Angela contrasted those images with the one of her own tiny cubicle two floors below. The top of her desk had several scratches on it, and one of the drawers was constantly sticking. Her desk chair squeaked every time she rolled it back and forth, and whatever cushioning had once existed in the seat had been worn away a long time ago. Like the other trainees and very junior brokers, she pretty much had to beg, borrow or steal basic supplies like pens, paper clips, and notepads.
As trainees, they were also constantly getting stuck with what one of them had termed grunt work, another had labelled slave labor. In the two weeks she’d been employed here, Angela had already been required to man the reception desk, unpack and inventory office supplies, help one of the manager’s PA’s get caught up on a year’s worth of filing, and bring some documents over to a client’s residence for their signature.
In between the many and varied mundane tasks they were assigned, the trainees also had to study like mad for their upcoming brokerage license exams, complete a strictly prescribed series of training modules, and sit in on a never-ending schedule of podcasts, webinars, and conference calls. They were expected in the office by six a.m. – though Angela was typically the only one in quite that early – and required to remain until at least five p.m.
But as grueling as her schedule was, and as demeaning and unpleasant as some of the tasks dumped on her were, Angela knew it was all a necessary evil. She’d be finished with the training program in just over three months’ time, at which point she would take her exams – and hopefully ace them on her first attempt – and obtain her brokerage license. Then she’d be a full-fledged stockbroker, ready to start opening accounts, doing business, and making money – a lot of it.
And, she vowed to herself silently, she wouldn’t remain stuck down in steerage for very long if she had anything to do about it. She had plans, ambitions, goals, and they all involved moving to the top floor within a relatively short amount of time. She had a knack for this business, she just knew it. Her professors at Stanford had told her more than once that she had a great analytical mind, and that she could be extremely successful in this business provided she worked very hard and didn’t let anything stand in her way.
The meeting dragged on for over an hour, with the CEO fielding a dozen or so questions from the audience after a time. Predictably, the majority of the questions he answered were ones posed by the top producers and longest tenured brokers, and he all but ignored the few tentatively raised hands in the back of the room.
Angela tried valiantly to stifle a yawn, bored beyond belief with the predictable, pointless questions being raised. It was rather obvious that no one was going to ask anything that could be deemed the least bit controversial, and that everyone was sticking to topics considered safe.
At least until Nick Manning very leisurely raised his hand, lounging back in his chair as though he was attending a baseball game. The CEO obviously recognized him, and gave the tall, dark-haired broker a wide smile.
“Yes, Nick. What’s your question? Knowing you, I’m sure it’s going to be a good one!”
Like a great jungle beast unfolding itself from the crouching position it had been curled up in, Nick stood slowly, rising to his full, impressive height. Angela knew she wasn’t imagining the collective sigh of feminine voices around her as every pair of eyes in the room fixed themselves firmly on the charismatic, devilishly handsome man.
His voice was deep, lazy, and held a hint of amused arrogance. “Thanks, Steve. And while I think it’s a great question, and very relative to our current situation, I’m not so sure you’ll agree. I wanted to ask about the rumors flying around that Jessup Prior is considering closing a quarter of their branch offices over the next year.”
There was an immediate buzz of reactionary chatter around the room, with Noah, who was seated to Angela’s right, muttering, “Dang, that guy’s got a huge pair of cojones, doesn’t he?”
Angela grinned. “Figuratively or literally?”
Noah laughed. “Probably both. But I meant the former in this case. Hey, nobody else has had the guts thus far to ask anything controversial. He’s just a badass.”
The CEO – Steve Schaeffer – was very visibly taken aback by Nick’s forthright question, and stammered awkwardly as he tried to fob him off with an obviously lame reply. Nick looked anything but satisfied with the reply he received, but didn’t seem inclined to pursue the matter further, merely shrugging casually before sitting back down.
Angela thought it was no coincidence that the Q & A session ended immediately after that, and then the meeting itself was adjourned mere minutes later.
“Thank God,” breathed Noah in relief. “If that wasn’t a totally useless waste of ninety minutes I don’t know what was. At least there’s free booze and food. C’mon, Angie, let’s go grab a drink.”
Angela didn’t need to be asked twice. She admittedly liked to drink – sometimes quite a lot and more than she ought to. Her drinking had started as an act of defiance when she was about fifteen, sneaking alcohol none too subtly from her parents’ liquor cabinet in a futile attempt to trigger a reaction of some sort – any sort – out of them. But she might as well have been drinking lemonade for all her disinterested mother cared, and the thrill of taking a forbidden swig or two from the vodka bottle had quickly lost its appeal.
In college, she’d liked to party as much as the next girl, but she’d had to be careful about not overdoing it. The athletic scholarship she’d been given came with a strict code of conduct that she’d been expected to follow. Not to mention that showing up to volleyball practice or a game with a hangover would have been completely idiotic. So she’d had to carefully pick and choose the occasions when she had overindulged, and there had admittedly not been all that many of those.
Angela maneuvered her way easily up to one of the bartenders, her superior height generally causing people to step out of her way automatically. She strolled away unhurriedly from the bar, cocktail in hand, as she looked around for her fellow trainees. A waiter passed by with a tray of hot hors d’oeuvre’s, but she merely shook her head, not feeling in the least hungry.
