My Riley

Chapter Eleven — Vincent

Tuesday.

Two o’clock.

I knew Riley would be here exactly on time.

He was always on time.

Actually, calling him punctual was an understatement. Riley treated schedules like contracts. If we agreed on two o’clock, he was here at two o’clock. Not two minutes after. Not five minutes before unless there was a reason.

That was one of the things I had come to appreciate about him.

So when my secretary called me at exactly two and told me Riley had arrived, I wasn’t surprised.

“I’m still in the meeting,” I told her. “Have him wait. I’ll come for him when I’m finished.”

“Of course, sir.”

The virtual meeting was supposed to last another fifteen minutes.

It lasted twenty-seven.

By the time I finally closed my laptop, I was already irritated.

Not because of Riley.

The meeting itself had been frustrating.

I had spent nearly half an hour listening to three executives argue over something that should have taken five minutes to settle.

I leaned back in my chair and rubbed the bridge of my nose.

Then I remembered Riley was waiting.

Normally, I would call my secretary and tell her to send him in.

But for some reason, I didn’t.

I stood.

I walked out of my office myself.

And that was when I saw them.

Riley was sitting near the reception area, talking to my secretary.

Laughing.

I stopped.

Not visibly.

At least, I hoped not.

But something inside me stopped.

I had never seen Riley laugh like that.

Not with me.

With me, Riley was always composed.

Professional.

“Mr. Stanley, the samples are ready.”

“Mr. Stanley, I reviewed the quotation.”

“Mr. Stanley, I think we should reconsider this material.”

Always Mr. Stanley.

Always that careful distance.

But now?

He was sitting there smiling.

Actually smiling.

His long hair had fallen over one shoulder, and my secretary was standing beside him, saying something that clearly amused him.

Then she reached out and touched his hair.

Just casually.

Like she had done it before.

Like it was normal.

My jaw tightened.

Why were they so comfortable with each other?

How were they this close?

I had no idea.

I had worked with Riley for months, and I had never seen him behave like that around me.

Then again, I had never touched his hair.

I hadn’t even considered it.

That wasn’t the point.

I frowned.

What was the point?

I didn’t know.

I only knew I didn’t like what I was seeing.

Not at all.

My secretary noticed me first.

Her smile disappeared immediately.

“Mr. Stanley.”

Riley turned.

The smile was still on his face.

And somehow that irritated me even more.

“Mr. Stanley,” he said.

I looked at him.

Then at my secretary.

Then back at him.

“Riley.”

His expression softened slightly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize your meeting was still going on.”

“It is finished.”

I glanced at my secretary.

“Send the rest of the calls to my assistant.”

She nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

I turned.

“Come.”

Riley picked up his folder and followed me.

I didn’t say anything.

Neither did he.

The silence followed us all the way to my office.

I opened the door.

Riley entered.

I closed it behind him.

He sat across from me, placed his folder neatly on the table, and opened it.

Professional.

Composed.

As if I hadn’t just seen him laughing with my secretary.

“We’ve made progress with the executive floor,” he began. “The furniture for the west wing has arrived, but there is a slight delay with the lighting fixtures.”

I nodded.

“Why?”

“Customs clearance. The shipment is already at the port, but we’re waiting for the final release.”

“How long?”

“I’m expecting three to five days.”

“That’s too long.”

“I know.”

His voice remained calm.

“I’ve already spoken with the supplier. If the delay continues beyond three days, we’ll use the alternative shipment we have available.”

I looked at him.

“You already have an alternative?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t I know about it?”

“Because I didn’t think it was necessary to involve you yet.”

I stared at him.

There it was again.

That calm confidence.

That irritatingly reasonable explanation.

I wanted to argue.

I wanted to find something wrong with what he was saying.

Anything.

But there was nothing.

Riley had thought ahead.

Again.

He continued explaining the updated schedule, the remaining materials, the installation teams, the areas that were almost complete, and the areas that needed my approval.

I listened.

And I hated how good he was at his job.

Not because I didn’t appreciate it.

Because I did.

Too much.

“You’re proposing this material for the boardroom?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I looked at the sample.

“No.”

Riley didn’t react.

“Why?”

“Too cold.”

He paused.

Then looked at the sample again.

“The room needs to feel authoritative.”

“It already will.”

He looked at me.

“Then we don’t need the material to make it intimidating.”

I stared at him.

There was something about the way he said things.

Softly.

Never confrontational.

But he didn’t back down.

I leaned back.

“What would you use instead?”

He smiled faintly.

And just like that, the tension in his shoulders disappeared.

He reached into his folder.

“This.”

He placed another sample on my desk.

I looked at it.

Then at him.

It was better.

Much better.

I hated admitting that.

“You’ve thought this through.”

