“Well, then, Miss Andrews. Why don’t you run through the latest developments, and we can bring Robert up to speed once he arrives.”
Reagan pulled out a file and opened it. “I think you’ll be pleased with our--”
“Reagan—can I call you Reagan?—let’s table this for now. We haven’t even eaten yet, and Robert really should be here to hear everything anyway. How about another drink?” Royce leaned back in his chair, motioning lazily to our waitress as if he had not a care in the world. I swallowed hard against the burning rage that clogged my throat, and narrowed my eyes. Royce Johnson had always been an ass. I cursed Isaac for putting this on Reagan. I could only imagine how things would be going if I wasn’t here.
I glanced at Reagan, who looked shocked and somewhat embarrassed. “Royce, we are here to talk about the specifics of the two million dollar contract you have with Elite. If you aren’t prepared to discuss those specifics, well then, I suggest we table this for a time when you are.” I glared at him, sounding every bit of an ass myself. I didn’t care.
Just then, Robert Johnson walked up to the table. “Greetings, everyone,” he smiled brightly as he stuffed his phone into his pocket. His arrival cut through the tension, and saved Royce from making further response.
“Mr. Johnson, I’m Reagan Andrews. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Reagan extended her hand, attempting to regain control of what was at best, an awkward situation.
“Reagan Andrews, please, call me Robert. I’ve heard nothing but great things.” He nodded at me. “Nathan, good to see you, as well. I heard you would be joining us.”
I didn’t even bother to fake a smile. “Glad you could finally grace us. We were just getting down to business.”
Robert called to a passing waitress, summoning her for a drink. “I’ll take a belvedere and Tonic on the rocks. Reagan, another?” He motioned to her now empty glass.
She nodded, and I shifted in my seat. These two unprofessional lushes were obviously trying to get her drunk, and she looked like she was about to throw back a few just to gain their approval. I switched my drink to water, and gritted my teeth. Someone at this table needed to have a clear head.
At Robert’s urging, Reagan began talking about the contract, addressing their questions and concerns with surprising ease. I watched as she highlighted the suggested changes in the proposal, while the Johnsons continued to refill her glass over and over. She had insisted she could handle herself with these two, but as I watched her drain what had to be her fourth, maybe fifth, drink, I questioned the accuracy of that statement. Surely she couldn’t be that naïve to not know what was really going on here.
She let out a loud laugh at some off-color comment made by Royce, and I decided show and tell was over. I needed to get her home before she passed out right here at the table. Robert and Royce could find their entertainment elsewhere. “Well, gentleman, it’s getting late,” I sat up in my seat.
“Yes, I really should be getting home.” Reagan giggled, looking around for her bag, which happened to be slung over the back of her chair. It was right there, but she was oblivious. Apparently, she was drunker than I’d first imagined. I had a few choice words for Isaac when he returned home.
I stood up, and then stopped at the sight of Royce taking Reagan by the arm. “Reagan, allow me to see you get home.” She giggled again, smiling up at him, and I recognized the blaze of lust that flared in his eyes.
That was it. Game over.
I walked around to her chair and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Miss Andrews already has a way home.” My implication was clear. Robert removed his hand with a mild trace of annoyance. “We’ll be in touch,” I finished as I handed Reagan her bag. She stood, swaying slightly in my direction. Saying our goodbyes, I hastily directed her outside to my parked car.
“I think they liked me” Reagan said with a yawn, as I pulled out into traffic.
“What was your first clue?” I couldn’t hide the irritation that I still felt. I was furious with the Johnsons’ behavior, as if they were a couple of high school quarterbacks on some mission to get the cheerleader drunk so they could take advantage.
“I’m glad you were here tonight, Nathan. You make me feel safe.”
My head snapped to the side to look at her, but she was leaning back with her eyes closed, and had she not just spoken, I could almost believe she had fallen asleep. I wasn’t sure she was even aware of what she’d just said. I’d never had anyone tell me I made them feel safe before, and it was igniting a fierce sense of protectiveness in me that I hadn’t known existed.
