The Hookup Handbook(8)

Chapter Four


Sienna



Fourteen seconds.

From the moment I step through the door of Ryder’s apartment, that’s all the time it takes for me to book it to my room, ditch these work clothes for pajamas, and flop onto my bed. Fourteen freaking seconds. Somebody call the Guinness Book of World Records, because whatever the land speed record is, I think I just shattered it.

Spread out like a starfish across the bed, I release a long, relieved breath, my body sinking into the mattress. I haven’t been this tired for as long as I can remember. Data entry might not be the most challenging work in the world, but goodness does it zap the life right out of you.

My college years brought me my fair share of coffee-fueled all-nighters, but they never left me half as exhausted as my day of sharing an office with Case did. I remember Ryder’s comment on our drive to work that first morning about how “Case is fuckin’ awesome.” After just a few days of knowing him, I have a long list of words I’d use to describe my new boss. “Fuckin’ awesome” isn’t anywhere on that list.

Just as I let my eyes slip closed, there’s a knock at my door, followed by a muted voice calling, “Is it safe to come in?”

I chuckle, remembering all the times Ryder used to ask that when we were growing up. Even when I said yes, he would always walk into my bedroom with one hand over his eyes, just in case.

“Yup, you’re good, Ryd.”

I prop myself up onto my elbows in time to watch Ryder wander in with a hand over his eyes. He’s changed into comfy clothes too. Like brother, like sister.

“Coast is clear, I promise,” I say, and he peels the hand off his eyes, a smile making his mouth twitch.

“I’m thinking about ordering a pizza. You want in?”

“I haven’t been grocery shopping yet, so I guess I should probably order something.”

“I’ve got leftovers of the chicken I made last night, if you’d rather have that. I just thought it’d be fun to celebrate your first week of work.”

“You actually cooked?” I gasp. I went out with Allison last night, leaving Ryder to fend for himself. “The king of takeout knows how to work an oven? Stop the presses. Call Channel Five.”

“Hey, the king of takeout stepped down from the throne a long time ago,” Ryder says defensively. “I’ve got a figure to maintain. My job kinda depends on it.”

“Makes sense.” I shrug. “Sometimes I forget you’re a full-fledged adult now.”

He laughs in agreement. “That makes two of us. But you’ve graduated now, which means we’ve got two full-fledged adults in this apartment.”

“I’m pretty sure adulthood doesn’t kick in until I get my first paycheck,” I tease, folding my arms over my chest.

“Fair. In that case, pizza’s on me. You still like veggie and sausage?”

I smile and give him a quick nod, impressed that he remembers my topping preferences.

“Cool. I’ll call it in. They usually deliver within the hour.”

Ryder disappears from the doorway and I reach for my phone. I had plans to finish unpacking tonight, but a much more important project has come up for this evening—digging through Case’s social media. A quick search of his name pulls up his profiles in the blink of an eye, but every one I click on is set to private.

Damn it. I guess if you work in this business, you have to keep your personal life under wraps.

I opt for an image search instead and quite a few pictures of him surface, mostly shots of him at a gala for a nonprofit organization in town. Huh. A male escort with a philanthropic side. I never would have known. Then again, I’ll bet there’s a lot about him that I don’t know. He’s a puzzle I plan to spend the summer solving, piece by piece. I have nothing better to do, cooped up with him inside an office eight hours a day.

I have to admit, as exhausting as this man may be, there’s something about him that intrigues me. Maybe it’s the way he commands the attention of anyone in the room, myself included. Or maybe it’s the fact that this whole million-dollar company rests entirely between his legs.

Swiping through gala pictures, I zoom in on each one. Could any of these women he’s standing with be his date? An old girlfriend, perhaps? Or do escorts hire other escorts to go to events like this?

My phone buzzes in my hand with a text from Allison, asking me what I’m doing.

What am I doing? Why am I stalking my boss looking for clues about his romantic life? Why do I even care?

Boss or not, he’s not even my type. I’ve always dated nice guys, brainy guys, the occasional jock here and there. Case isn’t any of those things.

I’m sure he’s at least kind of smart—it takes some brains to run such a successful business. But nice? Not by a long shot. And as for being a jock, somehow I think he may have built those bulging biceps and strong quads in the bedroom rather than the weight room.

Judging by my first impressions, he’s more of the manwhore-asshole type. Well, maybe it’s not fair to call him a manwhore. According to Ryder, the man’s practically a monk unless he’s doing business. But if he can afford a mansion like that, he has to be doing business a whole lot. And by business, I mean boinking—a lot.

By the way he talked to me today, he obviously knows exactly how good he is at his job. The man probably thinks he’s God’s gift to women. And that gets on every single one of my nerves.