by Isabel North
Nora stood on the threshold and gazed around. Tried to form a coherent sentence. Couldn’t quite get one out.
Eventually, she choked, “What?”
“What-what?” Anna said. From somewhere amongst the chaos.
The absolute smoking chaos.
Nora was an organized soul—hence the Filofax. She’d used generic planners, notebooks, and various systems for years. The Filofax that both Anna and Gabe eyeballed as if she was, in fact, chiseling on stone tablets, had been a treat to herself after the Vince debacle. A way to map out her future. Get her life back on track.
Stepping into the office, Nora was genuinely worried she’d be all booked up organizing Anna until she was forty.
Until Anna was forty.
“Where is the nearest office supply store?” she asked, clenching her car keys, hitching her purse on her shoulder. She could fix this. She could. But she needed supplies.
A lot of supplies.
“Office supply store?” Anna said. “I’m the talent. How should I know?”
Right. “Do you have a phone book, or a Yellow Pages?”
“Yellow Pages? You’re taking this low-tech hipster thing a bit far, don’t you think?”
“I am not a hipster!”
“I’ve been struggling, but I can’t come up with any other explanation for your skirt.”
Nora scowled. “Office supplies! I need them. Now.”
“I get it. You’re having a stationery crisis. Go. Use your phone and Google it on the way.”
“I can’t get the internet on my phone. Or, I think maybe I can get it because there’s a little icon on the screen and it says internet, but I’ve never used it.”
“Shit, yeah. You have that weird burner phone flip thing.”
Burner phone? “I am not a freak because I don’t have an iPhone.”
“Nope. That’s not the reason at all.” Anna took in her fuming expression, and waved an easy hand. “It’s not a problem. Use the computer.”
Nora made a move toward the enormous Mac dominating the desk, and recoiled when Anna shrieked.
“Not my baby! Don’t touch my baby. I don’t trust you. You have a flip phone. You won’t know how to treat it right. Use Gretchen’s old computer.”
Nora glanced around. No computer. “Are you sure she didn’t take it with her, along with your clients?”
Anna’s eyes bugged out. “Bitch better not…oh. You’re joking.” Anna subsided, a hand to her chest. “You scared me.”
Nora looked around again. Still no computer. “Where is it?”
“All right, it’s a mess in here, you’ve made your point.” Shaking her head, Anna hooked an arm through Nora’s. “You can use it in a minute. I’m going to give you the tour first.”
She hoped they’d stumble upon the computer during the tour, because she wasn’t joking. She couldn’t see it.
The office consisted of a large room overflowing with sample books, enormous binders, vision boards, and bewilderingly random stacks of smaller decorative objects such as vases, bowls, tables, and lamps. It had a small bathroom attached at the back, and a tiny cloakroom which had the potential for coat and bag storage, once it had been freed from the bolts of fabric that had been stuffed in.
And that was it.
“I’d prefer a bigger space,” Anna said. “I even had a few listings in mind, because I was all set to ask Gretchen if she wanted to be a partner, when she betrayed me. It’s good that I like this place. I’ll be stuck here for a few more years, rebuilding my client list and finances. It’s fine, though. I can do it. I want to thank you, No-No.”
Nora poked her.
“Urgh.” Anna doubled over. Straightening, she smoothed her hair. “Sorry. Nora. You helped me land the Sterling account, and I swear to you now, I am going to make that man so happy with his warehouse lair that he hires us for every other project he has for the rest of his life. Without you, I don’t know if he’d have gone for Gretchen or not, but—”
“He wouldn’t. He strikes me as a smart guy.” An unusual guy. “Besides, you heard what Gretchen wanted to do to his place.”
“Yeah. He seems to have a real hate on for chrome and marble. I get it. I mean, I get why people set him up that way.”
“Why?” Nora asked with interest.
“Because of what he looks like.”
“Like…beautiful?”
Anna burst out laughing. When Nora stared at her in puzzlement, she stopped. “He is an outstanding specimen of a man in his prime, I agree, but I was talking about the tats and the hair, the attitude.”
Nora shook her head, still confused.
“He’s a crazy-rich businessman, looks like he runs a motorcycle club in his spare time, breaking kneecaps for fun and relaxation? Folk take that in, and they’re going to give him hard and bright and expensive. They’re going to give him the interior design equivalent of a chick with a big rack, bigger hair, and a lot of leather.”
“You didn’t.”
“Because I take my job seriously. That means going beyond the surface, not just of the space but the client. I’m pretty sure I know what he’s after.”
“What’s that?”
Anna turned Nora around by the shoulders and aimed her toward what, under all the clutter, appeared to be another desk. “Among other things, he wants a home. He doesn’t want cold and hard and shiny. He wants warm. He wants welcoming. The sort of things all his other designers wrote off for him at first glance. Let’s make him a home. Go, minion. Buy your supplies and get organizing.”
“Minion is now on the list along with No-No.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Anna left her by Gretchen’s—by her—desk and wandered off to her own desk to make some calls.
Nora cleared the stack of samples off the chair and perched on it. She tried hitting the space bar to wake up the computer.
