Please don’t say you work here. Please don’t say you work here. Maybe she was just passing along a message for somebody. Maybe she was a florist making a delivery. Maybe she was also fucking one of my colleagues. At that I cringed. That would mean we definitely couldn’t have another go.
“I’m . . . my dad . . .” She sighed, not waiting for an invitation before sitting down in one of the chairs across from me.
Under normal circumstances, that would have bothered me, but I was quickly realizing that things with “Nicole from the nightclub” weren’t normal. She hadn’t even called me back after turning me down. She’d sent me a few text messages, but that was it, and my text messaging skills were poor to say the least. I hated it. I hated the idea of her being able to show her friends what we talked about. I hated the idea of anybody knowing what our plans were. I didn’t know why. There was no plausible explanation for me feeling that way. None. But now she was sitting across from me, I was starting to believe it was the right move.
“Your dad,” I asked, “is getting a divorce?”
“Uh . . . no,” she said, licking her full lips nervously. The same lips I’d kissed a couple weeks ago. The same lips I kept envisioning around my cock. “Will is my dad.”
I blinked hard, away from her lips. “What?”
“He’s . . . my dad,” she said, her voice small, her eyes apologetic. Good. So she knew this couldn’t happen anymore. But what the ever-loving fuck? This was definitely payback for me fucking my fraternity brother’s girlfriend back in college. Definitely. Fuck my fucking life.
“Your dad,” I said flatly. She nodded, tugging her bottom lip into her mouth with her teeth. The sight of it made something inside me ricochet.
“Yep,” she said with a pop. She looked at me for a moment, just looked at me, her eyes scanning my face, dropping to my chest, and back up. “You look really good in a suit.”
“Nicole,” I said, a warning.
She smiled. “Yep.”
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Okay.” She shrugged, but kept smiling, taunting. “So, divorce law, huh?”
I kept my eyes on hers. “Yes.”
“Are your parents divorced?”
“No.”
She frowned a bit, looking pensive. “Interesting. Are they happy?”
“Yes,” I said, feeling my lips tilt into a smile. “Are you a psychology major?”
“No,” she said, eyes wide, drawing out the word as if that was a ridiculous thought.
“What are you studying? Assuming you’re in school,” I added.
“Costume design. I graduate next week actually.”
“Costume design,” I repeated, letting my eyes drift down her body.
She was wearing a skintight dress with huge colorful flowers. It covered her entirely, with small sleeves and a neckline that didn’t show much cleavage, but the way it fit her left little to the imagination. I could see the outline of her perfect tits—handful size—her tiny waist, and curvy hips. When I looked back at her face she was back to giving me a coquettish smile that I felt everywhere. And when she stood and gave me a perfect back view of her round ass and went to lock the door, I gulped and started to breathe a little heavier. And when she turned around and walked around my desk in long, slow strides I had to close my eyes.
I’d just gotten this job. My eyes snapped open. Surely she wasn’t considering doing what I thought she was planning to do. Fuck. No.
“Nicole, I just got this job,” I said, my words going from firm to low as she swiveled my chair and kneeled down in front of me.
“My dad left,” she said, looking at me through her long, dark lashes.
I swallowed. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“We shouldn’t do a lot of things.”
“I . . . this can’t . . .” I started, but she was already unbuckling my belt.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked, her fingers stopping. “Shit. I should have asked that before. Do you?”
I frowned. “Fuck, no.”
She leaned back on her heels, hands still on my pants, and looked up at me. “Is that a fuck no because you’re opposed to having a girlfriend, or a fuck no because you would never do this to your girlfriend if you had one? I can’t tell.”
I put a hand over hers to stop her from moving because I was getting harder by the millisecond. “Both.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Opposed to having a girlfriend, really? You’re a player.”
“Not,” I said, my word strangled when she moved a hand to cup me over my pants. “Not a player.”
“You just crush a lot?” she asked with a smirk.
