“Come out with your hands up.”

I closed my eyes as relief washed over me. I knew that voice. Ronan had come back. I was reasonably sure he wouldn’t shoot me, but I didn’t move. Perhaps if I was quiet, he’d think he’d been imagining things. It was nearly dark in here. There was a chance he wouldn’t see me or notice the open drawer.

“I know I locked the door,” he said, his tone arch. “And my computer is wired to alert me if someone tampers with it. Either you come out, or I’ll come to you. Your choice.”

I pressed my fists to my forehead and bit back a curse. He’d caught me. What would happen now? Would he call the police? He wouldn’t take kindly to me being here, that was for sure.

I weighed my options. I could stay here and wait for him to drag me out, or I could do as he said and maintain a sliver of dignity.

Pride won out. Lennoxes did not quiver in the corner, no matter how many odds were stacked against them.

I shuffled out from beneath the desk and scrambled to my feet with as much grace as I could muster. I tossed my head back and met his furious gaze. But the sight of a handgun pointed at my chest made me falter. He wouldn’t use it on me, would he? No matter how much he hated anyone with the last name Lennox these days, he wouldn’t shoot an unarmed woman.

The clench in my gut wasn’t only fear though. However angry he might be, Ronan was a fine specimen of a man. If he’d been appealing at twenty-eight, he was magnificent at thirty-five. Pure masculine beauty with luscious hair, unfathomable eyes, and his sleeves rolled up to reveal the tattoos on one forearm that usually remained hidden beneath his suit.

He frowned at my uniform. “You’re not the cleaner.”

I contemplated saying I was filling in for the night, but he wouldn’t believe me. “I’m not,” I agreed.

“Do you have a weapon?” he asked.

“No.” I let my hands fall to my sides so he could see I was no threat to him. At least, not physically.

He lowered the gun. “Who do you work for? Start talking.”

I blinked. My lips parted.

He didn’t recognize me.

I’d just assumed he’d know me on sight, but he had no idea. The irony was glorious. I’d spent years dreaming of him, whereas he may as well never have seen me before today. If I weren’t so scared, I’d have been pissed.

“Ronan, it’s me. Willow.” At his blank look, I continued, “Willow Lennox.”

His eyes widened, and he raked his gaze over me from head to toe. “Willow? Shit. You look different in that getup.”

I winced. Given the situation, I had more pressing concerns than how unflattering the uniform was, but I still had a fleeting moment of regret that it was our first time speaking in years and he was seeing me at my worst.