I Knew You Were Trouble

by Lauren Layne

  Taylor paused in the process of trying to slink past the break room. If it had been anyone else, she might have been able to get away with pretending not to hear, but Brit would know better.

  She backtracked until she stood in front of the break room.

  There were a handful of people sitting in chairs or leaning on the counter, including the one person who’d made her avoid the room in the first place.

  Taylor carefully avoided the sardonic gaze of Nick Ballantine, instead choosing to focus on the friendly faces of Brit and Penelope Pope, a tiny brunette and one-half of Oxford’s sportswriting duo.

  “Taylor, you’ve got to try this,” Penelope said, sipping out of a cocktail glass nearly as large as her face. “Nick says it’s a Brandy Crusta, but I’m going to rename it magic.”

  Taylor had quickly learned that impromptu, in-office happy hours were a thing at Oxford. Ordinarily she would have gotten behind this sort of workplace frivolity easily.

  The trouble?

  The workplace happy hours went hand in hand with the presence of Nick Ballantine, who Taylor had quickly learned worked as a bartender when he wasn’t freelancing for Oxford.

  “Yes, let Nick make you something,” Brit said, waving in Nick’s direction as she sipped a clear beverage garnished with a wedge of lime. “He’s got this crazy skill for knowing exactly what drink each person will love.”

  “By God, give the man a Nobel Prize,” Taylor muttered under her breath.

  Nick, however, apparently heard her, because he narrowed his eyes, even as he used his foot to kick a chair out from under the table.

  “Sit,” he ordered, gesturing with his chin.

  Taylor glanced over her shoulder. “Did someone bring their dog into the office again?”

  In response, Nick reached out and put a heavy hand on her shoulder, literally shoving her into the seat.

  He grinned as she glared. “Now, what can I get for you, Carr?”

  “Thought you were supposed to be some sort of cocktail miracle worker. Make me something.”

  He scratched at his chin, surveying the bottles in front of him on the table. “Shit. Of all the days to forget the arsenic.”

  “How about a lemon drop?” Hunter Cross suggested. The good-looking VP, Brit’s best guy friend, gave Taylor a wink. “Sweet alongside all that tart.”

  Nick snorted, as though to say, I’ll believe it when I see it.

  She ignored Nick but gave Hunter a look. “Watch it, Cross, or I’ll tell all the ladies just which pop star I heard you singing along with the other day.”

  Hunter laughed and held up his hands in surrender. “You win. Give her a whiskey, Nick, along with a side of my balls.”

  Nick nodded in acknowledgment but said nothing, his eyes flicking between Hunter and Taylor before returning to the drink.

  She had an annoying urge to tell him that she and Hunter were just friends—that she liked the guy, but he didn’t make her lady parts so much as flicker.

  Without a word, Nick began picking up bottles she didn’t recognize and combining ingredients.

  Such had been the nature of their relationship in the month since that first unfortunate encounter. She didn’t see him often, maybe twice a week. But thus far all the run-ins between them had ended in either stony silence or bloodshed.

  “So, Taylor. How’s Oxford treating you so far?”

  This from Cole Sharpe, Penelope Pope’s other half, both at work and at home, if the rumors were correct.

  “I love it,” she said, meaning it. She’d only been at the new job four weeks, but so far it was everything she’d hoped for. It kept her interest and was challenging. If she had anything at all to complain about, it’d be that the job was maybe a touch busier than she’d expected, due to a bunch of accounts landing all at once.

  But Alex Cassidy was in the process of hiring another account exec to help shoulder some of Taylor’s load, so she could handle the long hours until then.

  Taylor made small talk with the group, even as she kept an eye on Nick as he mixed the various ingredients into a cocktail shaker, then added a handful of ice from the freezer.

  She was a little annoyed to realize that he had good hands. Even more annoyed to realize that her thoughts kept going in naughty directions as to where she wanted those hands.