No go.
Wiggled the mouse.
Nope.
Anna was deep in a schmoozing-sounding conversation. The computer was an older desktop Mac, its screen half the size of Anna’s. In comparison to the aged Windows laptop Nora had left behind, it was dauntingly sophisticated.
Gabe was right. She did need training.
She had a hot flash at the thought of him training her in anything—she had barely coped with him showing her how to work his espresso machine—and told herself with annoyance to stop behaving like a hormonal teenager.
The faint hum of the computer’s fan told Nora it was on, but the screen remained dark. Leaving the tower unit alone, she ran her hands down the sides of the monitor. Ah. A button. She pushed it.
Bingo. The screen flickered to life.
She might not be the most tech-savvy person in the world, but Nora could Google like a boss. She ran a quick search, jotted down the address of the nearest Office Depot, and gathered her things.
Anna, who had breezed through four different conversations already, finished on the phone as Nora was heading for the door.
Nora paused. “You don’t bring clients here, do you?” It would not inspire trust.
“Not often,” Anna said. “In general, they prefer to have you run around after them. Like Gabe Sterling. Why?”
“You do bring them here, then?”
“I tidy up before.”
“If you know they’re coming.”
“You’re making a big deal out of this.”
“Uh-huh. Anyway, I’m going to need to buy more than a couple of file boxes and a pack of Post-it notes. Make sure it’s more appealing. For clients as well as us.”
Anna thrust to her feet, scowling. “I know I said I’m glad for your help, but that isn’t your place, Nora.”
Yikes. First fight?
Anna stalked from behind the desk. “Here. Take the company credit card. I refuse to let you spend your own money. Now, run off to the mother ship. Go crazy.”
Nora grinned.
“Not too crazy, though,” Anna’s voice followed her out the door. “We’re on a budge
t!”
~ ~ ~
No wonder Anna had lost clients. Nora was amazed she’d even kept afloat for as long as she had.
From the second Anna arrived at the office at eight in the morning until she closed down at six in the evening, she rushed in and out for meetings, she was on the phone, or muttering at the computer as she tweaked design after design, or was out haggling at a gallery.
Nora did her best to field and sort calls, sign for deliveries, pick up orders from warehouses or stores and take care of the hundred other little demands on Anna’s time.
In three days, she had everything straightened out and running smoothly in the office.
Running smoother.
All in all, they made a hell of a team.
When Nora had agreed to it, she’d had no idea that she’d enjoy the job this much. Working as her younger cousin’s minion wasn’t a life dream, and as a long-term plan it had an expiration date. As something to shake her up, keep her focused on the present and make Beacon Falls fade into the past?
It was exactly what she needed.
And it worked like a charm.
Until her mother called.
It was eight o’clock in the morning and Nora had just arrived at the office and switched on the lights. Her phone went crazy buzzing in her purse, and went to voicemail before she could answer it.
Without bothering to play the voicemail, because she’d heard a variation of it a thousand times before, Nora dropped her purse onto her desk and shrugged out of the light jacket she was wearing with her skinny(ish) jeans and the stylish turquoise blouse Anna had lent her.
The phone hadn’t even finished its first ring at the other end before her mother answered. “Nora! Were you screening me again?”
“Mom, I don’t screen you.”
“Then perhaps you should turn the volume up on your cell phone, because you always miss my calls. I already tried three times this morning before I left a message.”
“Why?” Nora’s heart squeezed. Shit. “Is Dad all right? Are you? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, don’t be dramatic.”
Nora sat at her desk with a thump. “Why are you calling me three times this early if nothing’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry. Am I interrupting? I’d hate to butt in on your busy schedule of finding yourself.”
“I’m at work, Mom.”
“You have a job?” She made a happy squealing noise. “Nora, that’s wonderful!”
“You didn’t know?”
“How would I know unless you told me?”
Much as she was enjoying herself, Nora hadn’t been able to shake the suspicion that Anna had given her the job out of pity. Even after she’d met Gretchen and seen the state of the office, she’d still thought Anna was doing her a favor, because surely she could have hired some bright artsy soul who would fit in, or could have gotten an intern, rather than settle for her frumpy older cousin.
If her mother didn’t know about it, Nora could put her worries aside. Not a pity hire.
She was just the only person willing to work for peanuts.
“I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it from Aunt June,” Nora said.
“Why would Aunt June know?”
“I’m working for Anna. I’m helping her out for a couple of months.”
“As…an interior designer?”
“You don’t have to say it like that, Mom. I’m the assistant.”
“Oh.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being an assistant.”
“You’re right. It’s wonderful. I’m so glad you have a job.”
“Me too.”
“That you’re not wandering about all lost still.”
“Yeah.”
“I was nervous about telling you, but now you’re settled and moving on in life with a new apartment, new career—”
Now it was a career?
“—it won’t hurt as much, will it? Are you hurt?”
“About what?”
“You didn’t listen to my voicemail?”
Nora gripped the phone. “Mom, are you sure Dad’s okay?”
“Yes.”
“Did someone die? I don’t—”
“It’s Vince.”