“I don’t blame you. Banquet food is notoriously bad. And this hotel’s is exceptionally so.”
She froze in place at the sound of that wickedly amused voice coming from just behind her. She’d only heard it once, just a few minutes ago when he had dared to ask the CEO a blunt, honest question, but she knew the sound of it would be emblazoned forever in her mind.
Forcing herself not to betray the rapid beat of her pulse, and definitely not to simper at him like some silly teenager with a massive crush, she fixed a casual smile on her face and turned around slowly to face him.
Up close, Nick Manning literally stole her breath away. He was one of the very few men she’d ever met that she had to actually glance up at, and when she did the gleam in his coffee dark eyes made her wish wildly for a chair or a wall or anything else she could lean against to keep her balance.
“I, ah, just wasn’t especially hungry,” she somehow found the presence of mind to stammer. “But thanks for the advice in case I’m ever tempted to eat here in the future.”
Nick ran his gaze slowly from the tip of her head down to her black Ferragamo pumps and then back up again, and if he missed a single detail in between it would have shocked her. “Tell me – are you easily tempted?”
Angela’s mouth fell open in silent surprise and all semblance of rational thought instantly left the building. “Um, I don’t -”
He chuckled, taking a sip of what looked like vodka – her own preferred drink. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to render you speechless. And I’m usually not quite that direct. I’m Nick Manning by the way.”
She placed her hand in the intimidatingly large one he extended to her. “Yes, I know. I’m pretty sure everyone in the office knows who you are. Not to mention the entire city.”
He arched a thick jet black eyebrow. “Are you a football fan, then?”
&nb
sp; Angela shrugged. “Somewhat. My dad’s a huge 49er fan and I used to watch games with him all the time. Personally, though, I’m more of a basketball fan. No offense.”
He laughed. “None taken, and thanks for being honest. Most people would feel the need to kiss up and blatantly lie about it. And do I get to learn your name at some point?”
She felt her cheeks grow warm. “Oh, sorry. It’s Angela Del Carlo. I’m, um, one of the new trainees.”
“Angela.” The way he said her name felt like an intimate caress, one that she felt ripple through every nerve ending in her body. “I guessed you were Italian with your hair and eyes.” He stroked his thumb over her knuckles, her hand still firmly clasped in his.
Her gaze remained locked with his, his dark, long lashed eyes so much like her own. “Are you? Italian, I mean. You’re – well, your coloring is just like mine.”
Nick grinned down at her. “Irish and English on my father’s side, Greek on my mother’s. In other words, no chance of us being distant relations of any sort. Which,” he added in a hushed drawl, “is very, very fortunate because I draw the line at dating family members. Or married women.”
The word “dating” instantly put all of Angela’s senses on high alert. Surely he wasn’t going to –
“And co-workers as well from what I hear,” she blurted out.
His grin deepened. “Been listening to all the gossip about me, have you? Oh, don’t worry, it doesn’t take much imagination to figure out what’s being said. But I confess to being a little surprised that you’d listen to much gossip – Angela. My initial impression of you was that of a cool, no bullshit kind of woman who doesn’t particularly enjoy that sort of thing.”
While some women might have interpreted his description of her as mildly insulting, she took it as a compliment. “It’s a little tough not to overhear certain things when almost everyone around you is chatting about it. But,” she added with what she hoped looked like a careless little shrug, “I don’t always put a lot of store in gossip, or indulge in it much myself. I, ah, prefer to form my own opinions.”
Nick’s dark eyes gleamed with approval. “Good girl. I knew there was a reason you stood out from every other female in this room. And, no, I’m not talking about your height. So tell me, did you play basketball?”
His rather abrupt change of subject caused her to blink in reaction but otherwise she kept her composure – at least as much as she could reasonably expect to do under the circumstances.
“Not since high school. At college I played volleyball.”
He finished off his drink, and somehow the sight of his strong throat as he swallowed was more intoxicating than the vodka in her own glass. “What college?
“Stanford.”
His grin returned. “Well, how about that? So we have more in common than just having the same coloring and being freakishly tall. When did you graduate?”
“Just this past June.”
Nick’s grin faded rapidly, and she thought she heard him curse softly beneath his breath. “So, you’re like twenty-three, twenty-four, something like that?”
Angela hesitated, sensing his unease, but refusing to outright lie at the same time. “No, I’m only twenty-two.”
“Shit.” He set his glass down on a passing waiter’s empty tray. “I’m thirty-three, closer to thirty-four.”
She shrugged. “So? I happen to like older men.”
He laughed, his good humor quickly restored. “Is that right? You got a daddy complex or something?”
She shook her head slowly. “I would never think of you as my father. Or the least bit old. And you’re definitely not too old for me, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”
His expression instantly grew deadly serious, his voice raspy. “Is that a fact, Miss Del Carlo? Well, you are just a whole lot of very pleasant surprises, aren’t you? What’s that you’re drinking?”