  Because, inconveniently, the more time she spent around the guy, the more she disliked him. And yet the more she disliked him, the more aware she was of him. Where he was, what he was doing. Whether or not he was looking at her.

  Nick grabbed a grapefruit and added a fancy twist to the glass before unceremoniously setting it front of her. “Here.”

  Taylor glanced sideways at Brit and said in a loud whisper, “Google antidotes for common poisons on your phone, just in case.”

  Then she took a sip and let out a little oh of wonder.

  She didn’t have to look at Nick to know he was gloating, but she glanced up anyway. Yup. Gloating.

  He lifted his eyebrows, daring her to lie and say she didn’t like it.

  “It’s good,” she admitted, taking another sip.

  The beverage was the palest pink, and she’d been bracing for something either nauseously sugary or brutally sour. Instead it was light, fresh, and sweet, with just the slightest nip of bitter grapefruit at the end.

  “Oh, it’s delicious,” Brit said, already having reached across the table to help herself to a sip. She passed the glass to Penelope. “What is it?”

  Nick shrugged. “Just made it up. Haven’t thought of a name yet.”

  “Well, you should. Oooh, name it after Taylor!” Penelope insisted. “You made it for her.”

  Nick went to the sink to dump the ice. “It’s similar to a sidecar. Suppose we could go with Sidecarr. Two r’s.”

  “What about Ice Princess?” Taylor muttered, her words more or less muffled by the drink, now that she had the glass back and was taking a sip.

  She didn’t think anyone heard her, but Nick faltered on his way back to the table, his gaze slamming into hers.

  Taylor quickly looked away, but not before she saw something that looked like dismay on his face.

  She took another quick sip, then stood. “I’ve still got a bit of work to do. Finish this for me, would you?” she said, handing the drink to Brit.

  Taylor waved at the group and left the room to a chorus of “Bye, Taylor!”—very carefully avoiding looking at Nick Ballantine.

  Even though she felt that he was looking at her.

  TEN MONTHS AGO

  “What do you mean, why Austria?” Taylor said into the phone, keeping her voice down as she stood in the Oxford break room and stirred sugar-free sweetener into her coffee. “It’s Austria. At Christmastime. It’s gorgeous. Google it.”

  Her aunt didn’t reply right away, but Taylor could feel the phone getting colder against her cheek.

  “I’m sure it’s lovely,” Karen finally replied stiffly. “But my firm doesn’t provide much room for frivolity, even during the holidays.”

  Taylor narrowed her eyes just slightly, trying to figure out whether or not that was a subtle jab at Taylor’s career choice, and the fact that Oxford was more relaxed than the law firm where her aunt worked.

  Taylor had worked hard to please the difficult woman who raised her, but she’d drawn the line at becoming an attorney. She’d tried. She’d made it through an entire semester at Harvard Law before acknowledging that nothing about it appealed to her.

  When Taylor quit law school, her aunt’s disappointment was the closest thing Taylor had ever seen to emotion in Karen (who didn’t like to be called Aunt Karen). The topic of careers had been a tense one between them ever since.

  “What if we made it a short trip?” Taylor said, carefully keeping the plea out of her voice. “Four days. My treat.”

  “If we were to go to Europe, we’d split the costs, obviously.”

  Taylor smiled. It was so Karen. The second Taylor had turned sixteen, she’d been expected to get
a job to learn the importance of paying one’s own way.

  “I’ll talk to the other senior partners about it, but don’t get your hopes up,” Karen said.

  Taylor’s smile slipped as she heard the clack of computer keys, which meant that her aunt had already returned her attention to her work.

  Conversation over, apparently.

  As for Austria? Off the table.

  Taylor knew her aunt. There was no way she was asking her partners about something she clearly didn’t want to do.

  Taylor inhaled for patience. Oh well. It had been a long shot. Karen had never seemed to care one way or the other if Taylor went to Boston for Christmas, and she had never once offered to come to New York.

