too late.
Whenever that happened, Jemima's granddaughter Bailey would be the first to head to Taco Bell across the street to buy some food back. It wasn't a perfect solution, but then the perfect solution probably didn't exist.
Ryland's expression was unreadable. “How often does that happen?”
“A quarter of the time, give or take,” I said matter-of-factly. “Don't screw this up, by the way. My attendance later depends on your performance.”
Ryland raised a brow at that. “You will attend, Allie cat, even if I have to carry you there myself.”
But the moment the queue opened, Ryland took on an entirely different persona.
For the next couple hours, he had on a smile that was so perfectly charming that it was either genuine, or he'd missed his calling as an actor. I saw more shy giggles and blushes than I had in an entire year.
There was a lull after the second hour, and I took the chance to head to the kitchens for a quick bite. Ryland came with me.
I regarded him in frank surprise as I stuffed my face quickly. “You're pretty good at this,” I said around a mouthful of pasta.
My face muscles were already cramped from the constant smiling, but Ryland looked as fresh as he had been in the morning.
“Part of my job is to meet people,” he shrugged, chewing his food leisurely. “I've had years of practice.”
“So you're just charming them like you do with your business partners?”
“More or less.”
I looked away. “Please don't say something like you treat everyone as equals.”
“What's wrong with that? Isn't that the ideal?”
“Yeah, but it's also unrealistic for…” I paused. “For someone like you.”
Ryland frowned at me. “Explain.”
I poked at my food with my fork. “It’s not often that someone from the top mingles with those at the bottom. No one ever admits that, but it’s true.”
“You're right,” Ryland surprised me by saying. “We like to stay where it's comfortable.” He put his plate aside, folded his arms, and regarded me solemnly. “I can't say I've never seen myself as above others. But for what it's worth, I've never once thought of you as lower than me.”
I sucked in my lips, feeling warmth creep up my neck. “At least you're honest.”
“I have an idea, Allie cat.” Ryland tilted his head, frowning at me slightly. “If you stop judging me from now on, I'll stop cutting you off for everything.”
“Everything?” I prodded.
“Except—”
“Deal. No takebacks.”
Then suddenly, without warning, that dimple appeared in Ryland's right cheek again as he grinned down at me.
I quickly turned back to my food and focused on choking it down.
The rest of the hour flew by, and by the time our shift was over, Ryland had already befriended several guests and even carried a baby. His charisma had nothing to do with his famous last name. People simply flocked to him.
“I've been coming here for two years,” I told him as we carried the empty trays back to the kitchen, “and I haven't spoken to half as many people as you.”
“Guess I’m more likable than you thought.” Ryland smirked as he reached over and lifted a stack of trays from my arms like it was nothing. “You should try being nicer, Allie cat. I heard it works.”
“Thanks,” I murmured to his back as he took the tray back to the kitchen.
Bailey sidled up to me with a cheeky grin. “Your man's pretty sweet. The ladies here are half in love with him already.”
“We're just friends,” I quickly said.
“Oh.” She frowned. “Chin up, cupcake. No matter how delicious he is, if he can't see what's in front of him, he doesn't deserve you.”
“Allie girl,” an elder guest with a shock of white hair called from his seat in the cafeteria. “Great catch on the young man.”
“Thanks, George, but we're really just friends.” I darted a look towards the kitchen to see if Ryland had overheard, but to my relief, he was in the middle of helping Jemima with her trays.
It was another hour until all the guests had been fed and we'd cleaned up the cafeteria and kitchen.
Just before Ryland and I readied to go, Jemima clasped Ryland's hands in hers, beaming up at him.
“You were such a wonderful help, dear. Will you be coming again soon?”
“Oh, he can't,” I quickly said. “Ryland has a really busy schedule.”
“Speaking of which, are you like a media person, or something?” Jonathan, a flannel-loving bear of a hipster, suddenly asked. “I think I've seen you on TV before, or on the internet. What was your last name again?”
Crap.
Ryland opened his mouth to answer, but I took his arm in a warning grip.
“You're mistaking him for someone else.” My wide smile nearly cracked my face. “Ryland's actually…” my gaze fell on a flyer for a dance academy tacked on the notice board, “a professional dancer.”
Ryland stared at me. If looks could kill, I'd have been drawn and quartered, then exhumed and quartered again.
But my bright smile didn't waver as I tightened my fingers on his arm.
Play along, I silently begged him.
“Yes,” Ryland finally said between clenched teeth, his eyes still narrowed on me. “I dance. Professionally.”
“What kind of dance?” Jemima asked in delight.
“Oh, you wouldn’t know,” I hurriedly said. “It’s highly exclusive.”
Only when the words left my mouth did I realize how they sounded.
Jemima's eyes went round. “Well,” she stammered. “We don't judge here.”
“I think that's totally awesome,” Bailey grinned. “Maybe during your spare weekends, you could come back with Allie.”
Jonathan, on the other hand, remained unconvinced. He had taken out his phone and was doing a google search.
“We'll think about it,” I rushed, “but right now we really have to go. See you soon, guys! Thanks for the hard work!”