I reached over and took her hand. “Reagan? Reagan, honey, do you have your keys?” I knew Brooke would not be home to let us in, and friend or not, I didn’t feel comfortable breaking the unspoken rule of rummaging through a woman’s purse. I was faced with the dilemma of how to get her inside once I got her home.
She didn’t answer. “Reagan?” I tried again, speaking more loudly. Still nothing.
She was asleep, or passed out, which one I couldn’t be sure. I was leaning more toward the latter. Bringing her hand to my lips and pressing a kiss there, I made a decision.
Reagan
My eyes slid open, squinting against the morning light coming in through the window beside my bed.
Wait, what? I didn’t have a window beside my bed. Where was I?
I sat up, but was not prepared for the immediate throbbing coming from the back of my head. I felt as if I had smashed it against a ton of bricks. I sat on the edge of the bed, willing the swirling room around me to right itself so I could make sense of where I was. Definitely not my apartment. . .not unless I’d been the recipient of an Extreme Makeover at some point during the night. Speaking of, what exactly had happened last night?
My stomach lurched violently. Figuring out where I was and how I’d gotten here would have to wait. I was about to be very sick, and I needed to find a bathroom immediately. I ignored my pounding head and stumbled to the bedroom door. Stepping out into the hall, a hazy memory floated around the edges of my hungover brain, but I had no time to dwell as my stomach roiled again. Spotting an open door to a bathroom to my right, I sprinted through the doorway and fell to my knees at the toilet just in time. I sat there, with my cheek against the toilet seat, and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to move. I just wanted to sit here, unmoving and in complete silence, until this raging headache went away. The thought of having to get up and walk back to the room I’d been in horrified me.
Shit, how much had I drunk last night, anyway?
After several long minutes, I opened my eyes and scanned the room. A gorgeously decorated bathroom, done in stark tones of grey and white. It wasn’t mine, though, and I remembered my brief recognition of the hallway. Flushing the toilet, I stood up and rinsed my mouth out in the sink, then surveyed myself in the vanity mirror. I looked like hell. My eyes, red-rimmed and feeling like sandpaper covered the insides of my lids, took in the matted hair, pillow lines crisscrossing my cheek, and the wrinkled maxi dress I’d been wearing last night. My headache lessened to a dull roar, I searched the various drawers in the vanity, finally locating one filled with rolled washcloths. I scrubbed my face, letting the warm cloth rest on my burning eyes for a few moments. I didn’t have my bag with me, so did the best I could finger combing the snarled mess on my head. Satisfied I at least would no longer frighten small children, I poked my head out into the hall.
I knew this hall. I’d walked this hall three days ago. My headache and churning stomach took a backseat to the nervousness I now felt at realizing I was in Nathan’s house.
I had spent the night here.
Holy shit!
I tiptoed back to the room I’d slept in, searching around for my bag. I found it resting on the nightstand near the bed and grabbed my phone.
Eleven-thirty? I had slept like a dead person in Nathan’s house until eleven-thirty? It just kept getting better and better, didn’t it?
I slapped on some gloss, and ran my tongue
over my teeth, wishing like mad that I had a toothbrush. My post alcohol and vomit breath would probably kill zombies. I fished around the bottom of my bag, and threw up a mental “Hallelujah” when I found a wrapped peppermint stuck in the corner. Popping it in my mouth, I hastily made the bed and turned to the doorway.
I cringed as all the possible scenarios for last night began to race through my foggy brain. I remembered the dinner with the Johnson’s, and how much Nathan being there had thrown me off kilter. I also remembered slamming back a few in an effort to mask my nervousness. It was obvious I had drunk more than my share, but that didn’t explain how I’d ended up here.
Had I made a complete fool of myself at the meeting? Had I passed out?