  Taylor’s childhood hadn’t been festive. There’d been a tabletop fake Christmas tree per Taylor’s insistence. And though money had never been an issue, the gifts had been practical, never fun. The stockings nonexistent. Needless to say, there’d been no baking cookies, no carols, no decorating a gingerbread house, and Taylor had learned the very first Christmas under her aunt’s roof that Santa Claus was a commercially driven fantasy.

  She’d been five.

  “I’ve got to run,” Karen was saying. “Was there anything else?”

  No, no. Nothing else. Just hoping my only living relative might want to do something fun for the holidays. Or at least see me.

  “Nope, all good,” Taylor said, matching her aunt’s no-nonsense tone the way she’d been brought up to do. “Talk soon.”

  Her aunt made a noncommittal noise and hung up.

  Taylor set her phone on the counter and took a bracing sip of coffee, wishing that there was a little something stronger splashed in to ease the pain of the rejection.

  She turned to head back to her office, only to be treated to the unwelcome sight of Nick Ballantine strolling into her orbit.

  Taylor glared. “What are you doing here?”

  Nick ambled toward the coffeepot and filled his mug. “Sorry, Carr. Didn’t realize this was your personal kitchen.”

  “It’s Oxford’s kitchen. You’re not an employee,” she griped, her bad mood making her petty.

  Although to be fair, she was always petty around this guy. In the couple of months since her first day, when they’d bickered in the lobby, their paths had crossed from time to time, but none of their encounters had been friendly.

  “That bothers you, huh?” he asked, leaning a hip against the counter and turning to study her. “That I don’t work here full-time?”

  “It bothers me that you’re a man-child who can’t commit to a job like a grown-up.”

  He looked like a grown-up, though. She might dislike him and his laissez-faire attitude intensely, but there was no denying that Nick Ballantine was all man.

  As usual, there was no sign of a tie, but he wore a sport coat over his dress shirt today that emphasized his broad shoulders. Tapered waist. Flat abs. Damn it.

  “Did I mention I modeled for art students in college?” he asked, seeming to read her mind, the way he too often did.

  “Didn’t realize bartending required a degree,” she said snidely, jabbing at his other career.

  Nick’s gaze turned cool, his face showing disgust. “Some days I think I’ll figure out just what the hell made you so damn bitchy, but then I remember I don’t give a shit.”

  Much as she hated to admit it, his chastisement was well deserved.

  She lifted her chin defiantly and did what had to be done. “I’m sorry. Truly. That was uncalled for.”

  He studied her, his expression unreadable.

  She definitely wasn’t prepared for his next question. “So. Austria for Christmas, huh?”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  “You were eavesdropping?” she asked, already regretting that she’d apologized to this ass.

  “Have to do something to keep myself busy. What with me not working and all. And you’re right, by the way. Austria for Christmas’s not a bad gig.”

  “You’ve been?” she asked reluctantly, intrigued despite her annoyance.

  “Took the fam a couple of years ago. You and your boyfriend will love it, assuming you let him out of the cell I suppose you lock him in.”

  “No boyfriend,” she muttered, taking a sip of coffee.

  “Rumor has it Calloway’s interested in applying for the job.”

  Taylor lifted a shoulder. Bradley Calloway was the new advertising exec who’d started a couple of weeks ago. He was charming, attractive, good at his job…exactly Taylor’s type.

  Bradley had hinted more than once that they should “get together” after work, and Taylor was fairly sure he didn’t mean as co-workers.

  She figured she’d say yes, eventually. But despite the fact that he was everything that appealed to her on paper, she just couldn’t seem to get herself…interested.

  “A family trip to Austria, then,” Nick said. “That’ll be nice.”

  Taylor lifted her hand to her temple and rubbed the spot where a headache was beginning before she remembered that it was bad form to show weakness in front of the enemy. “I thought so.”

  “Parents and/or siblings don’t agree?” he asked casually, taking a sip of coffee.

  “My aunt.” Not that I’m allowed to call her that. “And she’s not interested. Can’t get the time off.”

  Doesn’t want to take the time off.

