Broken (Nick #1)

by Annie Jocoby

  Nick

  I made my way back to my car, after seeing Scotty, my student. I felt badly for her, having seen the effect of dysfunctional parents upon Ryan, my best friend and sometime lover back in the day. Well, not really back in the day, if you count that amazing night I had with him and Iris, which happened right before I decided to high-tail it out of Kansas City. I got out of town in part because I was offered a job here, which would be a definite step up, as I would get the chance to design some of the most high-profile projects in the world. I also had always wanted the chance to help produce future architects, so my part-time position as an adjunct professor at Columbia was also a good fit.

  Mainly, though, I needed to put some distance between myself and Iris. I never knew that I could fall in love like that, and it still stung. I didn’t really want her and Ryan to be in my life anymore on a regular basis, and I knew that if I stayed in town, that’s exactly what would happen. So, I left. I had to. Otherwise, I don’t think that I could have moved on.

  I met Penelope at an art gallery opening that I attended when I first go to town. I rolled into the event, she was there, we ended up in bed about two hours later, and she basically never left my Tribeca loft. Not that she moved in, but she soon became a fixture. Yeah, it was my pattern, and Penelope was like every other woman that I ended up with. But, it was best to be with someone like her. No chance of falling in love, so there was no chance of getting my heart stomped on like what had happened with Iris.

  I got into the car. Penelope had a disinterested look on her beautiful face. She raised a single eyebrow. “You see your lackey?” she asked, then brought out a compact mirror and looked into it. “I really need to get more highlights,” she said with a note of disgust. She fluffed her hair up a little, then pursed her lips. She looked like a parakeet flirting with her reflection. The parakeets have an excuse, though- they think that that their reflection is another bird. Penelope was just a narcissist.

  “Yeah, I saw her. She seemed okay.”

  Penelope wasn’t listening to me, though. She was too busy looking in the mirror. I reached over and grabbed the mirror out of her hand.

  She narrowed her eyes, said nothing, and just brought another mirror out of her purse.

  I sighed. It wasn’t worth fighting about.

  “So, I was thinking of asking Scotty if she would like to intern at my office,” I said.

  This got Penelope’s attention. “Like hell you will.”

  I raised both of my eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware that I had to get your permission to do this.”

  “Listen, buddy. Don’t ever think that I can’t snap my fingers and be with anybody in this city. You piss me off, and you’ll see what happens.”

  At that, I stopped the car in the middle of the busy Manhattan street. “Get out,” I ordered her. “NOW.”

  The look on her face was priceless as she stepped out of my car and made her way to the sidewalk. She was immediately on her phone and hailing a cab simultaneously.

  I shook my head. Somehow women like Penelope were losing their hold on my attention. It was almost as if Iris broke some kind of fever I had, a fever that actually drew me to these narcissistic bimbos in the first place. Penelope wasn’t even particularly good in bed. Narcissistic people usually weren’t. Alexis was the exception, but she really wasn’t narcissistic as much she was just plumb crazy.

  Iris had managed to penetrate my armor, and I didn’t like it one bit. It was time to put my wall up again. So, I backed up the car and motioned to Penelope. “Get in,” I ordered. To my surprise, she got back into the car without a word of protest. She looked at me expectantly. “Let’s get one thing straight,” I said, “if I want to offer Scotty an internship, I’m going to. I won’t have you or anybody else dictating anything in my life. We clear?”

  She said nothing, just nodded her head.

  “Good. Now let’s go to my home.”

  And we headed to my loft in Tribeca, Penelope not saying another word.

  Chapter 3

  Scotty

  Monday evening, after my night design course, Professor O’Hara asked to speak to me.

  “Ms. James,” he called to me as I was packing up my backpack. I turned my head. I was still so mortified about how he had to help me with my mom, and his short visit to my place didn’t dim this mortification one bit. I spent the entire class that evening studiously avoiding his eyes.

  “Uh, yes, Professor?”

  “I was wondering if you could meet me in my office tomorrow.”