Holy mother of God, please tell me I had not spilled my guts in Nathan’s presence, both figuratively and physically. The thoughts of me rambling on about my childhood, how he made me feel, or actually puking in his car were enough to have me wanting to crawl back in the bed and hide beneath the covers.
Squaring my shoulders, I hoisted my bag and hesitantly walked down the stairs. It was fast approaching noon; he had to be wondering if I’d ever get up.
I’d only been here once, but the kitchen was easy enough to find.
And there he was, all gorgeous and sexy in faded jeans and a tight, white t-shirt, his blond hair falling in heavy, unruly locks, as if he’d been running his hands through it. He did that a lot, I’d learned. His tattoo was on full display on his right bicep; an intricate design that covered his bicep and disappeared under the sleeve of his t-shirt. He was barefoot, drinking coffee, as he leaned back against the counter. It was clear he had heard me rustling around upstairs and had been waiting for me to appear.
I hadn’t thought it possible, but the tattoo and the bare feet exponentially increased his hotness level. I may have actually sighed a bit at the sight of him, and only hoped that if he’d heard, he’d assume it was the result of my obvious hangover.
“Morning, sunshine.” He reached behind him to a waiting mug of steaming coffee, and held it out to me with a raised eyebrow.
I took a small sip, the mocha flavored drink sliding down my scratchy throat. “Thank you.” I felt his eyes on me as I took another sip of coffee, and hoped I no longer looked like I’d just shut down the local bar. “Uhmmm. . .and thanks for. . .last night.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what I was thanking him for, but he had made sure I’d not passed out in the street, so for that I was at least grateful.
He placed his empty cup in the sink and moved closer to me. “Yes, last night. Interesting evening we had last night.”
I looked up in panic. Had the Johnson account been pulled? In my efforts to calm my raging hormones, had I somehow given cause to the Johnson’s to believe I wasn’t capable of overseeing their account? “Was it. . . .is everything okay?”
“I know what you’re thinking, and let me assure you that the Johnson account is still intact. All is well.” He pulled out a barstool at the large granite island and indicated I should sit. He took the stool beside me. “How are you feeling?”
I buried my face in my hands, embarrassed. Although we hadn’t spoken of it, I knew his mom drank excessively, and his brother had been killed by a drunk driver. And here I was, hung over in his kitchen. “Like shit,” I admitted.
Nathan laughed. “I don’t doubt it. Royce Johnson couldn’t keep the drinks coming fast enough. You gotta watch out for those two,” he warned. “And to answer your next question, I brought you here because you were not capable of providing me with your keys to unlock your door. I figured rifling through your purse would push the boundaries of our newfound friendship, so I brought you here instead.”
I glanced down at my wrinkled dress, back at him and then out the window. I’d woken up in the guest room, so obviously spending the night here had not had any benefit outside of ensuring I wasn’t sleeping it off on my doorstep.
“And no, nothing happened. I put you in the guest room and I slept in mine. I won’t pretend I didn’t think about you in the room next to me all night, though I prefer that you be sober the first time we share a bed.”
My eyes widened, as I stared at him in both horror and excitement, but was saved further comment as he threw up his hands in mock surrender. “I know, I know. I’m just saying,” he conceded. “By the way, remind me to never let you get that wasted again. You’re not as light as you look,” he joked, lightening the sudden tension in the room.
I reached over and punched his arm. “Jerk,” I answered with a laugh. My headache had lessened further still, and the coffee was helping take the edge off. I supposed I should probably get going. “Well, thank you for being there. It won’t happen again; I promise.” I was shocked I had allowed it to happen in the first place, but there was a first time for everything, apparently.
Nathan waved his hand in the air. “It’s okay. I’m just glad I was able to help. Speaking of, I think it’s past time we exchange numbers. You never know when you’ll need me to come to your rescue again.” His tone was totally serious, but there was a twinkle in his eye.
I rolled my eyes at him, but reached into my bag for my phone. We exchanged phones and I punched in my name and number. I wouldn’t deny the tiny thrill of pleasure I got when he handed my phone back and I saw his contact information.
