by Nikki Chase
“Yeah . . . about that,” I begin. “I screwed up. I need the notarized original of the contract in my desk at work. I just plain forgot.”
“Oh, okay,” she says casually. “I can go in now and courier it over to you if you want? I’ll need overtime pay, of course. This girl don’t work for free.”
I chuckle at her little joke, the tension in my body melting a little. “That’s not going to work. The document is vital for this deal, and I can’t risk it not showing up in time. I had an idea . . .”
She groans. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“I’ll book you a ticket tonight. You’ll be here in a few hours. I know it’s my fault, so I’ll pay you double overtime, and I’ll book you a first-class ticket to make up for it. How does that sound?”
“It sounds like a pain in the ass,” she says, laughing. “But I guess I don’t have all that much choice. Is booze included in first class?”
“All the champagne you can drink.”
“Hmmm. Deal. But you owe me one.”
“Owe you one?” I splutter. “What about double overtime and first class; don’t they count?”
“They’re the baseline for even getting me to haul my pretty ass across the country. One favor owed makes up the balance.”
I sigh even as a small smile curves my lips. “Sure. Whatever. I’ll book the flight now and email the details over to you. See you later.”
Luke’s looking over at me with interest. “Was that your new assistant? The pretty one whose desk I hear has become your new office?”
“‘The pretty one?’” I fold my arms across my chest. “You’ve got to be careful with that kind of language, Luke, now that you’re a married man.”
He shrugs. “A happily married man, yeah. A successfully coupled man who can’t help but notice that his friend is having trouble telling a girl that he likes her.”
I feel my face heat up like a teenager and immediately curse myself for it. I mumble something about how it’s just work, how I’m just helping out a buddy’s little sister.
“Sure, sure. Whatever you say,” Luke says in an infuriating, mocking tone.
I ignore him and glance at my phone for a distraction. There’s a new text message.
Saw your new girlfriend at the wedding. She’s pretty, in that low-key, girl-next-door kind of way.
It’s from Rosa, my ex, and it’s a compliment so back-handed that it’s practically a slap. I have no idea why she feels the need to text me.
I decide to reply.
Thanks. And it’s fiancée, actually.
She’s married now, to my cousin. I should just block her number—should but don’t.
I don’t want the drama. For better or worse, she’s in my family now, and I need to be the better man. Stay cordial, and ignore her as best as possible.
And, to be honest, having Nina around makes that significantly easier. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.
Nina
Nina
So first class is . . . something else.
I’ve only ever flown coach, crammed in between snorers and other people’s screaming children, so to have my own bed, as much free booze as I like, gourmet food, and getting waited on hand and foot?
Well, it is pretty damn awesome, thank you very much, and it more than makes up for the annoyance of having to fly across the country because Brock forgot a freaking piece of paper.
I have no idea why he needs the original, but who am I to question my boss? I’m the underling, and I just do as I’m told.
I’m not complaining, not when I get to travel in style to a city where I won’t have to worry about my pesky, stalker ex following me around.
I arrive in the early morning at the swanky hotel where Brock is staying, still in the warm afterglow of free champagne, and head straight to his room.
I knock on the door, and it almost immediately opens. Obviously, he’s been waiting for me.
He looks extremely relieved as he takes the document. He examines it closely like an archaeologist might inspect a priceless Egyptian artifact.
“Thanks so much for doing this,” he says, smiling broadly. Evidently, the document has passed muster. “You really saved my ass.”
“Anything for you, boss,” I say, faux serious. “Oh, and for the extra money. That too.”
Brock’s lips curl up into a bigger, even more charming smile, making my heart start to race the way it used to back when we were younger.
Damn it. Why does it feel so good to see him again?
I cast my glance behind him, wondering if he’s got someone in there, some NYC girlfriend he’s been hiding from everyone.
Then I realize I’m being stupid. He’s been so wrapped up in work he hasn’t even had the presence of mind to pay attention to his surroundings, to the point where he actually forgot to bring an important document to a major meeting.
But why do I care anyway if he has a girl in his hotel room? I’m not actually his fiancée.
I should say something. “So, uh, now that my work here is done . . . do I actually need to be here? You’re not just going to shove me back on the next flight home, are you?”
“No! Uh, of course not!” he says, a little too quickly.
“Really?” I ask, arms crossed. “You were really going to do that?”
“Hey, I said no. I wouldn’t do that.” The guilt that flashes across his face tells me that was probably exactly what he was going to do. Probably expects me to report straight in at work too.
“You’re a terrible liar,” I say. “And a terrible person. Anyway, screw that. I’ve never been to New York before, and I want to do some sightseeing. You can book me a room here and then give me the day off. I’ll consider it the extra favor that I told you about.”
“Well, sure, I guess,” he says. “You did save my ass, so that’s the least I can do.”
He opens the door wider to let me in—no other girl here, for sure, unless she’s hiding in the wardrobe. Brock sits down on the couch and motions for me to join him. Then he picks up the room phone and books me into the room next door.
