Page 27 of Bone Deep
She opens the bottom drawer of her desk, pulls out a hanger, and slides the jacket onto it with practiced efficiency.
“I’m here when you’re here, Mr. Stark,” she says, walking back to open my office door, and gestures inside.
I step through and she follows, crossing the room to the wardrobe closet tucked into the corner. The jacket disappears onto the rack inside. She turns back to me, holding my bag in both hands.
“I asked around about your schedule,” she continues. “In before six. Out no earlier than eight. Your hours are my hours.”
I lean back against the edge of my desk. “You don’t need to do that,” I say. “You also don’t need to take my coat and bag. This isn’t the nineteen hundreds. It feels a little—”
“Oh, trust me,” she cuts in smoothly. “I’m no one’s footstool.” She sets my bag neatly beside my desk. “This isn’t me waiting on you,” she continues. “This is about billable hours. The faster your butt gets in that chair, the faster you can get to work.”
I fold my arms. “We’re talking about a sixty-second task here.”
Dita cocks a brow at me. “Minutes add up.” Then she points to my chair. “Okay. Butt meet seat. You have a busy day, Mr. Stark.”
A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. I push off the desk and walk toward my chair. “Please, call meSpencer,” I say as I sit. “That is non-negotiable.”
She smiles. “See? Already kicking ass.”
I settle into the chair.
“Okay,” she says. “Your first appointment is at nine. There’s only a first name listed. Tyler.”
“Yes. That’s a standing appointment,” I advise her. “And Dita?”
“Yes, Mr. Stark? Sorry, I mean, Spencer?”
“Tyler is never to be rescheduled. Unless he requests it himself. Even then, I need to know why,” I say with a serious tone. I need her to know this is important.
Dita opens her phone—to her Notes app, I presume.
“Is he a VIP?”
“You could say that.”
She taps keys on her phone then looks up at me and says, “Noted.”
I lean back in my chair, impressed. Again. “Thank you, Dita.”
“You’re welcome.” She opens the door slightly. “Do you need anything else?”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk. “Yes, actually.”
She waits, patient.
I meet her eyes and give her the sincerest look I’m capable of. “Just—don’t quit.”
She laughs. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Seven
I Don’t Want to Wait
Ryan
I shoulder open the steel door, the plastic tub of pastel macarons pressed against my ribs. The locker room smells exactly as you’d expect. The team headquarter and training compounds facilities are much worse than the game day stadium.
I nod to a couple of the offensive linemen and fist-bump Beau, Marquis, and Nate—my three best friends on the team. Marquis flashes his easy grin. Nate, the blondest of himbos, pumps his brows at the container in my hands.
