Page 15 of Running Risk

RYLEE: NOW

I’ve all but forgotten yesterday’s fall thanks to a new fantasy book I picked up, and I have barely left my bed.

Trish keeps coming to make sure I’m fed and to see a doctor.

After a few x-rays, they told me it’s only badly scraped and bruised.

I’ll be good as new if I stay off it for a few days and use crutches, if I need them, for a week after that.

After getting home, my nose has been buried in my Kindle.

I’ve always loved to read, and I haven’t been able to as much as I would like, so this is the perfect excuse to make up for lost time.

I’m immersed in the book when a commotion outside jolts my gaze from the book to the front door on the other side of my bedroom.

I put my Kindle down and pause, unsure of what to do.

The sound comes again, followed by a muffled voice I can barely make out.

“Hello?” I call out, as I lean over on my bed, trying to see the front door.

I groan. I hate getting up to pee, and the bathroom is only ten hops away.

The front door is farther. Trish knows to let herself in, but anyone else doesn’t.

I’m still in my solid gray matching cotton pajamas, but I have no energy to change.

The sound is louder this time, and I swing my legs off the bed.

Holding onto furniture, I hop my way through the house and wince each time it jostles my leg on impact.

When I finally reach the door, I yank it open, and Clayton stands in my bushes with to-go bags of food and appraises me.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

My jaw slackens. “Excuse me?”

“Why are you out of bed?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer before he says, “You need to lie down.” Concern is etched into the lines of his face as he steps over my plants and approaches me.

“What were you doing?”

“I was trying to find your spare key.”

I blink in surprise. “Why didn’t you just knock, or I don’t know, call me?”

Clayton releases a long exhale, but he steps forward and faces me. I meet his gaze as his caramel-colored eyes bore into mine. “I need to talk to you, but you should be resting. Not hopping around.”

I don’t have the energy for this. I want to read my book in the comfort of my bed, not standing on one foot.

I throw my arms in the air and hop away, but my leg gives out.

As I crash toward the back of the couch, large hands wrap around my waist. I turn to find Clayton’s face less than three inches away from mine.

His eyes never leave mine as his fingers sear their imprint into my body.

“Please?” Clayton says sincerely.

I blink at him in surprise. Clearing my throat, I straighten to my feet, leaning heavily against the couch. Clayton backs away a few steps, allowing me the space I need. I sigh. “Okay, but you only have five minutes. I have a book I want to get back to.”

He chuckles. “That’s fair.”

I turn and hop back to my room. He loops my arm above his shoulder as his other hand lays across my hip.

His warmth spreads through my body. The cotton of my pajamas isn’t thick enough to protect me from his touch.

The entire side of his body presses into me, and I peer at him.

He’s wearing a black T-shirt, jeans, and brown boots.

His hair is messy and damp, like he took a shower and toweled it dry before coming here, causing his small curls to stand out more.

His trimmed beard is what my eyes are fixed on.

Even though I’ve seen him a few times now, I still can’t get over how much older he looks—not only did he age naturally, but also his life aged him.

He’s always been serious, but now he looks like that was the first laugh he’s had in a long time.

“What?” he says without meeting my stare.

I shrug. We get to my bed, and he gently lifts my injured leg so I don’t have to do any of the lifting. I give him a thankful smile. “You’re different.”

He nods and leaves the room before returning with the to-go bags and two sodas from my refrigerator.

He pulls out a Five Guys cheeseburger and hands it to me along with the fries.

My face lights up. I absolutely love burgers, and the small smile on his lips tells me he remembers.

I peel open the foil, take a large bite, and moan. “Oh, my god.”

“That good?” he snickers as he sits at the foot of my bed and digs into his food.

After I finish my burger, I take a bite of a fry and say, “What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t look up, only takes another bite before saying, “I need to talk to you.”

I scoff. “Yeah. So you’ve said. What about?” I take a drink and wipe my hands with my napkin.

“I need your help.” He still doesn’t look at me. He’s fidgeting with the wrapper on his half-eaten burger.

“With what?” I cross my arms over my chest.

He stands and paces around the room. I go to say something, but then he strokes his fingers through his hair before wiping his palms on his thighs.

He still hasn’t looked at me, and it seems like he’s working through what to say in his head.

So I stay quiet. An unsteady feeling grows inside of me when I realize I know him almost better than I know anyone else.

I can identify his tells, and if I make him talk before he’s ready, he’ll have a panic attack. I relax into my pillow and wait.

He crosses my room as his gaze is laser-focused on each step he takes.

He’s a storming ball of energy, and I swear I can see scuff marks on my floor from his heavy footsteps when he turns to walk the other direction.

