by May Sage
A Nerdy Holiday
Some Girls Do It Book Five
May Sage
A Nerdy Holiday
Some Girls Do It 5
A Novella
May Sage © 2017
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Leila Thomas woke up early that morning, although she’d been up until well past midnight to dye her hair brown. It had taken two applications to get rid of the purple undertone and then she’d had to dry it.
Worth it. She now looked like a perfect corporate drone. Not exactly her goal in life, but hey, it was all a means to an end.
She was one of those kids; the one that didn’t listen and went to school for what she loved: film making. At twenty-five, after flipping burgers for a couple of years, she wised up and signed up to another round of collegial torture—for admin this time.
Ironic, that after all this time, it was the boring course of study that gave her her first job in the industry she’d wanted to join initially. She’d landed an entry-level position at Wolf Entertainment, an upcoming fantasy and sci-fi studio that had produced a couple of masterpieces in the five years since it had started.
The studio would have been considered indie if it hadn’t been backed by two multibillionaires all too happy to throw money in order to hire the best directors, actors, and producers of the age.
She still couldn’t believe it. Sure, her job wouldn’t go far beyond picking up coffee, but still. This was as close to living the dream as she’d ever get, she knew that. No way was she risking that job. Even if it meant wearing patent pumps and returning her platinum and purple hair to her natural dull-brown.
Leila took the subway from Brooklyn to Manhattan, a huge, incontrollable smile plastered on her face. It even seemed like the ever stoic, ever indifferent New Yorkers were smiling at her this morning. She lifted her head to catch the gaze of an old man who grinned with all his teeth. She smiled back.
She thought that no morning had ever been that perfect, when she caught his gaze.
Her jaw dropped. The man didn’t belong in the subway; he was supposed to live somewhere in another stratosphere, where gorgeous, out-of-this-world-sexy people existed. Dark hair combed back, smoldering dark eyes with a wicked glint.
And the man was looking at her. Then, he opened his mouth and talked to her. Her.
These things didn’t happen—not to her.
Leila wasn’t blind. She knew she was cute—some days, she even made it to pretty. A strong seven out of ten that could get to an eight when she wore the right thing and her hair behaved. But the man wasn’t even on that scale. He broke the ten—surpassed it, like Henry Cavill, Jason Momoa and other demi-gods out there.
Yet he was definitely talking to her.
“Listen,” Sexiness said, “I wouldn’t normally do this, but someone has to bite the bullet and tell you.”
She was hanging on to his every word, and blushing, imagining what he just had to tell her.
“You’re flashing your tits, darling.”
One second passed. She stared at him in disbelief. Then her gaze went down and she saw her breast spilling out of her blouse.
The red blouse, a vintage she’d purchased long ago, when she still fit in a size four, had been a little too tight when she’d tried it on the previous evening, but not noticeably so. Now, the top three buttons had opened up. One of the sides of the blouse hung open, indeed baring her breast to the world. Leila was an A cup—she’d stopped worrying about bras in her teens. Her hard nipple saluted the entire carful of commuters.
Her mortification was boundless. No freaking wonder everyone, male or female, had been smiling; they weren’t smiling with her, they were fucking laughing at her. She hurried to close the blouse, her fingers awkward and missing the buttons a couple of times.
“Thanks,” she told Sexiness. Looking at him was downright painful now. She could feel her cheeks flaming in shame and embarrassment.
He winked as the doors opened. “Anytime, darling.”
On that note, he was gone. She sat there completely stunned and miserable, until she realized she’d missed her damn stop.
Wolf Entertainment’s headquarters were in Manhattan, although they filmed a lot of their movies in LA and all around the world on location. Leila had been hired as a receptionist for the third floor; the art department, where the magic happened. Other than her compulsive need to check her top half a dozen times per minute, she was professional to a T and her new boss apparently noticed it, because the nice, elegant, silver-haired lady stopped to tell her, “You’re doing very well,” after lunch.
Leila beamed. She’d gotten the hang of their phone system, memorized relevant names, and checked the appointment sheets to greet the newcomers by name when they walked in.
“Now listen,” Mary Andersen said. “The big suits are coming down later. Vincent and Quinn Wolf.”
Her mouth hung open. The elusive billionaire brothers who threw their money at WE. She hadn’t thought she’d see them now, if ever. They might finance WE, but to her knowledge, they weren’t involved in the direct running and operation of the studio. Vincent was a programmer and Quinn ran a gaming company. Both self-made men, both antisocial geeks, the twin brothers kept a low profile. Trying to get ready for her new job, Leila had read everything she could get her hands on about them and it wasn’t much.
Their employees were tight lipped. The people they’d fired—or those who’d gone away of their own accord—had explained that their contract prevented anyone divulging anything about their bosses.