“Next door?” I ask playfully after the call. “But we’re engaged to be married. Remember, sweetheart? Don’t be such a prude.”
“I’m a decent, traditional man,” he says. “That would be utterly scandalous. My goodness, what would my mother say?”
I place my hand on his chest. “She seemed to like me. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”
For a moment, we look into each other’s eyes, silent, and what started as a joke is threatening to get out of control. His chest is warm under my fingers, and I fight the urge to run my hand down to feel the hard ridges of his muscles. I can almost feel his heartbeat if I only press harder . . .
No. I can’t.
Breaking eye contact, I lean back away from him. Brock lets out a cough then silence expands to fill the room. The swanky hotel room where we’re alone, where a plush bed sits just two feet away, staring at us.
Well, this is kind of intense.
Brock shuffles on the spot uncomfortably, looking like he wants to say something but isn’t sure what.
I clear my throat and get up, picking up my bags. “I’m, uh, going to take a shower, have a nap, and head out to see the sights,” I tell him. “Good luck with the meeting or deal or whatever it is you’re doing today.”
“Thanks,” he says, his gaze tracking me every step of the way as I leave the room.
There’s something in his eyes, some expression that I can’t quite put my finger on. Longing, almost. Need. Desire. Whatever it is, it’s dangerous, and I can’t walk down this path with my boss. My life is already complicated enough without any extra shenanigans to deal with.
“Oh, Nina,” he calls out as I’m pulling the door open. “Can you try to be back here around 7-ish? We’re going out for dinner after this deal is done to celebrate. You want to come along?”
“Sounds good,” I say over my shoulder. “I’ll be here.”
I spend the day sightseeing, shopping, eating pizza, and generally having a whale of a time.
Denver is a big city, but nothing compares to New York. Manhattan with its dizzying array of skyscrapers is overwhelming. The crowds, sights and smells are all just as I imagined them to be.
I duck into a little boutique at one point and pick out a sexy, little, blue, chiffon dress. It’s expensive as hell, but it’s so pretty. Besides, I’m getting double overtime, right? I’m worth it.
By the time the evening comes, my legs are tired, but I’m happy. I got the chance to play tourist, I got some nice new clothes, and I’m going out for a swanky dinner with a handsome guy. Sure, he’s my boss, which makes him off limits, but I guess you can’t win ‘em all.
Brock knocks on my door around eight, looking devastatingly gorgeous in his tux, a big grin on his face.
“I take it the deal went well?” I ask.
“We got it signed,” he says. “And it’s all thanks to you. Well, not really, but it wouldn’t have happened without that document.”
“Good enough for me,” I say, smiling. His mood is contagious.
He pauses for a moment, his eyes roaming over me, making me shiver a little under his attention. He meets my gaze. “Sorry. You look . . . amazing.”
“Thank you.” Heat creeps up my cheeks.
“You seriously look amazing,” Brock repeats, appreciation in his eyes. “Wow. I’m so glad I took up roller derby, or I never would have met you.”
We laugh together. This feels like the start of a fun night with Not Work Brock.
He offers me his arm, and I take it, curling my fingers around his muscular biceps. We swap stories about our day as we walk together downstairs and hail a cab to the restaurant.
It’s called La Maison, and it’s a swanky French place with actual French waiters. I guess that’s how you know it’s legit.
“Monsieur, madame, please come this way,” our server says with a thick accent. “And, if I may say, madame looks very beautiful this evening. Monsieur is a lucky man.”
“Oh my,” I say, fluttering my hand in front of my face. “Such flattery. You’re making me blush.”
Brock elbows me subtly in the ribs as we follow the French waiter.
“This is a fancy place,” Brock says, laughing, after we’re seated. “No bad jokes or silly puns. You’ll get us kicked out.”
“You’re no fun,” I say, pouting.
We chat for a little while, nibbling on bread, when Luke Alder arrives.
I’ll admit I’m a little star struck when he just comes over all casual, sitting next to Brock.
Luke’s famous. Like, real-deal famous. He’s got the money, the looks, and the column inches in TMZ. And here I am, little old me, having dinner with him in one of the fanciest restaurants in New York.
“Hi, lovebirds,” he says, winking at Brock. “You sure you want me here, cramping your style? I don’t want to be a third wheel or anything.”
“Shut up, Luke,” Brock says. “Anyway, let’s celebrate.”
Brock orders a couple of bottles of eye-wateringly expensive wine while I sneak a look at the menu and wince.
“It’ll go on expenses,” Luke says, laughing. “Don’t worry. Or Brock will pay. Either works for me.”
“I’d be happy with a couple of bottles of Coors Light or something,” I say. “I’m a cheap date. But hey, if you gentlemen want to order the Chateaux-Nerf-du-Pap or whatever it’s called, I’ll drink that too. No problem.”
“A classy lady. I like that.” Brock touches my arm with a grin, and I feel a thrill run through my body at the contact.
He seems much more relaxed, now that the deal is done. I see now that the whole week he’s definitely been tense and stressed about it, which might explain some of his more annoying habits in the office.
