The NYCE Girls!

by Raquel Belle

  “Why did you go through with it then?”

  Our conversation is becoming increasingly uncomfortable for me. That isn’t normal. Maybe my discomfort has to do with the girls referring to me as Nick’s ‘work wife’ this morning. With a shrug, I look him square in the eyes and admit, “I guess I wanted to see if I’d hit it off with my blind date. I’ve been...alone for a while and I’m not getting any younger.”

  “You’ve got plenty of time. What’s the rush?”

  Need I remind him that I haven’t had a romantic partner for as long as I’ve been working for him? Seven whole years. “No rush? We all want a little romance at times. My attempt just didn’t work out.” Of course, it didn’t. As much as I want romance, I only want it with a particular person so any attempts I make with any other man is bound to fail.

  He’s silent for a while and I begin to shuffle uneasily, feeling as if I’m under a microscope. That Nicholas Parker stare can make a person feel as if he’s looking right through them. He shifts in his chair. “So no more blind dates?”

  “Never. Possibly no more dates,” I blurt out, instantly wishing I hadn’t. Mentally face-palming myself I jump to my feet, embarrassed by my admission.

  Nick is staring at me and—again—I swear I see something flicker in his eyes that gives me pause. Is it Satisfaction? No way can I be imagining so many reactions coming from him in one morning. At least one of them has to be accurate. I glare in his direction, but now he’s looking at me with such innocence, I feel foolish.

  “That’s really too bad, Grace.” Nick’s stare never wavers when we’re talking yet this time his lashes lower to conceal his eyes, leading me to believe he doesn’t mean what he says.

  “Nick…”

  I have his full attention and now his expression is unmistakably one of indifference. I give him a look of longing that I hope is subtle enough. I wonder if he knows why I don’t date. I’ll end up comparing every man to him so I don’t even bother trying to put myself out there—except this one time with sloppy kiss Chester. I’m still so into Nick, despite my being adamant in the past about protecting our professional relationship. At the time when I insisted on it, I was expecting to eventually get over him. I haven’t. A deep sigh escapes. “Never mind.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Grace…”

  He doesn’t go any further, he just stares at me with uncertainty. Okay, things are getting awkward. Things are never awkward between us, and Nick is never unsure of himself. Ever.

  “I’ll get you that breakfast,” I say quickly. “I already know what you want.”

  “Thanks. And—”

  “I’ll get you those notes from Friday’s meeting. You’ll need them.”

  He nods and opens his mouth to say something else but I beat him with an answer to another unasked question. “That legal pad is in your left upper drawer. You stashed it there on Friday before you left.”

  His mouth snaps shut and he peers at me with a raised brow. “How do you do that? Do you have some kind of mind-reading powers I don’t know about?”

  I wish. Then he wouldn’t frustrate me so much with his lack of expression—which I know is a practiced skill. “If I did, you’d know. Don’t you know everything about me, boss?”

  With a grin, I close the door. I never close his door without him directing otherwise. But I just can’t bear to look up from my desk to make eye contact with him right now. Any other day, it would be fine, but I have a feeling that there’s going to be an awkward energy overshadowing our every interaction today.

  “For goodness sake,” I breathe, my smile dropping. “What is happening?”

  I plop down at my desk, ready to pick up the phone to order that breakfast but I subconsciously reach for my cell. Without even fully realizing it, I’m texting Cara.

  G: Hey. Are you busy? Please, tell me you’re not busy.

  The reply is almost instant.

  C: Okay, I’m not busy.

  G: Wow. For once.

  C: I am busy but you said to tell you I'm not. Haha.

  Rolling my eyes, I tap out,

  G: Well, since you have time to joke around you couldn’t have been THAT busy. Something weird happened.

  C: Talk to me.

  G: Okay, it was more like a weird vibe between Nick and me.

  C: (eye rolling emoji)

  C: You’re imagining things.

  I stare at my phone for a long while. Is Cara right? Was I imagining things? Maybe suppressing my feelings for Nick for all these years is finally taking a toll.

