by Nikki Chase
I pull up her contact info and type out a quick text message.
Hi Nina, sorry I’m running late. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just take a seat in the lobby and I’ll be with you ASAP.
Okay, now that’s dealt with I can focus on replacing this shirt. Spotting a Gap, I duck inside.
“Hello, sir. How can I help you?” One of the assistants approaches me with a big, customer-service grin.
I smile ruefully and wave my hands at the huge stain now covering my chest. “I need something to replace this. Your highest quality shirt.”
“Right away.” The assistant nods, his grin widening, no doubt sensing potential for a big commission.
While I wait for the kid to come back with it, I take a seat by the row of fitting rooms.
Things have been manic recently, what with Luke taking a bit of a step back from the day-to-day operations of running InFini. He’s been spending much more time with Tessa and their kid, and I can’t say I blame him.
I’ve known Luke for a long time, and I’ve never seen him quite like this. He’s like a besotted teen, even after a year of marriage.
Tessa tried to set me up with one of her friends, Claire, at the birthday party of Kayleigh, their kid, so I know they probably think I should follow suit.
I mean, their little family seems happy, and I’m happy for them . . . but it’s just not the life for me, even though Claire was a nice enough girl.
I just can’t see myself settling down with a wife and a kid like Luke is doing, even if my life has gotten a whole lot more stressful lately.
In effect, I’m the boss of InFini these days, and I have a whole lot of sway over the whole Alder business empire.
Luke, generous as ever, has made sure that I’m well taken care of, salary-wise, but it’s still quite an adjustment. From a glorified assistant to . . . whatever I am these days, is quite a jump. I know I can do it, but sometimes those nagging, doubting voices still like to make themselves heard in my head.
“This is the best we have, sir.” The assistant’s voice jars me back to the retail store, where a handful of lunchtime shoppers are browsing, clothes hangers clanking in the background. He’s holding up a blue shirt with great flourish, using both hands, no doubt trying to make it look as fancy as he can. “I think it’d look great on you. Would you like to try it on?”
I don’t have the time. “Nah, that’s okay. Here, give it to me, would you?”
I take the shirt, strip off my soiled one, and put on the new one, right there in plain view of the entire store. The kid’s eyebrows rise for a second before he gets them under control.
It’s probably not the most civilized thing to do, just getting half-naked in public, but I don’t really care. I’ve got bigger fish to fry today.
I take a look at myself in the mirror. This shirt is a pale imitation of the triple-woven luxury fabric of my ruined one, but it fits, and it’ll do.
“Thanks, I’ll take it,” I say to the slack-jawed sales assistant. I hand him a few bills. “Keep the change.”
Striding back out onto the street, I glance at my watch again. Half an hour late now.
Here’s hoping Nina’s the patient type. I hurry along the street—Infini HQ is only a couple blocks away from here, and the walk shouldn’t take too long, now that the lunchtime crowds are thinning out.
Five minutes later, I’m staring up at the huge, imposing skyscraper. Alder Industries is the biggest building in the state, but InFini isn’t far behind.
If someone had told me a few years back, when I was hanging around with Dean, that I’d effectively be the boss of a company like this, I’d have laughed in his face. But life’s funny like that sometimes.
I walk into the lobby and sweep the huge, expansive space with my gaze. When I spot Nina, my eyes stop.
Damn, what on earth happened to that awkward kid?
What a difference a few years can make. In my mind’s eye, Nina was still going to be that kid with braces and zits who couldn’t ever look me in the eye. But now? Well . . . it’s a good job this shirt fits well, or I’d have to loosen my collar a little.
She’s filled out . . . like, really filled out. Her lips are full and red, and her blond hair frames her face in a pleasing mess of curls, cascading down her back. Where there used to be skinny limbs, there are now beautiful, soft curves. And the swell of her breasts beneath her blouse . . . I’m struggling to focus on anything else in my immediate vicinity.
It takes me a few minutes to register that this is actually my friend’s kid sister because she’s changed such a lot. But yep, that’s her.
Well, this could get interesting.
I’m about to approach her, but then I stop and take a moment to let my blood cool down a little.
I need to keep a couple things in mind. Firstly, this is Dean’s little sister, and I’m sure he’s not going to want one of his oldest friends macking on his baby sister. Secondly, after what happened at the end of my last relationship, I’ve pretty much sworn off any kind of commitment. Sure, I use Tinder for hook-ups as much as the next guy, but something serious? Not interested.
So it would be better for everyone involved if I cast aside any thoughts whatsoever of Nina and me in anything except a professional relationship. No flirting, no innuendo, no nothing.
I take a deep breath, pull myself up to my full height, and make my way over to her.
She still hasn’t noticed me yet, but she looks uncomfortable and on edge, her shoulders tense, and her big, doe eyes darting all over the place. To be expected, I guess—who actually looks forward to a job interview, after all?
But I soon realize that it’s not the interview she’s nervous about. That much becomes clear when I’m around twenty feet away from her, right about to call her name and introduce myself. Before I can, a guy in dark sunglasses comes rushing over from the main entrance.
