Foura.m.wasbetterthan three. At four, Ryder wouldn’t have to force his eyes to stay closed until a respectable time to wake. Without even opening the five unread new texts and twelve emails, he knew at least one of the waiting texts would be from Steve, his new second in command. Brilliant, but the poor guy was terrified of making a mistake.
He tossed his phone to the foot of the bed and flipped the sheet off. If it was this hot in June already, Phoenix was going to be a hundred twenty by July.
Years ago, he’d learned to not show up to the office too early, or Gene would consider it a perfect time to connect, meaning Gene would regale him with tales of the good old days while Ryder kept his knee from vibrating while imagining his inbox growing bigger by the minute. The iconic shirtless construction worker gulping a refreshing diet soda. The bikini girls squirting gooey white sunscreen over each other’s tan legs on the back of the boat. Early in his own career, Ryder had fallen into that same trap of leading with “sex sells,” only to discover that tactic was more clickbait than a sustainable return on investment.
He eased open the closet door and snagged a pair of shorts and sleeveless workout shirt. As soon as he was dressed, he laid out a suit and coordinating rest of the getup. Smooth black fabric, contrasting attention grabbing blue in a pleasing color, with a tie that blended but mesmerized. A sweat-trap of an outfit if he had to leave the crisp air conditioning of the office and venture into the heat.
Minty paste coated his tongue, his teeth as he brushed circles over each tooth, his mouth filling more with suds with each motion. The lights over the mirror shined excessively bright this morning and did nothing to help the gray circles setting in under his eyes. Each of the sprouting gray hairs glinted in the stark light. Only thirty-three, and his sideburns were ready to star in a prostate drug ad.
His feet tapped the steps rhythmically as he dashed down toward coffee and hydration. Maybe a protein bar, but his stomach didn’t wake as early as the rest of him. In the dim light of the hall, his phone glowed in his face. He opened his texts first. Emails could wait until his coffee kicked in.
One of the new guys was already off on the go-getter foot, still working at nine at night and messaging Ryder with a request to meet up the next morning to discuss his genius new idea. Indeed, a sucker was hired every minute.
He scrolled past that one, not wanting to wake the poor kid just yet.
The next down was from the same area code as Foothills. Huh. As the few people who texted him from Foothills were already in his contact list, he paused before opening. Probably a scam.
Hey Ryder, it’s Zoe.
His breath froze in his throat. He was absolutely not expecting a follow up. He kept reading.
Evan floated your idea to Jagger and he’s interested. He’ll be in town this weekend, if you’re going to be in the area, you can swing by sometime.
His hand stilled as he read and re-read the message. Jagger. Networking.
He filled his cheeks with a puff of air. Okay. That was nice of her to help him out. He leaned against the kitchen counter, the phone heavy in his hand.
Or maybe she was looking for an excuse to see him again, as he’d been desperately trying to find a reason to come up for a weekend.
Finally, he texted back.Hey, Zoe. That’s fantastic, thanks for thinking of me. I’ll be up this weekend.An opportunity to recruit a Super Bowl champion quarterback was about the best excuse to get a weekend off that he’d ever had.
Maybe have more of that best sex he’d ever had, too.
Inamuchlesshumiliating rental car than the pumpkin he’d wound up with for the wedding, Ryder eased into Zoe’s driveway. Why was he so nervous? It’s not like this was a date.
The place was adorable, in true Foothills style. Not the uppity style of his mother and her friends, nor the alpine style of a lot of the newer neighborhoods, but more of a simple cabin a logger might have built in the middle of the last century. A few upgrades in the details, a half sunburst window in the wooden front door, a porch swing with fluffy pillows.
No garage, so it must be a pain in the ass in the snow, but there wasn’t a speck of dust on Zoe’s shiny truck.
Always dress the part. Had this been a meet-and-greet in any other town, he’d have gone for a blazer and leather shoes to spruce up the white t-shirt and jeans. For Foothills, he’d ditched the blazer and went with high-end, functional athletic shoes.
No tie to adjust—a nervous habit he’d humiliatingly adopted early in his career and had since transformed the habit into a “casual guy” sort of gesture—he stuffed his hands in his pockets to look casual and sauntered toward the front door. The wooden planks of the covered porch creaked under his feet—sturdy, just noisy from age. As he scuffed his feet on the football-themed doormat, he indulged in a quick listen as he lifted his hand to knock.
The shared laughter inside should have eased his anxiety, but people didn’t tend to laugh like that when he was involved in the conversation. Not naturally, anyway. It was usually that canned laugh, genuine on the outside, the glee of business people who knew how to party hard and woo everyone in the room with a joke, but those shared laughs were more about networking than bonding.
He finally tapped on the door.
“Coming,” Zoe’s voice chimed, her feet tapping the ground in a light dash toward the door.
The door swung open, and damn, she looked… radiant. In her element. Not a trace of makeup, her hair a little frizzy but still those beachy waves. And that smile, cozy and enticing. “Hey, you.”
Should he reach out? Hug? Shake hands? A kiss would be nice, but she’d invited him up here for business, not a date.
Forgoing any sort of awkward physical greeting, he fell into an easy smile and stuffed his hands back in his pockets. “Hey, Zoe. Good to see you.”
“You caught your flight okay?”
His cheeks flamed pink. “Yeah. I, uh… for the record, I’ve only missed three flights in my lifetime, well, three in which I had no one but myself to blame.”