Every muscle in his body is tense, and I can’t stop myself from watching him.

After about his tenth pass, his blazing eyes pin me in place.

I shift in my bed, a little uncomfortable being scrutinized so hard.

“The business is in trouble.” His jaw is tight, and the words he says take me by total surprise.

It’s the business my dad started, and I know what a gut-wrenching feeling this must be for Clayton.

Him voicing it shows how much he’s struggling.

“I need a designer who will work with me and present possibilities to customers. The designer will talk to them since I’m not good at it, and I need a friendly face.

” His hands grab the back of his neck, then he lets them drop to his sides. “I need you, Rylee.”

My eyes widen in surprise. My dad was great with customers, so hiring someone to help in that aspect makes sense.

Clayton has always struggled talking to people, even those he’s comfortable around.

I didn’t want anything to do with the company growing up.

It wasn’t my passion, and my parents had no problem with that.

For him to even ask for my help is mind-blowing to me because he knows I don’t want to be around him.

But design is something I’m passionate about, and it’s hard for me not to consider it since I would never want the business to go under.

The big problem is that I wouldn’t only be designing.

I’d be doing it with Clayton, and I’m not sure I can do that .

“I don’t need a job,” I blurt. I was supposed to start a new project for new content, but I can’t until my knee heals.

So I will have to make different kinds of videos and reels for Instagram and YouTube using content I have from projects I’ve already done until I can start on my next thing. “Why would I come work for you?”

He nods, then looks at my knee. “You know how much the company means to me.” He rakes his finger through his hair. “I can’t let it go under.”

I jerk back. “It can’t be that bad,” I say more for myself than him, because I can’t accept any possibility of that statement being close to the truth. I watched my dad grow the business, saw how much he put his blood, sweat, and tears into every aspect of it. I refuse to see it fail.

Clayton pulls out folded papers from his back pocket. His fingers cling to them like he refuses to let go. His face fills with sorrow, and the pit of my stomach deepens.

I sit up on the bed. “What are those?”

His fingers grip the documents tighter, the papers crinkling in his tight grasp as his eyebrows draw closer together. “The profit-loss statements going back to when I first bought the business until now.”

I instinctively reach toward them, even though he’s several feet away.

He sighs, looking down at the paperwork.

“Let me see how bad it is,” I say, firmly.

He audibly exhales before laying the papers in my hand.

I snatch them so he can’t change his mind and scan them.

It shows the steady decline of profits, and while he isn’t completely in the red—he isn’t necessarily making money either.

At this rate, he will have to take out a loan in order to pay his employees and keep the doors open very soon.

My eyes trail up to find him leaning against my dresser with his head down. His hands grip my dresser like it’s the only thing keeping him standing while he waits for me to finish. “This isn’t good.”

He shakes his head.

“And you’re sure having a designer and someone to talk to customers will be the thing to turn everything around?”

He slowly nods. “You know me.” His sad eyes finally look at me. “I keep getting tongue-tied and can’t accurately show the clients possibilities.”

“So you want me temporarily?” If it’s for a short time, then maybe it won’t be that bad, and I can make sure my dad’s life's work won’t be for nothing.

He nods.

“I need more than a nod. What are your expectations?” I fire off the first question. “Have you talked to my dad? I’m sure he could help talk to customers. Why haven’t you hired someone else?” My eyes aren’t even focusing on anything while my brain continues to think of different scenarios.

He exhales like this is taking more energy than he realized it would.

“Your dad has helped me enough, and I need to figure out a solution that doesn’t involve dragging him back into the business he’s supposed to be retired from.

After seeing your house and having a lot of rough interviews today, I realized how perfect you would be.

I have a few new clients I need to secure, and I’m not confident I can do so without help.

” He rubs the back of his neck. “Ry, I need your help for a month, and I’ll keep interviewing people to find someone to take over. ”

I groan as my head thumps against my headboard, looking at the ceiling.

He stays quiet while I think. I’m not going to be able to demo anything right now, and I can always make videos of past projects anytime.

I can’t be on my feet painting or on my knees laying tile.

It would be nice to get paid to sit and design projects that I won’t be doing.

The big problem is, I’ll have to work closely with him , and that thought alone is an uneasy feeling.

I don’t think I can trust him, let alone work with him every weekday.

But if there’s one thing that’s my weakness .

. . it would be him. I take a breath and look at him standing there, looking helpless in my bedroom.

His hands are in fists now while his eyes scan me, and all I can see is the hope staring back at me.

One thing is for sure, no matter how hurt I still am, I don’t think I could ever truly say no to this man.

“Fine,” I groan. “But I’m not cheap.”

His mouth turns into a smirk as he huffs out a breath. “You never have been.”