Sure enough, Leila had indeed seen a clear NDA clause that covered not only everything she heard about their upcoming projects but also anything even remotely related to the Wolf brothers. The penalty was just a hair short of demanding her firstborn child, her dog, and everything she’d earn until the moment she died, should she break that contract. They were damn serious about it. She’d signed without hesitation. It also specified that if anything happened that she felt she needed to contact the authorities about, she was allowed to go to the police—but encouraged to talk to her superior first. That was good enough for her. They just didn’t want gossips, by the looks of it.
“Shall I offer them coffee?” she asked.
Mary shook her head. “No need, Amanda will go grab some Starbucks. They’re coffee snobs.”
Leila could relate. She’d tried the black nebulous stuff out of their coffee machine and immediately spit it back out. Even with the vanilla syrup she’d brought with her, that farce didn’t qualify to be called coffee.
“They’re coming for a brainstorming meeting about our next project. While they’re here, any visitors will have to wait. Don’t ping any of us, alright? We’re on lockdown until we’ve outlined that damn movie.”
Leila nodded her agreement. What she would have given to be part of that meeting. Maybe some day.
Chapter 2
Quinn was still smiling. Her face. The poor girl had been completely mortified. He’d contemplated just leaving it alone, but seeing a bunch of idiots chuckle at her expense hadn’t sat well with him.
He emerged from the subway and walked right to the black limo waiting for him at his exit.
“Must you carry on playing the plebeian?” Vincent sighed.
“Must you
carry on playing the nouveau-riche?” he retorted. “I mean, come on- a limo, now?”
They might have the same taste and nerdy interests, as well as identical features, but at the core of things, when it came to their way of life, he and his brother couldn’t be more different. Quinn liked simple things; Vincent, well. He now owned a limo.
His twin shrugged at the barely veiled critique. “Does the job. I get to work in the back while Travis battles through New York traffic.”
“I hope you pay the poor guy well.”
His brother lifted one brow under his rectangular glasses, not bothering to reply. No doubt the driver earned more than an average executive.
“Tell me you’re coming to Thanksgiving, by the way. Mom has been trying to get a hold of you all month. She’s now bugging me about convincing you.”
Quinn grimaced. There was a reason why he’d dodged the phone calls.
“Depends. Is she going to invite Bonnie, Anna, Wendy, Harriette, Candy or Paula and conveniently sit them next to me?”
“Probably,” Vincent admitted. “But there’ll be food. Dad’s cooking.”
As their father was a retired Michelin-star chef, that was enough to make anyone reconsider their position. As Hugo Wolf had cooked practically every night of his life for fifty years straight, ignoring the very, very occasional holiday, he wasn’t spending a lot of time in the kitchen these days. But his mother’s matchmaking efforts were really getting to Quinn lately.
Quinn had to point out the obvious. “She realizes I’m married, right?”
Vincent winced. “I think that deep down, we all know you are, really. We’re just in denial. Attempting to tell ourselves that your two years of insanity never happened. I’m sure you understand that.”
Quinn deserved that. Everyone had told him he shouldn’t marry the woman he’d proposed to but he’d assumed that they were so against her because she was a model. Who actually liked models? No one who wasn’t having sex with one of them, that’s for sure.
But two years into their marriage, Quinn had had enough of the whining and the drama. She’d genuinely seemed like a normal, rational, down-to-Earth girl, until there was a ring on her finger. The fact that Stella had stopped working the moment she became Mrs. Wolf also made a very good case for everything his family and friends had told him about her. That said, he wouldn’t have divorced her because they weren’t perfect together; he knew from observing his parents that marriages needed work. He’d made vows and he intended to stick to them.
Until he’d come home and seen that Stella wasn’t sticking to hers.
The pool boy, really? How fucking cliché was that?
Quinn had packed a bag and headed to Vincent’s place up in Long Island. He and Stella lived in NYC, so that meant they needed to be separated for a year before being able to file for divorce. He was counting the days. Twenty-nine left. Almost the end of the road.
“You know,” Vincent said, “you could always nip that in the bud. Tell her you’re bringing a woman. Issue solved.”
The idea had merit. Only one issue. “If I lie, she’ll end up cornering me even harder next time. I don’t know anyone I could ask. Can you think of anyone?”
Sure, there were a few female nerds Quinn interacted with—but most of the women he knew were his subordinates. Vincent shook his head. They both spent ninety percent of their waking hours behind a screen.
How pathetic.
They kept off the radar because they’d witnessed what fame could do to a person. Their father had been known as a “hot chef” back in his day and he’d had stalkers turning up everywhere, even at his home. The last straw had been when one of them had threatened their mom with a knife, demanding she leave him.
Yeah, they weren’t doing that. Just like their father had been, Vincent and Quinn were attractive—no point beating around the bush—and all the numbers in their bank accounts made them even more so. That meant they rarely attended social functions. It was easy to go out on a Saturday night and bring a girl home, but that didn’t help them make any friends.