  C: Grace???

  G: Maybe you’re right. The whole thing might have been in my mind. Get back to work. Later.

  C: Even if it was in your mind, we’ll still talk about it later. XOXO.

  With a smile, I put my phone down and get to work.

  Chapter Seven

  Nick

  I have discipline when it comes to just about everything, even more so when it comes to work. I give my short military career the credit for that. Before realizing that I wanted to go into law, I joined the military. I was just eighteen at the time. It was a way out and I needed the income. I only did the minimum four years as a marine, but during that time, I learned skills that would continue to serve me throughout my life. One of those skills being the aforementioned discipline. If I’m in the middle of reviewing an account like I am now, count on me to have laser guided focus...except for today.

  The only thing capable of causing my focus to split is Grace. I know it wasn’t my imagination that things got weird between us this morning. Releasing a breath, I massage the bridge of my nose as I recall our interaction. The unspoken awkwardness that’s been hovering between us all morning is my fault. We were perfectly fine until I brought up her date.

  Yeah, I was jealous. I won’t deny it. But as jealous as I was at the thought of her with some other man, I shouldn’t have let on about it…I shouldn’t have hinted. I’m usually exceptional at hiding my true emotions, but somehow I couldn’t stop the satisfaction I felt from showing—knowing she had a horrible time with that mystery man— it was like I was holding up a sign. When she hinted at probably being done with dating altogether, the selfish bastard in me had practically clapped his hands with glee.

  How can I be happy about that and at the same time want what’s best for Grace? I’ve decided that I’m no good for her but I’m happy about never seeing her with someone else. I had no idea I was capable of such a level of selfishness. Unbelievable. I want to hate myself, but I don’t. Hell if I want to see Grace prancing around here with a smile on her face put there by someone other than me. I absolutely refuse to feel bad.

  As if thinking about her conjures her up, her head pops around the door—she’d finally opened it a little while ago. I’m certain she closed it because she felt uncomfortable after our conversation this morning. I like to think I’m quite perceptive and analytical too. That’s part of what makes me good at my job. I left her alone, gave her some space and the time to come back around. By midday, she was in and out of my office, brightening the place with her smile as if I hadn’t behaved like a fool this morning.

  “Nick?”

  I love hearing my name rolling off her tongue.

  “Yes, Grace?”

  She gives me one of her sweet smiles. “What can I get you for lunch today?”

  “Nothing today. I’m going to skip lunch to look over the—”

  “Ferguson contract? The meeting with them isn’t for two days. You should eat something.”

  Truth is, I’m not in the mood to eat. Grace’s Sunday night has me rattled and I can’t even come out and say it. I hadn’t been up all night working as she’d assumed. It was more like I tried to work while thinking about Grace out with some other man. The only thing I accomplished last night was nearly driving myself insane with thoughts of her actually making a connection with someone else and probably sleeping with him. The thought makes me shudder even now. Alon
g with that and now feeling guilty because I’m pretty sure she knows I was playing the hypocrite earlier, I also haven’t been able to quell the fear of her leaving. While I tried to work today, thoughts of Grace finding love and moving on with her life—without me—went through my mind. It’s driving me crazy.

  I look at her now, standing at my door, looking glamorous and well put together as always. She’s wearing a business casual olive dress that almost matches her eyes and compliments her warm skin tone. The dress is just below the knee but hugs her curves to perfection and it’s paired with a set of nude pumps that make her legs go on for days...it’s a distraction. She’s toned down today compared to her usual bold colors—which I’ve always loved—but she’s still absolutely lovely.

  “Nick? Are you okay?”

  Annoyed with myself for zoning out, I shake my head. “I’m fine. Why don’t you go out for lunch? Somewhere nice, on me. I think I can manage without you for a bit.”

  She crinkles her pert nose. “Thanks but I don’t feel like going out alone. If you’re not doing lunch, neither am I.”

  “Grace, you should eat.”