Nora went lightheaded. “Vince is dead?”
“No! Why on earth would you think that?”
“You said—”
“Nora, I never said he died. It’s joyful news.”
Her heart returned to its normal speed. She was still angry at Vince, but the thought of him dead and cold made her feel…it made her feel. She was trying hard not to do any of that shit where Vince was concerned.
“He told us at dinner last night,” her mother was saying.
“Wait. You had him over for dinner?”
“Yes. It was Thursday. You two always came over for Thursday night dinner.”
“Us two. Me—your daughter—and her boyfriend. Not Vince on his own.”
“Vince wasn’t on his own.”
Unbelievable. Nora dropped her head to the desk. “You had Vince and Melissa over to dinner?”
Her mother’s voice was abrupt. “Of course we did. That boy was practically a son-in-law to your father and me. Things didn’t work out between you two, and we’re supposed to start ignoring him?”
“He married another woman, mother! Things didn’t not work out! He cheated on me, and married another woman! While still engaged to me!”
“There’s no need to shout. I can have whomever I choose to dinner. It would be rude to suddenly stop having him over.”
She’d been doing it all along, hadn’t she? Nora had left town on a Tuesday. She’d bet they’d had Vince and Melissa over on the Thursday that same week.
At this point, Nora wouldn’t be surprised if her mother had thrown them a wedding celebration party.
“…party. Melissa asked me to sound you out, because she’d love to invite you.”
Wait, what? “Say that again? I was still processing the fact you had Vince over to dinner. What party?”
“The baby shower.”
“Baby shower.”
“Is the connection breaking or something? I’ve said it twice. Vince and Melissa are pregnant! Twins. They’re over the moon. Melissa, such a sweet girl, wants to invite you to the baby shower, but she didn’t want to put you on the spot by asking herself. I told her I’d take care of it. Nora? Shoot, did I lose you? Nora?”
Nora pulled the phone away from her ear. She pressed the button to disconnect the call. She kept her finger on the button until it powered down with a sad boop, then she set it on the desk in front of her, and sat there.
Vince and Melissa were pregnant.
With twins.
She sucked in a deep breath—maybe to start screaming, she hadn’t decided, she’d know when she got around to the exhale—when a knock came at the door and it swung open.
“Hey.” Gabe Sterling sauntered in. He had a travel mug in each hand, and raised one in her direction. “I brought my special beans. You said you thought it would be a nice way to start the day.”
She stared at him.
“Nora?” he said, gaze sharpening. “What is it?”
She burst into tears.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Stop crying in front of the client! Stop crying!
She couldn’t. The air stuttered in Nora’s chest, making her breath choppy as she covered her face with her hands.
What was happening? Seriously? What was this?
She heard movement, and the door banged. Had he gone? He must have gone. Anyone with an ounce of self-preservation would run like they were being chased by a velociraptor when faced with Nora in tears.
Not a pretty crier.
Gulping, snorting sobs. Shaking shoulders. She probably had mascara down to her chin already, and when her eyes turned red, it made the average blue irises burn bright, like she was some kind of demon with hot rolling eyeballs. She bent at the waist in an effort to contain herself then jolted w
ith shock when a warm grip circled her wrists, pulling her hands away.
She gaped at Gabe Sterling.
He hadn’t gone. He’d put the coffees on her desk and stood before her, staring down.
Right into her hot demon eyeballs.
Nora whooped in a breath and sobbed anew. Why did the universe hate her? Why? He was a client.
“Oh, shit,” Gabe said. “What is it? What? Did someone die?”
She shook her head and sniffed, horribly aware that her nose had joined the party and was running freely.
“Right,” he muttered, and let go of her wrists.
Good. He was going. The snot did it. Grossed him out into leaving. It was good becau—
“Here you go.” He shoved a handful of tissues in her face.
She made a startled grab for them and got to her feet, pressing the enormous wad to her streaming eyes. She turned away to blow her nose, and when she turned back, he scooped her into a hug.
Nora snorted with surprise, and choked.
Gabe wrapped her in his arms, holding her tight. She shuddered against his delicious heat. And hardness.
He was so big, and solid, and… Great. She was off again.
“Honey,” he said, “this is ridiculous.”
“I c-can’t h-help it.”
“It’s all right. You don’t have to. Just hold on to me.”
That was all the warning she got before he bent and hefted her up into his arms. He crossed the office in a few easy strides and sat on the couch, keeping Nora tucked close. She ended up on his lap.
She struggled briefly but he made an impatient noise and tightened his grip.
What the hell. If he wanted mascara down his shirt front so damn bad, she’d oblige. The situation was already about as terrible as it could get. Caught crying by the number one important client. She might as well make a mess of herself, and of him.
She might as well cut loose.
So she did. Curled into him and went for it.
“My God.” Gabe sounded half-amused and half-panicked, sliding a hand to close over the nape of her neck. “What is it? What?”
“You’re so nice,” she said once the sobs had slowed enough for her to speak. “You’re being so lovely. You’re making it worse.”
“Me being nice is making you cry?”