“Fuck a lot. Yes.”
“But you don’t want to fuck me because I’m your boss’s daughter,” she said rather than asked. I swallowed again and nodded. “Doesn’t that make it more exciting? We can be quiet.”
I shook my head, but fuck, it did make it a little exciting. One more time and I was done. Definitely. After this I’d break it off, erase her phone number, and just . . . be done.
“It’ll be the last time,” she said. “You wanted to do it last week when you sent me that text. I’ve just been busy with final projects.”
Our gazes met, both hot, both ready to pounce. My only response was to uncover my hand from hers and my fuck no turned into an instant fuck yes.
LIVING IN CLOSE quarters with my estranged husband wasn’t necessarily the smartest thing I’d done, especially when he suddenly came back from Canada where he’d been shooting, went out with his cast, brought the after-after party back to our place, and proceeded to invite me to join the fun when I woke up, looking for the source of the commotion. Being half-past drunk and fooling around with the husband I was in the process of divorcing, was an even dumber idea. Not for the first time since I woke up, I rubbed my eyes and groaned. It’s not like Gabe and I hadn’t hooked up since we decided to end things, but we’d steered far away from each other since making things official. I blamed my lapse of judgment on not getting laid in a year, the two bottles of wine I drank before he got there, and that one fleeting moment when he smiled at me when I thought that maybe, just maybe, this marriage could still work.
But that was before a woman barged into his bedroom, where were were almost naked, and asked him where he put the cocaine they’d just purchased. The words, their actions, the fact she knew where his room was and he didn’t kick her out at first glance, kicked my senses into overdrive. I hopped out of bed, fixed my clothes, and went back to what we’d dubbed my side of the house.
I didn’t acknowledge him when he asked me to come back. He never even got out of bed or came down the hall to stop me. Yet there I was, in our kitchen, picking up his mess as I’d done a million times before. I was half-tempted to call our housekeeper, Amelia, and have her come in on her day off, but I didn’t want any more people suffering this divorce.
Our gate bell rang shortly after I was on my hands and knees, scrubbing off things I was sure you couldn’t even find on floors of college frat houses to make my house presentable when Victor came over this afternoon. I pressed the open button on the gate without even checking to see who it was. I rarely did that, but I figured because of the time it had to be UPS or some other courier. Without giving it a second thought, I went back to scrubbing.
This was not how I envisioned this week panning out. Not at all. Not that I’d ever envisioned myself on my knees in this kitchen for any other reason than Gabriel standing in front of me. I sighed and pushed the thought away. That was over. Over. Never again, and I didn’t want it again, especially after last night’s rude reminder. I went back to cleaning whatever disgusting, sticky particle was on my floor at the moment. The loud knocks on my door snapped me out of what was becoming a pattern: scrub, cringe, scrub, cringe, repeat. I let go of the scrubber and stood with a sigh, taking off my yellow gloves and throwing them into the empty bucket. I washed my hands quickly before making my way to the front door.
To
my complete surprise, Gabe was walking to the door at the same time. I would have sworn he’d sleep until this evening and only get up to eat and have a do-over of his drug-and-alcohol-infused night. I shivered at the thought. This man once made me shiver for completely different reasons. He still had that effect on women, with his toned body, striking features, and invented smile.
“You expecting company?” he asked, already looking through the peephole.
“Not until later today,” I said slowly, looking around as if the white walls were going to tell me the time. A thought struck me as I picked up the pace and stood beside Gabe. “Oh, shit. What time is it?”
“Do you know this guy?” he asked as we reached the door.
I unlocked the door and opened it, ignoring his question. Victor stood on the other side of the threshold with a confused look on his face as his eyes bounced from Gabe to me, me to Gabe, and finally me again.
“Come in,” I said, and moved toward Gabe so he had no choice but to take a step back and make room for Victor to enter.
I closed the door behind him and stood there as the two of them greeted each other.
