hissed, her breath hot against my neck. “Ronan, no. What the hell are we doing? Ronan, no.”
The secretary behind the massive lobby desk quickly rose from her chair. I raised a hand to her as I directed a protesting Delaney toward the boardroom down the hallway to the right.
“Don’t bother, love,” I said. “We know the way.”
“The way to what?” Delaney whispered in a panic. “Ronan, the way to what?”
I ignored her, save a playful pat on her head and a laugh like we were sharing a fun inside joke as the secretary’s eyes followed us with mounting concern.
“Sir?” she called after me, voice high with the strain of disobeyed rules. “Sir? I’m not sure you should—”
I stopped suddenly at the entry to the hallway and looked back at the secretary. I was struggling to keep Delaney from bolting like a startled colt.
“Love, if you just must call security,” I said, giving her a winning smile, “I would greatly appreciate if you did it slowly.”
The secretary shook her head. “Sir?”
I snapped with a sudden idea and pointed at her merrily. “I’ll add a diamond per minute you manage to delay,” I told her.
Her perfectly manicured eyebrows knitted together as she frowned. “Sir?”
I frowned right back at her. “Girls like Tiffany tennis bracelets, do they not?”
The secretary hesitated, chewed at her bottom lip, and then discreetly sank back into her desk chair, nearly disappearing behind the big slab of dark grey marble.
“Sir,” I heard from behind the desk, and this time it was not phrased as a question.
I grinned down at Delaney and patted her roughly on the back.
“Shall we?” I said in a singsong, carefree voice.
Delaney’s jaw tightened as she glared up at me. “We shan’t.”
I frowned as I pushed her forward toward the frosted glass door at the end of the hallway marking the entry to the boardroom.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not a word,” I told her.
“I’m pretty fucking sure it is,” she hissed.
“I think you’re wrong, my dear.”
Delaney was too busy sending daggers up at me to notice that we were half a step away from the door. It seemed that I’d pissed her off so terribly, she couldn’t even see me opening the door for her.
“Well, I think you’re out of your goddamn mind and there is no way in fucking hell that I am stepping one goddamn step inside—”
“Good morning, gentlemen!” I sang, stepping grandly into the boardroom.
“It’s afternoon,” Delaney whispered behind me, her face white as a sheet as all twelve pasty-faced board members turned to stare at us.
“Is it?” I asked, shifting my toe to block the door Delaney tried to wrench back open to escape.
Mr Killinger stood from his chair with an annoyed sigh, ready like a trump card as he put his hands flat on the polished boardroom table.
He wearily pulled off his glasses and said, “Ronan—”
“It’s Mr O’Hara,” I snapped, a grin on my face, fire in my eyes. “If you don’t mind, Ol’ Stevie Boy.”
Mr Killinger stared at me in shock like a kicked dog. I smiled brightly.
“I’ll be needing my chair,” I said, nodding to the seat he stood in front of at the head of the boardroom table, hands clasped behind my back.
Mr Killinger licked his lips, an attempt to muzzle himself as best he could; I knew how he felt about me, despite him not articulating it at the moment: he hated me. And I didn’t give a fuck.
Because it was no longer about me. It was about Delaney. This was for her.
Mr Killinger finally nodded and slinked away from the head of the table with a tucked chin. “Of course, Mr O’Hara.”
I rubbed my hands together. “Wonderful.”
I plopped into the emptied chair and addressed my board unlike ever before, as their CEO.
“Gentlemen,” I said, commanding their confused attention. “I’ve interrupted your little tea party today to bring you the best business consultant in all of the United States of America.”
I gestured to Delaney, who was staring at me with wide eyes, her back pressed firmly against the frosted door like she could somehow sink through solid glass if she pushed hard enough. She hadn’t combed her hair, her lips were still stained with the raspberries I hand-fed her during brunch, and her gaze hadn’t quite sharpened from the effects of the two bottles of champagne we shared, but to me she looked perfect.
“This, gentlemen, is Delaney Evans, and she has more brilliancy in her delicious pinkie finger than the lot of you totalled together.”
Mr Killinger leaned