He grabs Nina by the arm. She pulls away from him, but despite her struggles to get away from him, he doesn’t let go. He’s got a deadly serious expression on his face, and I can tell he means business.
Guess this interview isn’t going to be the non-event I thought it was going to be.
Nina
I glance over my shoulder a few more times as I make my way to the interview, but I don’t spot Pete. I even start to relax a little by the time I arrive at the huge glass and chrome monstrosity that is the InFini Headquarters building.
Still, there’s an interview to get through and I’m a sweaty, nervous, anxious mess.
It’s just like Pete to show up at the worst possible moment to ruin my day.
I’m very familiar at this point with how inept Pete is at hiding, so it’s encouraging that I haven’t seen him. Maybe he got the message, maybe he’ll actually leave me alone and let me get on with my goddamn life.
When we were dating, he would hardly even let me leave the house. He’s so controlling and neurotic that he demanded to know my whereabouts at all times.
It’s taking some adjustment to move on from him, to feel like I’m actually free to go where I want, when I want, with whom I want.
I feel a quick pang of guilt, thinking about the guy whose coffee I spilled. He seemed good-looking, tall and broad, from the quick glance I’d had. And the shirt I ruined looked expensive as hell.
Normally, I would’ve stopped and been all apologetic, offered to pay for the poor guy’s shirt, probably try to awkwardly wipe it all off of him . . . but a combination of being late and Pete the creep being in close proximity meant I had no choice but to rush off.
I hope karma isn’t a thing . . . or if she’s real, at least I hope she’s understanding.
All told, it hasn’t been a good day so far.
Bright sunlight reflects off the glass panels of the InFini building as I pull out my little pocket mirror and take a look at myself.
The curls I spent so long on this morning are all floppy and out of shape, there’s a particularly unattractive sheen of sweat all over my face, a
nd my clothes are all rumpled from rushing around in the midday heat.
Wonderful.
I’m just starting to panic when my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a text message—from Brock, of all people.
Hi Nina, sorry I’m running late. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just take a seat in the lobby and I’ll be with you ASAP.
Oh, thank God. I’ve never been more glad to hear that someone’s going to be late.
My day’s starting to look better already.
Walking through the revolving glass door and into the air-conditioned lobby, I wince from the pain in my feet. Now that the adrenaline has somewhat worn off and I know Brock’s going to be late, I wish I didn’t run in my new, painful shoes.
Inside the huge and opulent space, I gape at the sculptures and prototypes of the various hi-tech gizmos that the company has created over the years. It’s all very ostentatious.
I duck into the restroom. A few minutes, some paper towels and a little bit of fresh makeup is all I need to set the world to rights, and when I come back out again, everything seems a little bit better.
You’ve got this. You’re qualified for this job, whether or not Dean got it for you. Show Brock that, and you’re in. No worries, no sweat.
I take a seat in one of the comfortable leather couches, and wait patiently. As the minutes roll by, I can’t help but wonder what Brock looks like these days, how he’s changed.
Dean told me that he’s a big-shot now. He works directly for Luke Alder of all people. Luke. Alder. One of the richest and most ridiculously handsome men in the country.
He was all over TMZ and the gossip magazines about a year ago. If I remember correctly, he’d gotten married in a quickie ceremony in Vegas to a woman nobody knew. It was all quite scandalous, but I guess things worked out, because I haven’t seen him in those magazines since.
Apparently, Brock has been taking over more and more of the day-to-day responsibilities, now that Luke is spending more time with his new family.
And I’m going to be working right under him.
If I get this right, this job could be an insane opportunity. All I need to do is not put my foot in my mouth during the interview.
Unfortunately for me, I have this habit of talking too much when I get nervous. ‘Verbal diarrhea’ my Mom always used to call it.
I’m so lost in my silly daydreams that I don’t even notice him coming until it’s too late.
Suddenly, there’s a hand clamped on my arm. Pete yanks me up to my feet, getting way too close.
“You think you can just run away from me like that?” he asks in a threatening tone. “I don’t think so, Nina. We’re not done until I say we’re done.”
My heart sinks. Just as I thought my day was getting better.
“Pete, seriously, get freaking lost. How did you even find me?” I put on my fiercest voice, glancing at the security guard standing by the revolving door—who, unfortunately, has his gaze riveted on a cute girl’s butt.
Pete sneers at me. “Guess I’m more resourceful than you give me credit for, huh? You can’t just go sneaking around behind my back. Who are you here to see?”
I try and wrench my arm free from his grasp, but he doesn’t budge.
“Get the hell off me,” I growl, even as I grimace in pain. “Or I’m going to make good on my promise from before.”
He doesn’t seem fazed. He’s got a wild, manic look in his eyes. Little, icy tendrils of fear run down my spine.
“I always knew you were a cheating whore,” he hisses, spittle flecking his lips. “Who are you here to see? Your new man?”
“I’m here for a job interview, you creep. Get off me and leave me alone.”
“A job interview? Who did you sleep with to get that?” He laughs in my face.
“I suggest you take your hands off of her. Now,” says a deep, commanding voice.
Oh, good. Guess that security guard wasn’t too wrapped up in checking out chicks in tight pencil skirts after all.