“We’ll be out back. Finish cleaning up your mess,” I called out over my shoulder as I walked toward the living room, knowing Victor would follow.
I walked until I reached the back doors and opened them so we could sit out on the porch, where I found a single silver stiletto.
“Who the hell leaves one shoe behind at a party?” I muttered, picking it up by the strap and tossing it aside.
“Cinderella?” Victor said behind me as he closed the French doors.
I felt myself smile. He’d always been funny. Strange and intense and funny. He was the kind of guy that could have you pinned against the wall one second and kick you out of his office the next but not let you think he was kicking you out. He’d let you think you came up with the decision to leave on your own. I hadn’t seen it then as manipulation, but now that I looked back on it . . . Either way, I always appreciated the short time we had together, especially the night I’d called him due to a flat tire and he’d bolted out of the bar he was in to come help me. I’d never forget the way he shook his head as he looked at me through angry eyes.
“You can’t be going out at night dressed like that,” he’d said, and I could tell he was trying not to look at me.
After he fixed my tire and followed me home, I’d wondered if he’d go inside with me, but he hadn’t. A part of me knew he wouldn’t, of course. I’d been living in my father’s guest house. What would Dad have thought if he’d seen the new attorney he’d just hired walk into his daughter’s quarters at midnight? A bigger part of me had wished we hadn’t been in that situation at all. That I was just a girl, and he was just a hot guy who was okay with taking chances. But we hadn’t been those people.
I pushed the memory aside and sat on one of the chairs, watching as he sat across from me. He was dressed down today, which apparently for Victor meant jeans, a checkered button-up, and Oxfords. His normally playful eyes looked tired and the rough scruff on his face suggested he hadn’t shaved in days. He ran a hand through his hair and brushed it back in a way that made me try to fix my own and redo my ponytail.
“Rough night?” he asked, his eyes roaming over me.
“You can say that.”
I fidgeted with my hair again, even though I knew there was no use. I suddenly felt completely aware of what I looked like in my black sports bra, matching yoga pants, and makeup-less face. He’d seen me in a form-fitting navy dress and sky-high heels a couple days ago. In fact, most of the times he’d seen me I had been dressed to impress, and even when we’d had sex, we’d both remained mostly dressed. I wondered what a naked Victor looked like. It was a fleeting thought, but it was one that made me flush. I swallowed when our gazes locked, feeling like I’d been caught in my sexual fantasy.
“Nicole,” he said, a warning, but he kept that tempestuous gaze locked on mine and I knew he felt the same electric prickle I felt all over.
“Isn’t it weird for you?” I asked, my voice a whisper.
Victor appraised me for a long moment, tilting his head as his inquisitive eyes scanned my face. I would have killed to know what he was thinking. I would have killed to ask. But I couldn’t. I sat there, wondering, hoping he’d answer, waiting on bated breath for it. I leaned in a little, and he mimicked my movement, putting his elbows on his knees, letting his hands dangle between them.
“It’s weirder than I thought it would be,” he admitted, his gaze searing into mine. “I keep reminding myself that the Nicole I once knew isn’t the same one sitting in front of me.”
“What makes you say that?”
He leaned back in his chair and looked at the house, the pool, and back at me. “All this. The Nicole I knew didn’t need the big house or the husband.”
My heart skipped. The Nicole he knew was a damn liar. Another thing I wanted to say, but didn’t. Instead I took a different approach.
“Maybe the Nicole you knew wanted you to ask her out on a real date.”
“Maybe the Nicole I knew should have asked me on a date herself.” His lip curled up into a sly smile. “She didn’t have a problem asking for other things.”
My cheeks blazed. “I didn’t think you wanted to date.”
His gaze softened, but his words still slapped me. “I didn’t.”
Yeah. That stung.
Thankfully, Gabe chose that moment to open the door beside us and we both whipped our heads toward it.