  “I’m fine. I stuffed my face with unhealthy pastries before I met up with the girls for coffee this morning. And I have like five protein bars that I can scarf down. Have to maintain these curves, right?” She laughs.

  Her cheeks go pink when I lift a brow.

  “Just...forget I said that.” She wheels around and scampers away.

  Unable to stop my eyes from raking over her aforementioned curves as she makes her retreat, I swallow hard. What a rear view. I usually make an effort not to check out Grace too much during the course of any day, but her mentioning her curves reminds me that I’ve seen them up close and personal. I’ve run my hands over them in reverence.

  I wish I hadn’t been reminded of “the incident” because now I’ll never get any work done. It was years ago and it involved too many celebratory drinks mixed with three years of brewing sexual tension. That led to Grace ending up in my bed for a wild night which was dubbed “the incident”. It was no mistake to me, but I understand why she freaked out after. I’m her boss. And like me, she didn’t want to ruin our work relationship.

  Memories of that night lead to vivid images of her on my desk—minus that olive dress, but still wearing those ridiculously high and sexy heels. I wonder what she’s wearing underneath her dress today. As I recall, the night I stripped her down, she wore scraps of black lace that barely covered anything. Is that what she still prefers? Glancing up, I see her bent over her desk, rummaging in a drawer, giving me a nice view of her round ass. All I can see now is Grace bent over, wearing only black lace.

  “Christ,” I hiss, feeling a suspicious twitch in my pants.

  Sure, I fantasize about fucking Grace on my desk every other day, but since when have those fantasies completely consumed my thoughts? They’ve never stopped me from getting work done before. Maybe Grace was right. I should eat something. Yeah, that’s it. I’m starving and my low glucose level is affecting my brain. It could be sexual frustration too, but I’m going to go with hunger.

  Standing up abruptly, almost sending my chair through the floor to ceiling window, I march to the door, fully intent on getting the hell away from the cause of my sexual suffering. She straightens and wheels around when she hears my footsteps.

  With a smile, she asks, “Did you need something? You didn’t have to get up. All you had to do was shout.”

  “I changed my mind, I’m going out for lunch.”

  “Oh. Well...okay. Do you need me to make a call? What restaurant—”

  “No! I mean, no thanks.”

  Her mouth snaps shut and she gives me a bewildered look. “Everything okay?”

  “Fine.”

  Her eyes narrow. I can practically see the questions forming in her mind, seconds away from reaching her tongue. So I sidestep her and hurry to the door. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

  “Nick what’s—”

  I close the door with a soft thud and let out a breath. So this is what repressed sexual desire does to a man. It drives him insane, makes him lose control. Or maybe I’m just working too much.

  Chapter Eight

  Grace

  Riding the elevator to Nick’s penthouse, I have a scowl on my face the entire way up. I’m still confused about what the hell happened today. After our initial awkward patch discussing my never to be mentioned again blind date—this is the last time I’ll even think of it—we were fine. Things went back to normal until he started acting cagey and practically sprinted out of the office.

  He’d said he was skipping lunch and then suddenly he wasn’t. Moreover, he didn’t spend one hour as he’d said he would but two. If Nick says he’s going to take one hour for lunch he takes one hour, not a minute over or under. He doesn’t act cagey either. He’s the calmest, most collected man I know.

  Questions swirled in my mind for the rest of the day. I didn’t bother calling him after the one hour had passed and he didn’t return. I didn’t want to risk coming off like some clingy girlfriend. I’m his assistant. Why should I care how long he takes for a lunch he said he wasn’t going to have?

  But, damn it, I do care. Too much. And I can’t help it. Did he suddenly remember that he had some woman to meet? It’s unlikely because Nick doesn’t date. He never makes the time. But that doesn’t stop women from throwing themselves at him any chance they get. Maybe one of them got lucky and caught his attention.

  Panic begins to shoulder its way in as I picture Nick happy with some other woman, and me still working for him and being forced to see his relationship play out. I actually start to hyperventilate and have to force my foolish hysteria away. I’d know if Nick was seeing someone casually or seriously. I know everything about him and what goes on in his life. Hell, I plan just about every move he makes. “There is no woman,” I murmur to reassure myself.