“You could hire someone?”
He grimaced. Yeah, no. He wasn’t paying an escort, now or ever. Especially to bring home to his family. He grimaced, imagining his mom’s reaction if she ever found out.
“Not happening. Look, I’ll just skip this one. With the launch of my next game and this movie hanging over our heads…”
Vincent held one hand up. “Save the excuses for mom. I get it. Talking about the movie, looks like we’re almost here.”
They were close, like most twins—always had been. Back in the day, they’d loved working together, be it on homework, science projects, or building sand castles. Then, over the last ten years, they’d both built their respective businesses—in similar fields, but they’d spent most of their time focused on their own shit. Apart. They didn’t have vaginas, so they had never talked about feelings and stuff, but Quinn had definitely felt his twin’s absence.
When Vincent proposed they go into business together, Quinn was all ears. They’d started a studio because they’d always loved movies—and there definitely weren’t enough proper geek movies getting produced. The project was just supposed to stay a small little outlet for fun, but, well, the Wolf brothers never did things halfway. They threw money at the right team, and before they’d known it, their first movie was blowing up the box office.
It was still their fun project—the fact that it had become profitable was just a bonus.
“Let’s do this.”
He somehow managed to maintain a serious expression as he watched the girl’s face change to a grimace. That was her. The girl from the train, with her red blouse. Now it was closed, she looked just fine for a receptionist.
Quinn gave in: he cracked a secretive smile. She ducked her head, no doubt wishing he’d disappear. Poor lady. This definitely wasn’t her day.
Mary was saying something, visibly talking to him, because she called out, “Quinn?” like she’d said something clearly meant for him and he’d ignored it.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “I was just surprised to see your new addition to the team.”
“Ah. Leila Thomas—she started today. She’s doing very well so far.”
“We’ve met,” he replied, enjoying how she blushed, visibly begging every god that he wouldn’t say how. He couldn’t help teasing her. “Just recently, in fact.” His gaze dropped down to her blouse. “I see you’ve recovered from your mishap.”
Now she was angry. Glaring. Rightly so, too. He was dangerously treading on the limits of acceptable. No doubt she could file for sexual harassment just on the basis of what he’d said so far. Acting like this wasn’t like him. He forced himself to step away and turn his attention back to Mary. “I hope everyone is ready for the meeting?”
“Ready and eager, too. The premise is awesome. The concept artist’s sketches blew our minds.”
As Mary went on about the creative team’s enthusiasm, Quinn watched Vincent walk to Leila’s desk and bend forward. He frowned.
“Hey, lady. So, you know my twin, hm?” He didn’t give her time to answer that. “Because he’s in quite a predicament right now.” He bombarded her without giving her a second. “Our mother is attempting to set up a blind date or twenty for him. He doesn’t want that, so he needs a fake date. That’s for Thanksgiving, but our family celebrates on the Sunday, so everyone can make it. Fancy coming with?”
Poor Leila looked like a deer caught in headlights. Quinn sighed. “Leave the woman alone. I’m certain she has better things to do on Thanksgiving weekend.”
“Do you?” Vincent asked. “Have anything better to do? There will be food. Cooked by Hugo Wolf.”
That immediately pulled her out of her daze.
“Wait, Hugo Wolf, as in Wolf’s Kitchen?”
“Daddy dearest,” Vincent confirmed, smiling like he knew he had her.
She had that look in her eyes. The look of a gal who’d sell her soul for the right dish. Q
uinn knew that look. He loved it.
His brother had somehow just gotten him a date.
Chapter 3
“Okay.”
Could she plead insanity? She didn’t know what had made her accept the weird offer. Maybe twin Wolf number one had hypnotized her or something.
Then she remembered what he’d said. Food. And suddenly she felt like she’d made the right decision all over again. Food was worth it.
It was all very strange, though. Why did a man who looked like Quinn Wolf need a fake date? He could get himself a real one without much effort, no doubt.
He stood there a few steps back from his brother, shaking his head, visibly amused.
“I mean, am I allowed to do that?” she asked Mary, worried she might have risked her job when she accepted.
The older woman rolled her eyes. “Sure are. There’s no fraternization policy.”
Fraternization. Right. Way to make herself get noticed on day one. She bit her lip, wondering if it was too late to back down. As though he’d read her mind, the second twin gave her an out. “Look, you really don’t have to come. Vincent was inappropriate.”
“Hey, you said you knew her.”
She stifled a groan at that, remembering how much he knew her, down to the shape of her small boob.
“I don’t mind going if it’s on Sunday,” she said finally. The food had won that battle. “My family celebrates on Thursday.”
“Marvelous. Now, let’s go get that meeting started.”
“What the hell was that?” he whispered to Vincent, who shrugged.
“You like her. You were doing that weird handsome-man glance we only do with women we fancy.”