“So this is your attorney?” Gabe asked, raising his eyebrows when neither one of us answered. “Okay, then, I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving, but the pool guy is coming today. He lost the key to the gate so he might ring. Thanks for helping me pick up.” He tucked his head in, but then brought it back out as if he’d forgotten to say something. “And thanks for last night. It was really, really good.”
What the fuck? Had he forgotten how that went down? Or rather how it didn’t go down? Perhaps the woman had stayed after I’d left. Bastard. Nonetheless, there was no way to miss his innuendo, not with the way his voice dropped and he winked as he looked at my mouth. He shut the door and I watched as he walked off. Victor didn’t comment, instead he opened up his briefcase to hand me some papers. I practically hid my face behind the papers.
“I need you to sign these,” he said, going back to business mode. “There’s an X on each page I need you to look at. It indicates you’re moving forward with the motion and asking for alimony.”
“What happens if I just poison him?” I asked quietly, still hiding my face as my eyes scanned the words on the page.
“Then I’d have to hook you up with a criminal attorney because I could no longer represent you.”
I glanced up at him and found that his lips were curled into a smile, the sight of it doing things to me, and making me smile back. He had one leg folded on top of his knee at the ankle, athletic frame pressed back into the chair, sultry eyes on mine. Just . . . wow.
“Once this is over you can go on with your life . . . pretend this never happened,” he said, signaling toward the house with his chin.
I looked inside. It was so big and empty. It always had been, I realized, but what once felt cozy and warm, now felt cold, the spaces wider, room for more problems. I couldn’t afford to kick myself down over it anymore. Like my friends said, I’d kicked myself hard enough over things that weren’t solely my fault while he’d continued to thrive and make a name for himself.
“I just feel like I failed, you know? I’m sure you get that a lot, but I just don’t do well with failure.”
“You didn’t fail. Divorce doesn’t have to mean failure, and it’s certainly not one person’s failure.” He paused, scratching his chin as his eyes wandered over my shoulder, toward the pool. “How long ago did you decide it was over?”
“A year ago,” I said. I’d already told him that the other day. Victor shook his head.
“I mean, you pe
rsonally. When did you know it was over for you?”
I scooted back in my chair and lifted my legs, hugging them toward my chest. “A long time ago.”
“Why did you wait so long?”
“Because I’m not a quitter,” I whispered, tears filling my eyes as I said the words.
“Is that why you’re still living here? With him?” There was bite to his words that matched the sudden anger in his eyes.
“I guess.”
I wiped my eyes and went back to the papers in front of me. He continued to stare at me. The words kept blurring, so I didn’t get very far into the document. I signed where it said I should and initialed the rest. I figured I couldn’t be giving up any more than I already had, and my dad was Victor’s boss, so he couldn’t be screwing me. I looked up at him again. He could totally be screwing me. I shook my head, looking down at the paper again, and tried to bite back a laugh. Something was terribly wrong with me if the thoughts screwing me over were being misconstrued in my own mind. Massively, irrevocably wrong with me. I’d said the been there, done that thing to him the other day as an out because the longer I looked at him the less I believed myself.
“What’s so funny?” he asked as I handed back the papers and pen he’d given me.
“Nothing. Thinking about a shirt I have.”
His brows crinkled in confusion for a second before he got it and smiled.
“You must really like that shirt.”
“You should see how it fits me,” I said with a wink.
The way his eyes flared, I could tell my words evoked some kind of image in his mind. He didn’t say anything like he would have in the past. That had been our thing all those years ago. I’d pull the string until he bit and caved to me. Not this Victor, though. He cleared his throat and stood up, offering me his hand to shake. I took it, and ignored the way my insides rocked when he touched me. We walked back through the house to the front door, and he commented on the electric fireplace and color of the dark wood floors. When I touched the door handle, he placed his hand over mine, covering it. My heart jumped at the sensation of his hand warming mine, his long fingers digging into my flesh just slightly, just enough. My eyes snapped to his.
Elastic Hearts (Hearts #3) Page 4
