He kept staring at his phone and waved his hand in the air dismissively. The hell? No hello? Not even a grunt of acknowledgement? Ryan was sporting the Coors Light blue mountain equivalent of a first impression: ice cold.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. Fifteen minutes late. Jack always emphasized the importance of being on time with this job. As if to hammer in the point, he stuck his head out of the office and bellowed, “Ryan? In here. Now.”
Ryan shoved a hand through his disheveled dirty blond hair and strode past me, still staring at his phone. He slammed the door shut once he got inside his dad’s office.
Shouts erupted from Jack’s office a few seconds later, both men talking over each other. I couldn’t make out much, but I clearly heard the younger DeShane say, “I don’t want to work register with that chick. Put me in furniture or printers.” My heart stuttered. Not that I made everything about me, but I was pretty sure he was talking about me, since I was the only other worker at Office Jax at the moment. And now he was calling me some chick? God, get out of the nineties, asshat. If we were sticking to the throwback theme, at least call me Princess Consuela Banana Hammock.
An eerie silence cut through their conversation like someone had pressed pause. A few seconds later Ryan ripped open the door and stalked toward the back, green shirt in hand.
Without even looking at me, he grumbled, “Morning.”
I stretched my neck side to side and took a measured breath, biting back any sarcastic remark that loomed in the back of my throat. He was probably just having a bad day, recovering from a rough night. I should cut him some slack.
Jack popped his head out of his office. “Jules, can you help Ryan move freight in back? I’ll watch the register.”
I nodded and reached for the soda I’d stashed under the counter at the beginning of my shift. Guzzling down half the bottle, I willed the caffeine to hit my bloodstream in time to carry paper across the store.
As I put the bottle under the register, Ryan came back to the service counter wearing his Office Jax shirt, which actually looked good on his tanned skin. Damn him. Seriously, who could pull off chartreuse? He glanced at my feet, crossed his arms over his chest, and huffed out a dramatic sigh, especially for a guy in his twenties. “We’re wasting time. Hurry the hell up, princess.”
For a few moments, all I could do was stare. My brain must have been malfunctioning; no way someone I didn’t even know just insulted me with sexist remarks.
I looked at him, hoping I was wrong. He stared back—I couldn’t even say it was a stare, more like a scowl. Nope, all my synapses were firing. He’d definitely called me a princess.
Hell to the freakin’ no. My arms are full, buddy. No unloading your baggage on me.
My body finally caught up to my brain, and I put my hand on my hip and bit down on my cheek hard enough to draw blood. Who did he think he was, coming in here and bossing me around like he was the CEO? He pivoted and strode to the back, pushing through the swinging black doors. I stared daggers at his profile as I made sure to take my sweet time walking to the freight area.
My new goal for today was to put this jerk in his place. Jack may have told me to keep everyone out of the hospital, but I would make sure to give Ryan his money’s worth in the attitude department today. He wanted to start off on the wrong foot? Ryan DeShane messed with the wrong chick.
Chapter Four
Ryan
Jules’s heels click-clacked behind me as we made our way to freight. She looked just like royalty, all blond hair, big blue eyes, and manicured nails. She had enough ice on her one ear to flag down nearby planes. Even her name was princessy. Jules. Slap a pink frilly dress on her and she’d be the real-life version of Princess Peach. I chuckled to myself. Peach was the perfect name to describe this chick. Even if the Office Jax uniform downplayed her looks, I had a hunch she was just like my ex-girlfriend, Lex—high maintenance and impossible to please.
Peach’s glare lasered into my back as I marched to the storeroom. I didn’t need to look in her direction to know I’d be met with pouty lips and narrowed eyes that had a little too much eyeliner for my taste. Seemed like I elicited that reaction a lot from women the past few weeks.
Stopping at a palette of printer paper, I turned to Peach. “Jack says we’re having a sale on Kodak paper this week, so we’ll need to fill an endcap. You gonna be okay carrying paper in those?” I pointed down to her ridiculously high heels. Who wore heels when they were going to be on their feet for hours? Completely impractical. Hot as hell, definitely my type, and a big flashing neon light labeled don’t even go there again.
Peach cleared her throat, and I turned my gaze toward her.