  “What time?” I asked, thinking that I would have to fit it in between studying, going to class, and my night shift at the bar tomorrow night, which would start at 4 PM.

  “What’s good for you?”

  “No later than two,” I said. That would give me time to take the subway home, change and shower and get to the bar on time, assuming that this wasn’t a long meeting.

  “Two it is then,” he said.

  Which is how I found myself making my way to his office at two o’clock that Tuesday. I had no idea why he wanted to see me. I hoped that the incident with my mom and brother wouldn’t rear its ugly head. I really wanted to put that entire thing behind me.

  I took a deep breath as I made my way to his office. I knocked lightly on the door, which was open.

  “Come in,” he said, and I entered his enormous office. I was stunned that he could have such a beautiful place here on campus, considering he was only an adjunct professor. High ceilings, and floor to ceiling windows that looked out on the bustling city. He also had amazing, modern taste. A glass desk wrapped around one of the walls, and a leather sofa with chrome feet was on another wall. His floors were hardwood, with an enormous throw-rug in multiple colors and patterns covered up much of the area. A Kadinsky painting was on one of the walls. I somehow knew this about him, that he preferred edgy and contemporary, because the buildings that he designed all had a certain contemporary and edgy flair themselves.

  My heart was pounding as I made my way to one of his ergonomic chairs. He looked at me, and my heart was pounding even more. Those eyes, those beautiful blue eyes….so bright and so…haunted? Was I interpreting them correctly? I shook my head, shaking off my woman’s intuition in the process.

  I took a deep breath. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, uh…do you mind if I call you Scotia?” Which was my given name.

  I shook my head. “Actually, everybody just calls me Scotty.”

  He smiled, his dimples reappearing. I wanted to melt after seeing those dimples. His teeth were absolutely perfect, and his smile lit up the entire room.

  “Ok, Scotty,” he said. “The reason why I wanted to see you is, well, I was wondering where you wanted to go with your career. You have some real talent, and my firm was actually looking for an intern.”

  My mouth dropped open. The top architectural firm in New York City, one of the top ten in the entire world, and I was getting the chance to intern with them?

  My mouth ran before my brain could catch up. “Uh, what’s the catch?” Then I immediately felt embarrassed. “Oh, I mean-“

  But Professor O’Hara was smiling. “No catch. I just see some real potential with you, that’s all.”

  I wasn’t prepared for this, somehow. And I really didn’t know where I would ever fit it in. Full load of graduate architectural classes, working part-time…I barely had a chance to sleep as it was. And there was, in the back of my mind, the thought that this was possibly a pity offer. Although I don’t quite know how he could have convinced his partners to hire me out of pity.

  “Professor O’Hara,” I began.

  “Please, call me Nick.”

  That didn’t seem right at all, calling him by his first name. I never called a professor by his first name. But I obliged anyway. “Uh, Nick, uh, that’s such a wonderful offer, but I, I, I don’t have the time in my schedule to fit something like that in.”

  He nodded. “Well, there will be pay, of course. In ex
change for 20 hours a week at the firm, we can pay you $40,000 a year.”

  $40,000 a year? That was about what I made working 30 hours a week at the bar. And this position, unlike my bartending position, would actually give me a great deal of professional development.

  “Uh,” I began.

  He interrupted. “Scotty. I get the feeling that you don’t believe in yourself.” He didn’t elaborate on this comment, but just sat there, looking at me. His body language and expression was no longer inviting. He looked annoyed, and his arms were crossed in front of him.

  “No, it’s not that. It’s just, well, there are so many other talented students out there. I was just wondering, if, you know, this has something to do with my, uh, home life.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “What, you think that I would stick my neck out for you because your mother is a drunk and your brother probably needs to be in foster care?” Then he snorted. “Somehow I get the feeling that you not only don’t believe in yourself, but you also don’t believe in me.”

  This conversation was taking a turn for the surreal. I never imagined that I would be having such a talk with my professor. “It’s not that,” I said, feeling my defensive hackles rising.

  “Than what is it?”