I guess I’ll forgive him. I have no idea what it’s like to negotiate million-dollar deals, so I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.
The wine comes, and the waiter dutifully pours a little in each of our glasses, and I gulp mine down immediately. It’s only when I put the empty glass down that I notice the incredulous expression on Brock and Luke’s faces.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re supposed to smell it first and taste a little,” Brock explains. “Not guzzle it down like Diet Coke.”
“Tastes good to me,” I say.
Luke shrugs and does the same to his glass of fancy wine. In a bad British accent, he says, “Me too. It’s just spiffing. Lovely drop.”
The waiter looks on, horrified, but pours another glass for Luke and me before scurrying off to attend to more reasonable tables.
“Poor guy is probably over in the corner hyperventilating,” Brock says, laughing. This wine is 300 bucks a bottle, and you know how seriously the French take their wine.”
“It all drinks the same,” Luke says.
The food comes shortly after, and the wine flows. Luke and Brock banter good-naturedly like the old friends they are, and I think back to when Brock used to hang out with Dean at our place when we were younger.
This reminds me of him then, carefree and happy, and it makes me smile to remember those times, how he used to be then. I feel like that same teenaged girl with a crush as I watch him smile and laugh, tiny butterfly wings fluttering in my belly.
Unfortunately, the night has to come to an end at some point, and we stagger out of the restaurant, all having had maybe one or two more glasses of fancy wine than was strictly necessary.
I feel warm and fuzzy and happy on Brock’s arm. It’s been a really good night.
Luke hails a cab first and jumps in, pulling the door shut without giving us a chance to go with him.
“You two should catch your own one,” he says as he lowers his window, winking. “You know, get some time alone together.”
Before Brock can say anything, the cab speeds away.
That was . . . just a joke, right? A friend ribbing a friend?
Still, I can’t help but feel all too aware that Brock and I are alone now, about to head to a hotel together.
Brock
Brock
Damn it, Luke.
Could he have been any more obvious? Nina was standing right there, and his comment wasn’t exactly subtle, so I’m guessing she picked up on it.
We’re sitting in the cab now, and I hope what he said isn’t going to ruin what’s been a really great night.
We worked hard on that deal, and the papers got signed. It feels really good to know that I can do this job—I can make the deals, come to the agreements, and be the big-shot CEO that Luke has entrusted me to be.
I glance a sideward at Nina, trying to gauge her mood. She catches me looking and smiles, rosy-faced and content after the awesome food and wine.
That dress she’s wearing . . . damn. I still can’t get over how gorgeous she looks tonight, and she doesn’t even really seem to realize it.
Even with her stunning looks, she’s still this real, down-to-earth girl. She cracks her silly jokes, and it only makes her all the more alluring.
Nina’s something special, and I’m finding it really difficult to reconcile this beautiful woman sitting next to me with the dorky, awkward girl who used to tag along whenever I hung out with her brother.
Luke might be an asshole, but he’s got something right. I feel something for Nina, something genuine, and I have no idea what to do with it.
That’s one of the reasons why my original plan was to send her home right away this morning—I don’t trust myself around her. But she batted those eyelashes at me, and I was putty.
My impulsive move to have her pretend to be my fiancée isn’t making matters any easier.
But she’s still Dean’s little kid sister and my employee, no matter what else happens. So I need to tread really goddamn carefully.
“So, y
ou two from out of town?” the cab driver asks, interrupting my introspection.
“Yeah,” I say, not really wanting to get into a conversation. But if there’s something you can always rely on with a taxi driver, it’s an awkward, unwanted conversation.
“Ah, a romantic getaway, huh?” he asks, glancing at us through the rearview mirror. Before I get a chance to respond, he continues, “You look like a great couple. In fact, you remind me of my wife and me before the kids came along. Kids’ll take the winds right out of the sails of your love life, let me tell you that for free. We used to sneak out at night, do it all over the place, wherever we could, you know? The back of the car, in parks at night, wherever we could. Ah, to be young and in love again . . .”
Nina looks distinctly uncomfortable. She stares with wide, horrified eyes at the backseat where we’re sitting, probably wondering if the driver has made wild, sweet love to his wife right here.
“We’re here on business, actually,” I say brusquely.
The cab driver shuts up right away, and an awkward silence fills the car.
I turn to Nina. “I just want to thank you again,” I tell her, talking quietly, hopefully so that the driver can’t hear. “You know, for coming all this way and saving my forgetful ass. We couldn’t have done the deal without you, and I really mean that.”
She blushes, and I can’t tell if it’s because of what I said or the taxi driver’s comments. Whatever has caused it, it drives me wild.
“Don’t mention it,” she says. “I’m actually really enjoying myself. I’ve had a great time here . . .”
I could be wrong, but . . . the tone of her voice and the way she’s looking at me through lowered eyes tells me she’s not just talking about the sightseeing.
Fuck, why do I want her so much? Why can’t I fall for someone I can actually have?
We arrive at the hotel, and I quickly pay off the cabbie before leading Nina into the lobby.