I waved my goodbyes and took Ryland's arm and dragged him out of the cafeteria, power-walking down the sidewalk.
“Holy crap, we were this close to getting busted.” I turned back to look, half-expecting to see Jonathan racing after us.
“This was your idea,” Ryland reminded dryly, striding alongside me. “And apparently, I’m also a stripper. What the fuck, Allie cat? Just leave the talking to me next time. “
“It was the first thing that came to mind,” I said defensively.
His lips twisted. “Obviously.”
He steered me right at a turn in the path, taking me toward a familiar silver Porsche.
“So that was you,” I grinned. “For a second earlier, I was afraid you were going to park right outside.”
“I'm not a complete douchebag.” Ryland raised a brow. “You thought this morning would be a disaster, didn't you? Admit it. “
“Maybe a little,” I hedged. “But surprise, surprise, you were great.”
“A great catch, to be exact,” he remarked.
He'd overheard George and Bailey after all.
My cheeks heated. “Yeah, don't let it go to your head. They're just being nice.”
“Right back atcha, Allie cat. It's a compliment to be mistaken for my girlfriend.”
Aaand the heir was back.
Biting back a retort, I got into the car as Ryland took his place behind the wheel.
“Why a soup kitchen, by the way?” he asked as he started the engine. “You’re not the kind to interact with people.”
I shrugged a shoulder. “Just happened.”
It was places like these that kept Karin and I fed when we first came to New York, but that wasn't exactly conversation fodder.
“It’s more than that,” Ryland said casually as he buckled his seatbelt. “I was thinking about how you accused me of looking down on those people. Hit too close to home?”
I fidgeted my fingers in my lap, wanting to share, yet not daring to.
But then Ryland had also said that he’d never thought of me as below him.
I wanted to believe that.
“We used to go to soup kitchens, years ago,” I finally said.
Ryland went still at my revelation, and I kept my gaze firmly on the gear shift between us.
“We’d just arrived from San Juan. I didn’t know good we had it back there, and I guess I kind of overestimated myself. I didn’t realize it would be that hard in the city.”
My breath caught as Ryland reached out and took a lock of my hair, rubbing the filaments carefully between his finger and thumb.
It was his prompt for me to keep talking.
“I hated it at first,” I said quietly. “I thought I’d failed, like I’d fallen to the bottom rungs of society. I couldn’t even afford a meal for me and my sister, so what kind of a person did that make me?”
I plucked at the hem of my denim cut-offs. “Then I met the people there—the other guests. Karin made me do it. And I realized that they were the strongest people I’d ever met. Not the high flyers in the city, and not the other rich kids in San Juan. Them.”
“We met all kinds of people there,” I told him. “Vets who fought for their country, single mothers for fought for their children, even just regular people who fought for themselves. I started to think that it’d be nice if I could be like them.”
I shrugged self-consciously. “And that’s all there is, actually. Things got a little bit better for Karin and me, and I wanted to do more, but since I’m broke, I figured I’d give my time.”
Ryland studied me as he continued to play with my hair.
“All these years you were right under my nose,” he murmured, “and I didn't even know.”
I leaned my cheek on the sun-warmed leather seat, daring to look up at him. “Maybe we even passed each other on the street before, like in the movies.”
“Maybe.”
Ryland was quiet as he watched me, his expression inscrutable. But somehow I could guess at what he was thinking.
“You admire me, don’t you?” I teased. “You’re thinking that I’m stronger than you expected.”
“Imp,” he said, that lopsided smile appearing again.
Then he dropped my hair and straightened.
“I'll be increasing the donations to the local charity groups from my personal account and Wyatt Corp,” he said simply, “and I'll arrange for extra to be sent directly to the soup kitchens.”
My lips parted in shock at his words. “I…Thank you. That would mean so much to everyone. And to me.”
Ryland cocked an eyebrow at me. “So you won't take money from me, but you will accept it in the form of donations?”
I nodded wordlessly.
A slow smile spread across his face. “Interesting.”
I tucked my hair behind my ears self-consciously, buckling my seatbelt as Ryland shifted into Drive.
As he drove us back to the apartment, I found myself being lulled to sleep by the soft leather seat, the purr of the engine and the warmth of the afternoon sun shining through the windshield.
And in my light slumber, with all my guards down, I finally admitted to myself that maybe, just maybe I could come to like Ryland Wyatt.
When I woke again, we were just nearing the apartment.
“Just in time.” I yawned as I stretched my neck muscles.
Ryland stared at me for a beat before he snapped his attention back to the road and took us into the driveway of the apartments.
“So I’ll see you at the hotel tonight?” he asked as I got off at the main lobby.
“Yep.” I bit back a smile. “You earned it.”
“You bet I did,” Ryland muttered.
It was only when I got back upstairs and saw the clock that I realized something strange.
Earlier in the morning, it had taken the taxi less than fifteen minutes to get from the apartment to the soup kitchen.
This time, it had taken almost forty minutes for Ryland to take us back.
He had driven around the area in circles while I was sleeping.
My heart gave a little kick at that revelation.
What did that mean?
And more importantly, why did that make me feel…
Happy?