are we now, Ms Evans?”
Delaney
He must have known that I was going to barrel out of there the second I recognised his voice, because I’d barely whipped my head around and he was already kicking shut the office door with the heel of his loafer. I was too pissed at the time to really let it sink in, the odd fact that Ronan was not only wearing a loafer, but a trim dark blue suit, a fully buttoned white shirt with a narrow collar, and a simple tie that I would have put money on that Benson had to tie for him. I was also too pissed to see that damn, did he look good, because there was only one thought screaming through my mind: get the hell out of here, get the hell out of here, get the hell out of here.
Ronan O’Hara was a fool if he thought a plywood door and he alone were going to keep me in place. He should have brought heavy chains and a sedative if he was really serious.
“Woah, woah, woah,” Ronan called as I shoved my way past him. “Easy!”
“Easy my ass!” I shouted as I reached for the door handle, only to have Ronan twist me back around toward him.
I stumbled into his arms, only to shove myself back the moment I got my footing in those goddamn office-appropriate kitten heels.
“Wait, wait, just wait,” Ronan hissed as he jumped in between me and the door. “Just wait, okay?”
“Move,” was the only warning I gave before pushing him aside.
I managed to get the door open just enough to see a hallway of heads with quizzical faces popping out from offices before Ronan’s palm smacked flat against the door and the handle slipped from my hand, which was still slick from pre-interview nerves. Ha! Joke’s on me!
Ronan and I both growled in equal parts frustration and exertion as we tried to gain the upper hand on the door handle that led (blissfully) out of that god forsaken office.
“Had to have one last joke, huh?” I said loudly through gritted teeth. “Huh? Had to poke the bear in the tutu one last time, eh?”
“Bear in a tutu?” Ronan replied, his eyes flashing to mine. “Do you really think that hillbilly speech is appropriate in an interview?”
Ronan grunted when I elbowed him in the ribs. I lost my momentary advantage when he went for the low blow and stepped on my toe. We both cursed the other as I tried to wrench the door open and he leaned his full weight against it to stop me.
“You can stop your idiot ruse,” I said as my hair fell in my face and sweat beaded on my brow. “We both know this was never a goddamn interview.”
Ronan’s stupid loafers were slipping on the carpet as he struggled to keep the door closed. He kept having to scramble back up, only to slide down again. If I wasn’t so angry, I might have laughed.
“Another negative mark, Ms Evans,” he replied through panting breaths. “Swearing during an interview is generally frowned upon.”
I let go of the door handle. Ronan slid to the floor.
“This isn’t an interview!” I screamed, shoving the butts of my heels against his chest.
“Assaulting your interviewer,” Ronan said as he rubbed the back of his head and massaged his chest. “Ms Evans, are you really that insane?”
“Ah!” I bellowed and lunged again for the door handle. “Let me out, you ass—”
A timid little knock on the other side of the door interrupted me, and Ronan and I both stopped to hear a little voice ask, “Mr O’Hara?”
“Yes, Cynthia?” Ronan replied, calmly dragging a hand through his tousled auburn hair.
I mouthed to him, “As if you know her name.”
He grinned and mouthed back, “Of course I know her name.”
“Um, Mr O’Hara,” the receptionist said from outside in the hallway. “Is, um, is everything alright in there?”
Ronan and I, dishevelled and sweating, him with a popped button and me with a run in my hose, stared at each other as we did our best to silence our panting. As it turned out, neither doing a shit ton of cocaine and drinking all day with strippers nor living in front of a computer and surviving on ramen and discounted (read: past their date) power drinks resulted in anything near healthy fitness levels.
“Cynthia, do you have the number for the American consulate?” Ronan asked.
I punched him when he laughed at the way my eyes widened in concern.
“Ow!”
“Sir?” Cynthia asked,