“I always do.”

I almost smiled.

Almost.

Instead, I nodded.

“Fine.”

“Thank you.”

We continued.

For nearly an hour.

And despite how irritated I was, I couldn’t deny that the meeting had gone well.

Riley knew the project.

He knew every detail.

He knew what had arrived, what hadn’t, what was delayed, what could be substituted, what couldn’t, and what needed my approval.

He wasn’t careless.

He wasn’t guessing.

He was building something.

And he was very good at it.

When the meeting finally ended, Riley closed his folder.

“That should be everything for today.”

I nodded.

He stood.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Stanley.”

There it was.

Again.

Mr. Stanley.

I looked at him.

For a second, I thought about correcting him.

I had corrected him before.

Call me Vincent.

He had.

Once.

And I had liked hearing it more than I should have.

But today?

I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

“Goodbye, Riley.”

He smiled politely.

“Goodbye.”

Then he walked out.

The door closed.

I remained standing.

For several seconds, I stared at it.

I didn’t understand why I was angry.

The project was going well.

Riley was doing exactly what I had hired him to do.

Nothing had gone wrong.

So why was I irritated?

Because he called me Mr. Stanley?

That was ridiculous.

He had called me that from the beginning.

So why was it suddenly bothering me now?

I walked back to my desk.

My secretary came in a few minutes later with a document.

I looked at her.

She looked at me.

“What?”

She blinked.

“Nothing, sir.”

“Why were you touching Riley’s hair?”

Her eyebrows lifted.

For a second, she looked genuinely confused.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.”

She hesitated.

“I was just complimenting his hair.”

I said nothing.

She continued carefully.

“I asked him if it was naturally that long. He said yes. I touched it because I was curious.”

I stared at her.

She stared back.

There was an awkward silence.

Then she quietly asked, “Is there a problem?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

She placed the document on my desk.

I picked it up.

“That’s all.”

She left.

I looked down at the document.

I wasn’t reading it.

I was thinking.

My secretary had known Riley for what?

A few months?

Apparently long enough to joke with him.

Long enough for Riley to laugh.

Long enough for him to let her touch his hair.

And me?

Months.

And I was still Mr. Stanley.

I dropped the document onto my desk.

Ridiculous.

Absolutely ridiculous.

I was Vincent Stanley.

I owned one of the largest corporations in the city.

I had negotiated billion-dollar contracts without blinking.

I had dealt with people who tried to steal my company from underneath me.

And here I was, sitting at my desk, irritated because an interior decorator wouldn’t call me by my first name.

I rubbed my forehead.

What was wrong with me?

⸻

By the time I got home, I was still in a bad mood.

My mother noticed immediately.

“You look irritated.”

“I’m fine.”

She gave me a look.

“You’re not.”

I loosened my tie.

“Long day.”

“Work?”

“Yes.”

She watched me for a moment.

Then she smiled slightly.

“Riley?”

I looked at her.

“What about him?”

She shrugged.

“You’ve mentioned him several times lately.”

“I work with him.”

“I know.”

I walked past her.

She laughed softly behind me.

I ignored her.

I went upstairs.

Changed.

Came back downstairs.

And somehow, I was still thinking about the same thing.

Riley laughing.

Riley smiling.

Riley sitting comfortably with my secretary.

Her hand in his hair.

His voice soft and relaxed.

And then—

“Mr. Stanley.”

I stopped.

That name again.

Why did he insist on calling me that?

He didn’t call my secretary by her last name.

I knew that.

I had heard them talking before.

He was comfortable with her.

He probably called her by her first name.

So what exactly was wrong with mine?

Was Vincent somehow an unacceptable name?

Was it too difficult?

Too formal?

Too personal?

I frowned.

Maybe he simply preferred keeping professional boundaries.

That made sense.

Except he didn’t seem to have those same boundaries with everyone.

I walked toward the window.

Outside, the city was glowing beneath the night sky.

I stood there with my hands in my pockets.

I had no right to be bothered.

Riley wasn’t mine.

He wasn’t my friend.

He wasn’t—

I stopped myself.

Why was I even thinking like that?

He was my interior decorator.

That was it.

My employee.

A very talented one.

A very professional one.

A very—

I closed my eyes.

This was becoming ridiculous.

I didn’t like the way he’d looked with my secretary.

I didn’t like the way he’d laughed with her.

I didn’t like how comfortable he had been.

And, apparently, I didn’t like being called Mr. Stanley anymore.

But the strangest part?

I didn’t know which one bothered me most.

I only knew that for the first time since Riley Rosewood had walked into my office—

I wanted to know what it would take for him to say my name again.

“Vincent.”

I said it quietly to myself.

It sounded normal.

But when I imagined Riley saying it?

It didn’t sound normal at all.