  “Ah. Sorry.”

  She shrugged. “I’ll find something else to do.”

  “Any other family nearby?”

  “No family at all.”

  She could have sworn she saw something like sympathy flit across his face, but she wasn’t interested. “I should get back to work,” she said.

  She was nearly out the door when he called her back with a terse “Carr.”

  Taylor turned and gave him a wary look. “What?”

  He hesitated a second before meeting her eyes. “Most of my family lives on the West Coast, but they’re coming out to New York for Christmas.”

  “Okay…” she said, a little confused about what he was telling her. Surely even he wouldn’t be so cruel as to rub in the fact that his family wanted to spend time with him, whereas she could barely coax her aunt into a five-minute phone conversation.

  Nick shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “You could hang out. With my family, I mean. It’s months away, which gives you plenty of time to build a list of everything that’s wrong with me, and then read it to my family. My sisters will love you for it.”

  “I already have a list,” she said.

  He breathed out a laugh. “Never mind, Carr.”

  “No, no,” she rushed to say. “I just mean…I just…I don’t, I’m not…”

  “You can say no. Won’t hurt my feelings,” he grumbled.

  Taylor swallowed. “I’ll think about it.” Her hand lifted to the doorjamb, tapping it lightly with her palm, trying to think of what to say. “Thank you. That’s…”

  One of the nicer things anyone’s ever done.

  “Kind,” she whispered.

  Nick’s smile was genuine. “You seem surprised.”

  “Can’t say we’ve ever been particularly kind to each other.”

  He held her gaze. “I suppose I started it. With the ice-princess thing.”

  She looked away.

  “I shouldn’t have said it,” he said quietly.

  “Even though it’s true?” she said, forcing a smile.

  To her surprise, he didn’t jump all over the opportunity to confirm that she was, in fact, pricklier than a cactus.

  “I think you’re complicated,” he said finally.

  “Too true,” she said with a laugh, stepping all the way out of the room. “I’ll see you around?”

  “Yes, please leave,” he said, lifting his coffee mug in dismissal. “All this friendliness is making me uncomfortable.”

  She was still smiling when she made it back to her office. Then her smile slipped into a frown.

  Taylor set her cellphone on
the desk and bit her bottom lip, her hands finding her hips as a troubling thought settled in.

  What if Nick Ballantine got under her skin not because she didn’t like him…but because she did?

  And what if he liked her back?

  The man had just invited her to hang out with his family. At Christmas…

  Taylor had always prided herself on being ballsy, but it took all of her courage to turn around and retrace her steps.

  Please still be there, please still be there….

  She nearly slammed into him as he exited the kitchen, and he caught her elbow with his free hand to steady her. “This is your new plan of attack, huh?” he teased. “Just mow me over?”

  “Have dinner with me?”

  Taylor blurted out the question, and promptly felt her cheeks flood with heat. At least she suspected that’s what was happening. As a woman who’d never before been prone to blushing, she wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, but it was uncomfortable as all heck.

  Nick went very still.

  She held her breath, heart pounding as she waited for the shock on his face to turn to happiness.

  It did not.

  Nick touched her arm gently, his face regretful. “Taylor—”

  She closed her eyes. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

  Please let me die right here. No, wait—let me get back to my office first, arrange myself attractively in my chair, then die.

  “I’m seeing someone,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”

  She swallowed and opened her eyes. His expression was kind but not pitying, so at least there was that.

  “I didn’t,” she whispered. “Sorry.”

  “Hey, Carr,” he said, giving her a lopsided grin. “Don’t apologize. I’d be flattered if you weren’t so annoying.”

  She appreciated his effort to take them back to their usual bantering place, but for the life of her she couldn’t think of a single quippy comeback.

  Horrifying.

  Instead she muttered something about needing to get back to work. But though she intended to walk back to her office, her feet took her in another direction.

  She didn’t realize where she was headed. Didn’t realize what she was about to do until Bradley Calloway looked up in surprise at her standing in his doorway.