  I wanted to tell him that I didn’t feel that I was worthy. I wanted to be honest. Being a foster kid, off and on, for most of my life instilled a general sense of unworthiness in me, as did my verbally abusive mother, who always told me that I would never amount to anything. But I was too embarrassed to admit to this. So I just said “I don’t want to work for your firm. It’s not the direction that I want to go.”

  “Really. Not the direction you want to go.” This was not a question, but a very skeptical statement. “Not the direction you want to go.”

  “Right. I was thinking more along the lines of a firm that has more of a classical aesthetic.”

  “Scotty. I’ve seen your designs. You’re a perfect fit.”

  “I just don’t want to,” I said, well aware of how unprofessional I was sounding. “Can I go? I’m going to be late for my shift.” I desperately looked at the clock on the wall. It read 2:30. I was going to be cutting it close as it was.

  He said nothing, but just waved his hand dismissively.

  He looked pissed.

  At that, I left.

  Chapter 4

  I wiped away my tears as I made my way to the subway. The mid October wind was cutting me like a knife, and I was grateful for my tattered stocking cap on my head. My coat, on the other hand, left much to be desired. Looks like I need to go back to the thrift store to find something better. Winters here were brutal, and my thin wool coat would just not cut it anymore.

  Once on the subway, I let myself feel my emotions. I knew that I was shooting myself in the foot. I just got, out of the blue, the best offer that I could ever get, and I didn’t even have to work for it. Interning for that firm would provide invaluable experience, not to mention enough money to pay my bills, and might even enable me to start paying back my rather monstrous student loans, which were getting so huge that they threatened to topple me. I could get out of bartending, which didn’t exactly boost my resumé for my post-graduate career. I would be given the chance to work on huge international projects.

  And I would be close to my fantasy man, the man who had starred in most of my dreams ever since I met him.

  That’s when it hit me. I didn’t want to be close to him. He would be way too distracting, and it was humiliating enough to know how bad I had it for him. Working with him every day would just be too much. Besides, he had that supermodel girlfriend, and I had to admit that seeing him with her all the time would just be too much as well.

  My crush on Nick could possibly end up ruining my career.

  I sighed. It was always my pattern to run from anybody that I felt anything for. That was why I had never had a real boyfriend in my entire life. That was why I was still a virgin at the age of 23. Well, technically a virgin. I mean, I had never willingly slept with anybody. I suppose that the Wall Street trader didn’t really count, because I was never willing, and I was only 13.

  So, it was easier in my mind if I just considered myself a virgin.

  And feeling myself so drawn to this man, who was my professor, and wanted to be my boss, was scary on so many levels it wasn’t funny. It was easier if I just avoided any such complications in my life, even if it meant that I would always live only half a life.

  So, as I trudged home to shower and get ready for work, I wasn’t prepared to answer any questions that Jack had for me.

  “Cocktail, honey?” he asked. He perpetually had a cocktail in his hand and perpetually wanted me to be his drinking buddy.

  “I have to work, remember?”

  “So?”

  I rolled my eyes. He might want to go drunk to his job, which was a bouncer at a gay club, but I certainly didn’t. I was way more responsible than that.

  “I have to shower and get on the subway pronto. I’ll catch up to you when I get home.” Which wasn’t likely, because I wouldn’t be home until around 4 at the earliest, and tomorrow was my early class at 7:30. So, coming home and chatting with Jack after work wasn’t going to happen, but I wanted to appease him.

  Jack wasn’t having it. “Not so fast, missy,” he said. “What did O’Dreamboat want from you?”

  I had to think fast. I couldn’t admit that I just screwed up an opportunity of a lifetime because of my fears. Jack would rightfully want to kick my ass. “Um, he just wanted to know if there was anything more he could do to help my mom. He’s a nice guy that way.”

  “And?”

  “And I told him no. Thanks, but no thanks. My mom’s problems are hers to deal with, and mine to a certain extent.”

  “Love,” he said. “You can’t deal with that on your own. You need help.”