I whirl around, but it’s not the security guard I see.
A guy, tall and muscular, stands there with his arms crossed, fixing Pete with a stare that could melt a glacier.
As Pete lets go of my arm, I wince and clutch it.
That’s going to leave a bruise, asshole.
“And just who the hell might you be?” my ex spits, his face upturned to glare at the new guy, who stands a head taller than him.
My hot-as-sin savior walks over to stand next to me, and I almost jump out of my skin when he puts one of those bulging biceps protectively around my shoulders. Pete’s eyes almost pop out of his skull.
“She’s with me now,” says Mr. Tall and Handsome. “Right, Nina, sweetheart?”
I turn to look up at him. He smells good, and the proximity of his hard body is making me forget how to form words, but I try my best. “That’s, uh . . . that’s right.”
“So,” the guy says, his voice rumbling ominously, “I think you’d better leave.”
Pete looks apoplectic with rage. His face is turning a strange shade of purple and the veins of his neck are pulsing.
“Bullshit!” Pete practically shouts. “Do the two of you even know each other?”
Seeing as Pete has been tailing me for weeks, he’s probably seen me going everywhere on my own. I wrack my brain for something to say.
Luckily, Mr. Tall and Handsome saves me from having to lie.
“Of course we do. Nina was telling me this morning when we woke up—” he pauses to throw me the sexiest, panty-melting smile “—that the loser she used to date might come and try to screw up her interview, so I decided to come along with her just in case.” He gestures at the exit dismissively, then levels his sharp gaze at Pete. In a calm-but-deadly voice, he says, “So leave. Now.”
Pete takes a menacing step forwards, which is almost funny because he looks like a few matchsticks held together with PVA glue in comparison to the chiseled physique of my mystery protector.
As it happens, though, there’s no showdown because a couple of burly security guards—including the one I saw standing by the revolving door—show up out of nowhere and grab Pete under the shoulders.
“Get him out of here,” rumbles the voice to my side.
I watch, jaw hanging open, as Pete is dragged, kicking and screaming, out onto the street. He continues to cause a scene once outside, but the security guards stand impassively at the doors, arms crossed, until he eventually leaves, throwing out a few more curse words as he shuffles off impotently down the street.
“So . . . he seems like a nice guy,” says Mr. Tall and Handsome with a killer smile on his gorgeous face. “Anyway, now that that’s dealt with, shall we get on with your interview?”
I turn to face him, my jaw dropping open even wider. “B-Brock?”
Brock
Brock
“B-Brock?” Nina asks, my name sliding deliciously through her full lips in a way that makes me wonder what it’d feel like to kiss her.
“The very same.” I take a little bow and shoot Nina a grin.
She looks pale and a little panicked. Not surprising, considering the way that weirdo was grabbing her arm and getting right up in her face. I’ve seen enough creeps like that in my time to know that they don’t have any issue getting physical when it’s against someone who can’t fight back.
“Sorry for putting you on the spot there with my little white lie, but I figured you could use some help dealing with that . . . guy.” Not sure how Nina would take it, I bite back the plethora of words I want to call the douchebag by.
“No, no, it’s fine; it’s . . . well, thanks,” she stutters as she plops her beautiful ass down on the couch, her legs a little shaky. “He followed me the whole way here. I confronted him and figured I’d gotten him to back off earlier, but I guess he’s more desperate than I realized.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, concerned now. “Did he hurt you?”
She looks up at me with beautiful, amber eyes. “
I’m fine. Thanks, Brock. I’m just a little shaken up.”
I resist the urge to reach down and pull her into a protective hug. She looks so vulnerable; I just want to tell her everything is going to be okay.
I almost do. The urge is so strong, but then I remind myself of what I thought when I first saw her.
Stay professional. She’s your coworker now, nothing more.
“Are you sure? We have a medic on site. Shall I call her down to take a look at you?” I ask.
“No, Brock. Really, I’m fine.” As if trying to convince me, Nina gets up to her feet. I’ve got to say she’s already looking better, like she’s making an effort to shake it all off. “I just figured the worst thing that could happen today would be me flunking my interview—not watching my crazy ex get dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the lobby. But now that has happened, I figure things can’t get much worse, right?”
Her ex, huh? I thought as much, but it’s nice to hear a confirmation. That means they’ve probably just broken up. That means she’s single.
Despite my resolve to stay professional, I can’t help the spark of hope flickering in my chest. Stop it, idiot.
“So . . . yeah, let’s go get this interview done. I’m not even nervous now. Isn’t that weird?” Nina laughs then looks embarrassed, her smooth, soft cheeks turning a rosy shade.
Adorable.
“Sorry,” she says, looking up and giving me a little smile. “I, uh, have a habit of talking too much when I’m nervous. Just tell me to shut up if it’s bothering you, okay?”
I open my mouth to tell her she’s doing okay; she’s doing perfectly fine.
“Should I even be saying all this to you?” she asks before I get a chance to say anything. A look of concern crosses her beautiful face. “I’m supposed to be impressing you and making you think I’m actually going to be good at this job. Because I am—going to be good at the job. Not just . . .” she trails off, bright patches of red rising to her cheeks.
