บท 7: Screwed

"Thanks."

The word rolled right off the tip of her tongue much too easily for someone who'd had to wrestle it into existence. Fine. Yes. Sure, he'd texted her the location where she'd found Holly passed out cold, like a high schooler on their maiden shot of grappa. And okay, maybe she owed him one. But right now, there was too much on her mind—too many questions she needed real answers to.

"Drive safe," Ryan said, lifting his head after ducking to belt Holly in place.

As quickly as he'd mouthed those words, he was gone. Correction: She was gone. Because why should she stick around for much longer and risk a sequel to the embarrassment he'd already served her tonight?

There was no logical explanation for it, but a nagging voice somewhere in the back of her mind warned her not to dig into why he'd even been at the bar in the first place. It'd only push his buttons, and the last thing she wanted was to go there.

Turning on the ignition, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Holly would explain everything once she was back to herself. Savannah settled internally, though she was far from feeling convinced. By the time Holly was sober enough to talk, a good tenth of the night's events would have completely wiped from her memory.

With a slight shake of her head, Savannah eased out of the crammed parking lot.

She caught it then, in her rearview mirror: his worried stance.

The way one hand rested sharply on his hip while the other covered his mouth almost made him look... sympathetic. Remorseful, even.

Savannah had to physically hold herself back from laughing—more like snorting. There was no way in hell Ryan had it in him to feel apologetic about anything. The only thing he was likely regretting was not reminding her about the blueprint for the ad project.

Which he needn't worry about because every shred of her desire for sleep was certainly lost now. She'd get it to him by morning, as promised.

But first, Holly. She needed to get her home in one piece.

xxxx

Talk about having the worst day of her life. Savannah could well tick off all the boxes: a splitting headache that felt like a sharp tool drilling its way through the center of her skull? Check. Creative block threatening to ruin her career? Double check. And to top it off, Ryan's disapproving stares through the glass wall made her headache ten times worse.

This was the part she hated most about agreeing to work with him on the ad: the complete and utter lack of privacy.

Working as teammates meant being under Ryan's scrutinizing gaze twenty-four-seven, with his office now directly opposite hers. The boss had got to sit this one out.

Her fingers pressed to her temples, Savannah sat up straight, stiff from the long hours spent hunched over. She didn't need him seeing her like this—on the verge of losing her mind while trying to figure out the perfect pitch for the stupid ad video. At this point, a half-baked sketch would do. Anything but the empty monitor screen glaring back at her. She let out a frustrated groan, not paying enough attention, until someone slapped a stack of A4 papers onto her desk.

Her eyes shot up at once.

"Go on. Take a look and let me know what you think," Ryan said, casually sliding into the seat next to her desk.

Savannah side-eyed him for a solid minute, narrowing her gaze in a bid to figure out what he wasn't saying. Something about his dominant tone just now made her feel…some way. Reluctantly, she picked up the material, her brows furrowing harder the more she read into its content.

"Well…?" Ryan pushed slightly out of his chair, leaning toward her. "Is it any good?"

Though his question sounded like he was seeking approval, Savannah knew better than to fall for it. Even if she'd wanted to believe that was remotely possible, his proud smirk that followed right after shot that thought down faster than light.

"I didn't ask for this." Savannah shoved the papers back onto her desk, then folded her arms.

"I know, but is it something you can use or not?" Ryan asked, raising an eyebrow. "We don't have all year to draft something as basic as the blueprint."

Savannah shrugged. "Thanks, but I still don't need it," she said.

It was a little hard to admit, but deep down, Savannah knew the real reason behind her frustration. Ryan was good at this. For someone who wasn't exactly a writing expert, what he had put together wasn't half bad. It was honestly better than what she had shown Matthew the last time she'd gone over there to make her case. No wonder he had brushed her off.

She could already see herself taking the material Ryan had brought and polishing it into something that actually worked.

But why? Why was he doing this? And no, it had nothing to do with him suddenly turning a new leaf. Her gut told her otherwise. He was doing this for absolutely no reason at all other than to make her feel small.

"Fine then. Show me what you've got," Ryan said flatly.

Savannah's fingers twitched at her sides. She couldn't bring herself to admit the truth, and she sure as hell wasn't about to give him something to gloat about. "I will—once I'm done touching it up," she said.

"All right. If you say so." Ryan stood abruptly, scooping up the papers. "I figured it might come in handy, but if you say you don't need it, fine by me. Guess we'll find out what boss man wants at the ten o'clock meeting."

Crap. The ten o'clock meeting! Savannah froze in place. How had she completely forgotten about that? She resisted the urge to face-palm right there.

And now Ryan was walking away, taking the manuscript with him. Of course, because she'd been an ungrateful idiot. That's why.

Her pulse quickened, panic swelling up in her chest. What if Matthew asked to see what she'd come up with so far? What was she going to tell him?

On God, she was so screwed.