  The elevator comes to a stop on the top floor and I make my way down the carpeted hallway toward Nick’s door. His Manhattan penthouse is swanky—fitting for a rich lawyer. I’m not exactly living in a dump either. My apartment, which is in the same neighborhood, comes a close second to Nick’s place. When Davis Michael Porter was courting him, the penthouse was one of the perks, and Nick demanded his assistant got one just as nice, close to him and the office.

  My steps falter as I near his door. Am I riding on Nick’s coattails too much? But I’ve never asked for anything? When I started out working for him I hadn’t even planned on being in the role of an assistant for long. I once had other career plans, but things were so good with Nick, I got comfortable. All I’ve ever had any desire to do is my job. It’s always been Nick who insists I benefit from all the perks of his position. Wherever he goes, I go, and that’s how it’s always been. It’s been working out beautifully so I just go with it. Not to mention…the money is great. I sometimes wonder if I’m the highest-paid assistant in New York.

  Shaking my head, I decide that my thoughts of benefiting from Nick’s success are unwarranted. We’ve always worked as a team and he’s always insisted that I helped him get to where he is. Feeling better, I continue walking, shuffling the suit bag I’m carrying along with my silver clutch purse over to one hand, I use my key to open the door. I step into the foyer, my heels click-clacking on the hardwood as I venture further.

  Nick’s apartment is so humongous that I hear an echo when I shout, “Nick?” The place is decorated with a mixture of warm creams and browns. There are a few gold pieces thrown in that add an extra zhuzh to the place. Looking around, I experience a touch of pride. It was yours truly who had a hand in decorating the place. Okay, I had more than a hand. Every piece of furniture, rugs, lamps, and appliances were chosen by me. When Nick first moved in it was a typical minimalist bachelor pad, so when he told me to redecorate, I turned the place into what could be an interior decorator’s dream come true.

  “Nick?” I call again.

  “Grace? Is that you?”
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br />   “Who else has a key to your apartment?” I laugh, wondering why he sounds so surprised that I’m here. I’m no stranger to Nick’s home, not this one or the other real estate he has scattered around New York. Oh God, is he still going to be all weird like he was at the office? I glance at my watch. I don’t have time to rationalize Nick’s behavior. We have one hour before the car gets here.

  He saunters into the living room shirtless. He only has a pair of jeans on, they’re hanging low on his hips and I nearly swallow my tongue. Good God almighty. Talk about temptation and sex on legs. No one who sits behind a desk is supposed to be that toned. But, Nick is. Of course he is, he puts his home gym to good use. Gathering my scattered wits, I smile. “Hey.”

  He smiles slightly and takes a sip from the glass of water he holds. “Hey...not that I’m not happy to see you or anything, but what are you doing here?”

  Seriously? Typical Nick. If it doesn’t have to do with contracts, negotiations, litigations, acquisitions or anything to do with corporate lawyering, it’ll most likely slip his mind. I hold up the suit bag. “The Atlantic dinner party.”

  He closes his eyes and sighs. “Shit. I forgot.”

  “Clearly. You have exactly fifty-six minutes to get ready before the car gets here.”

  “Is there any way we can ditch?”

  “You have to keep your clients happy. That means showing up to events they invite you to. Besides we already RSVP’d. It would be impolite.”

  “Of course,” he sighs.

  I send him a sympathetic smile. He must be tired—poor thing. And now he has to sit through a boring dinner party. I know it’s going to be boring because I know the company. We’re going to be rubbing shoulders with stuffy old bankers. Oh, Joy. I’d much rather be at home catching up on my shows or spending the night having a good time with whichever of my friends are available. But, duty calls. I catch Nick’s eyes and feel heat creep into my face. He gives me a slow appraisal before meeting my gaze once more. Okay, it isn’t just my face that’s hot. I swear that look he just gave me started a fire in my loins. I don’t think he even realizes how he looks at me sometimes.