  “Oh my god. I don’t have time for this conversation. I’m late as it is,” I said, as I hastily changed out of my clothes in the bedroom, the door open, and rushed into our tiny bathroom. Jack had seen me naked plenty of times, so I really wasn’t self-conscious about this. I turned on the warm water, and took about five minutes in total in scrubbing myself down and washing my hair. I then twisted my long brown hair into a chignon on the top of my head and secured it with butterfly clip. I threw on my mini-skirt and low-cut blouse that I always wore, because I tended to make a lot more money with this particular combination than when I wore other clothes that didn’t show skin, threw on a minimal amount of makeup, got my purse, and ran out the door.

  “Love,” Jack called after me as I waited for the elevator. “We’re going to finish this conversation later!” I simply looked at him as the elevator arrived, and, as I stepped into the elevator car, I let out a sigh of relief.

  I was feeling that I couldn’t breathe in that apartment, as Jack was pressing me about things that I simply wasn’t ready to face just yet.

  Chapter 5

  Nick

  Well, that was an odd reaction. I wasn’t prepared for Scotty to not only reject my offer, but to reject it so vehemently. There was something up with that girl, and I was starting to see her vulnerability. It was intoxicating, to tell the truth. And it presented a challenge. And one thing about me, I never backed away from a challenge. I simply would have to approach the offer to her in a different way. Problem was, subtlety had never been my strong point, and subtlety would be exactly what this situation would call for.

  While I was lost in thought about Scotty, and wondering how to approach the situation, Portia, one of the other senior partners at the firm, appeared at my door. If it weren’t for the fact that Portia was so accomplished, earning her PhD by the age of 24 from Stanford, she would be exactly my type. Slender and blonde, long legs, gorgeous ass and cleavage, and perpetually dressed in short skirts and fuck-me pumps. Flawless skin, big blue eyes, perfect Barbie-doll face.

  She was also unmistakably hot for me.

  But when she came into my office, I real
ly wasn’t paying too much attention to her. I was lost in thought about Scotty.

  “Nick,” she said, her voice hoarse and throaty. She shut the door behind her, then slinked over to my desk. As she sat across me, she leaned forward, showing her lacey bra and her generous cleavage. “What are you doing tonight?”

  She smelled like some kind of expensive perfume. Chanel No. 5 – Rielle always wore it, so I would recognize it anywhere.

  “Portia. I think we’ve been over this. I don’t believe in shitting where I sleep. I never have. I don’t have many rules when it comes to fuck-buddies, but that’s one of them.” That was only partially true. Actually, I usually didn’t care about that – I’d had affairs with plenty of people I worked with before, both male and female - but I was determined to turn over a new leaf, at least when it came to working partners.

  The real issue, however, was Scotty. I couldn’t get that girl out of my mind.

  The problem with Scotty, though, was that she was just the type of girl who might sneak into my heart just when I least expected it. Exactly like Iris did. I’d never wanted that. Women who promised no emotional attachments were the ones that I was always drawn to. So, truth be told, not wanting to fuck Portia confused me, for she held no real interest for me, and she usually was just my type. Aside from the fact that she was wicked smart, that is. With the possible exception of Alexis, most of my women haven’t had much in the way of intelligence.

  But Portia was a woman who always got what she wanted, and she had made it clear, ever since I arrived, that what she wanted was me. So, when I rebuffed her, she simply went to the door and locked it. Then sat back down across from me. She slinked back behind me, and put her fingers on my neck. “Oooh, so tense. Why so tense?”

  I tried to resist her touch, but I was tense. And she really had a gentle, yet firm, way of soothing my muscles. This had become almost a daily occurrence with her – coming into my office and rubbing my neck and back muscles. I let her do it, partially out of the desire to actually get a free massage, partially out my desire just to be touched. I associated touch with warmth and affection, two things which had been missing in my life for far too long. Not that I thought, in my mind, that her touch meant that she was warm and affectionate, so much as she was hot and wanted in my pants. Thus far, I hadn’t let her, but this was her way of getting there. I knew that.