Somewhat taken aback by the rather abrupt way he tended to segue from one subject to another so quickly, she glanced down into her nearly empty glass. “Vodka tonic. Though the vodka isn’t my preferred brand.”
“And what would that be?”
“Absolut Citron. On the rocks.”
Nick smiled, taking the glass from her suddenly nerveless fingers and setting it aside. “The coincidences just keep piling up, don’t they? That’s almost always what I drink, too. And then, of course, there’s the coincidence of our first names.”
She gave him a puzzled look. “My name is Italian while yours is Greek. At least, I assume Nick is short for Nicholas.”
“It is. But I wasn’t referring to their ethnic origins,” he corrected. “Has anyone ever called you Angel? As a nickname, of course.”
Her pulse rate seemed to be jacking up another degree with each passing moment. “N-nno. Just Angie.”
Nick shook his head. “Not Angie. That doesn’t suit you in the least. But Angel definitely does. And, well, many people aren’t aware of this but Nick is sometimes used as a nickname for the devil – Old Nick, to be precise. So, here we are then – the Angel and the Devil. Rather poetic, don’t you think?”
She stared at him, too shocked and too enraptured in equal measures to think of anything remotely intelligent to say. Instead, she stammered clumsily, “But you – what about – I work here!”
He gave her a knowing smirk, as though he knew exactly how unsettled he was making her feel. “Are we back to that again? Very well, it’s true. I’ve never dated a co-worker before. Too messy, too complicated, and way too invasive of the privacy I insist on having in my personal life. But this is different. You’re different. Enough so that I’m going to break my ironclad rule and ask you to have dinner with me tonight.”
She gasped and knew that her jaw must have dropped open in shock. “You – you are?”
“I am. I have. So, what’s your answer?”
“Yes.” She replied without the slightest hesitation, afraid that if she stopped to think about it too long that she’d wake up and realize this had all been a dream.
Nick looked pleased, satisfied, and maybe even a bit relieved. “Good. I hate when women play games. Unless, of course, they happen to be a particular kind of game.”
But before she could even begin to think up a witty reply – hell, any reply – to that very deliberate taunt, Nick had pulled a business card and pen from the inside pocket of his superbly tailored suit jacket.
“Here.” He handed her the card, on which he’d written a name and address in a bold script. “Meet me in half an hour. I’ll leave first so that we don’t give the gossip mongers in this place more fuel for their nosy little fires. God, how I hate that shit.”
She took the card, unable to suppress a little shiver at the sound of disgust in his voice. “Are you – I mean, is it okay for you to leave so soon?”
Nick gave a hoot of laughter. “Let’s put it this way. There’s not a single person here who’s got the balls to tell me otherwise. And that includes our spineless excuse of a CEO. In other words, Angel, I can do whatever the hell I please. Don’t be late, hmm?”
And with that he walked out of the room without a backwards glance for anyone, flat-out ignoring those who attempted to approach him, including one of the higher-ups from corporate headquarters.
It was only after he was out of sight that she glanced down at the little card clutched so tightly in her hand. Even though she’d only been living in San Francisco a very short while, she still recognized the name of the restaurant – easily one of the best known and highly rated in the entire city. Talk was that it could take weeks to get a reservation there. And yet it appeared that the Nick Manning effect was wide reaching – to the extent that nabbing a table at the last minute would be the easiest thing in the world for him.
Angela slipped the card into her skirt pocket and wondered when she could make a discreet exit of her own. She was fairly sure it would be a ten minute walk or less to the restaurant, but from the commanding tone of Nick’s voice she wouldn’
t dare risk being late.
By rights, she really ought to be bristling right about now at the arrogant, take-no-prisoners sort of way he’d maneuvered her into meeting him. Normally, men wouldn’t even think of trying to intimidate or boss her around, since most of the men she’d met were more than a little daunted by her height. Only a handful of boys in her high school class had actually been taller than her, and even then not until their senior year. As a result, she hadn’t dated at all back then, except for a rather embarrassing arranged date to her senior prom with her older sister’s brother-in-law. It had been ten different kinds of awkward, and Angela wasn’t sure which of them had been more relieved when the very uncomfortable evening had finally drawn to a close.
Fortunately, college had been different, and she’d dated several athletes – basketball and volleyball players, and swimmers and water polo players among them. But they had still very much been boys – immature, awkward, hardly more experienced than she was. Nick was most assuredly the first man she’d ever come close to going on a date with, and she doubted he’d been awkward – or inexperienced – for a very, very long time.
But even as she steeled herself for the approach of her obviously curious co-workers – swarming around her, she thought in mild disgust, like a school of fish around bait – she wondered if this dinner with Nick was even a real date. Maybe he just wanted to talk about their mutual alma mater. Or sports. Or one of a dozen different subjects.
But no, she thought, as a satisfied little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. It was very obvious what Nick wanted with her. Drinks, yes, and dinner, of a certainty. But there was little doubt in her mind that a man like him would also expect sex at the end of the evening. Probably a lot of sex, and she doubted there’d be much intimacy or romance involved. And judging by how tight and swollen her breasts felt at this moment, not to mention how damp her black silk thong was getting, her body liked the idea of that particular outcome. A lot.
Shattered Page 5