“I should go,” I said as I got up and carried my empty cup to the sink and placed it beside his.
Nathan stood up as well. “Can I drive you?”
It would have been so easy to just say yes. I wanted to say yes; wanted to prolong this time with him. But I couldn’t continue to blur the lines. I needed to stick to my plan. “No, thank you. I can just call a cab.”
Disappointment flashed across his features, before disappearing. “Okay, I’ll make the call.”
Forty-five minutes later, I was home, showered and back in bed, feeling sorry for myself. My headache was pretty much gone, although the nausea had yet to subside.
Nathan had said there was nothing to worry about with the Johnson account, but I couldn’t help worry that my misguided decision to get rip roaring drunk last night would come back to haunt me. I wished Brooke was home, if for no other reason than to just listen. I’d never had a real friend before, but it was at times like these that I wished I did. I needed someone to vent to, about last night, about Nathan. . .about everything.
I got up and opened my closet, pushing hangers out of the way until I saw my mom’s dress. I stared at it, feeling a rush of sadness that despite having lived with her for thirteen years, I’d never really known her. Sometimes, in rare moments of soberness, she would look at me and smile, smooth down my hair and even go so far as to let me curl up beside her as I watched cartoons on the thrift store TV Charlie had found. It was those times when I think that had circumstances been different, she would have made a good mom. That had life been kinder, and had she not fallen in love with a powdered poison that would eventually kill her, then she and I would be having a good, long talk about Nathan right now, and she’d been giving me all sorts of motherly advice.
I needed, wanted, to believe that.
And I instantly felt guilty for even wishing it, as I turned and flopped back into my bed. Helen had been that person for me since she’d taken me home all those years ago. It was she that had calmed the nightmares of a pre-teen girl who couldn’t be hugged. It was Helen who had religiously taken me to countless therapists until she’d found one she believed could help sort through the traumatizing events that had highlighted my young life. She had dried my tears, kissed my skinned knees and seen me through my first period, when I’d believed I had contracted some fatal disease and was surely on the brink of death.
She was my mom, and she would give me all the advice I needed if I would just ask.
Making a mental note to call her later, I closed my eyes and soon fell fast asleep.
I awoke several hours later, feeling tremendously better. I called Helen and while I brought her up to speed
on work, I couldn’t bring myself to discuss Nathan or my drunken shenanigans from the night before. She was missing me, worried about me, I could tell, and I did my best to put her mind at ease. Telling her I’d drank myself to oblivion while at a client dinner would not score me any points in the ‘make her feel at ease’ department.
I texted Gabby to let her know the website was complete other than her approval, and asked her to take a look and let me know her thoughts. I then logged on to my work email, but there wasn’t much in the way of anything pressing so I grabbed a yogurt and a bottled water, then made myself comfortable on the couch.
As I lazily flipped through the channels, my mind drifted to Nathan.
What was he doing right now?
I had a sudden desire to talk to him, but squelched the idea. What would I say? What would be my reason for calling? Just because I had his number now, didn’t mean I should start calling at random.
Sure, we were friends, but still. . . .I had left his house this morning in a drunken haze. It was embarrassing , to say the least, and navigating this friendship was still new to me. Were we just work friends, or were we let’s-get-together-for-dinner-and-a-movie type friends?
I didn’t know.
I should probably just wait until Monday and see him at the office. Play it safe.
Probably.
Chapter Fifteen
Nathan
Le Bernardin was one of New York’s highest recommended French restaurants that specialized in seafood. Elite had done some security work for the owners in the past, and it had become one of my favorite places for French cuisine.
I was meeting my mother here, having made dinner plans with her earlier this afternoon. She had never sent me the phone number for the mysterious Whitney yesterday, and I hadn’t reminded her. Thankful to have dodged that bullet, I was eager to relax and spend some time with my mother; it was long overdue.
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