15

Without waiting for a response, Nick spun his wheelchair away from me. Dismissed. I didn’t know him well enough for it to hurt me as much as it did, but it did.

Not wanting to upset him any more than he already was, I began to back toward the door. Jackson cast me a sympathetic look and said, “I’ll walk you out.”

“You don’t have to,” I insisted.

Jackson didn’t acknowledge my words. He simply began walking to the door. I turned and followed, only glancing over my shoulder once at the hunched shoulders of the man in the wheelchair.

We were striding down the hall, not speaking, when I cracked. “Why is he in a wheelchair?”

Jackson shook his head. “Not my story to tell.”

Bro code. I nodded. I hadn’t really expected an explanation, but naturally I had to ask anyway.

“Is there anything I can do?” I asked.

Jackson stopped walking. He turned to face me. He studied me for a long moment. “Don’t let him retreat.”

“Meaning?”

He opened his mouth, looking like he wanted to say more, but he shook his head. He opened his mouth again and then snapped it shut. Clearly, he was sitting on the horns of a dilemma. It would have been unkind of me not to help him out.

“I can’t help him if you don’t give me a clue,” I said. “You don’t have to break his trust just help me to understand.”

Jackson nodded. “Fair enough. Nick’s shut himself off from the entire world. No friends, no family, no visitors, no one gets on the estate. Until you rented the guest house, it was just the four of us—day in and day out. I guess what I’m trying to say is don’t disappear because of this. Be a presence he can’t ignore; that will help him.”

That was it. He strode forward, leaving me to follow in his wake, as if I were a dinghy trailing a yacht. He reached the back door and held it open for me to pass through.

“See you around, Annabelle,” he said. He sounded hopeful.

“Later, Jackson.”

“I hope you mean that,” he said.

I slipped through the open door, clutching my skirt together. There was no sign of the Guzmans, for which I was grateful. I walked across the yard, through the citrus trees, to my own patio. I had the sensation of being watched, and I desperately wanted to turn around and see if Nick was looking out the window, but then I wasn’t sure I could handle it if he was.

I turned my time with him over in my mind. He was devastatingly good looking. He had charm and he was clearly successful. But something had happened to him, something had caused him to lose the use of his leg. An accident? A disease? What? I was obnoxiously curious about it.

I thought about how he’d swooped in and grabbed me when I might have been flattened by the weights coming down on me. I stopped walking.

Mentally, I put myself back in the room. I’d been standing about twenty feet away from Nick when I’d knocked down the entire rack of dumbbells. Huh. I listened to the birds chirping while I drank in the scent of the sweet citrus blooms. The truth was inescapable, and the fact of the matter was there was simply no way Nick could have reached me if he didn’t have the use of his legs, but I had seen his left leg all lax and dragging like it was broken. So what exactly was wrong with my landlord? Not my business. Still, I had to know.

The back door was still ajar, and I entered, scanning the house for Sir. I had a sudden need for a hug. He was curled up on the red throw right where I’d left him. I picked him up and he must have sensed my distress because he purred and rubbed the top of his head against my chin. I felt instantly better and hoped that in light of what had happened, Nick didn’t change his mind about letting me keep my furry friend.

---

I didn’t sleep well that night. An intense pair of hazel eyes dominated my dreams. An image of Nick driving us somewhere, a formal event with him in a tuxedo and me in a gown, and we were laughing. I was happy. And then crash.

I jolted awake, sweaty and panicked with my heart racing in my chest and Nick’s name on my lips. I knew it was my unconscious trying to figure out what had happened to Nick Daire. Sure, I knew it wasn’t my concern, but that had never stopped me from trying to help a person in need before, and I doubted it would do so now.

Of course, it’s a lot easier to help a person who actually wants you to help them rather than a person who is closed off in his house. A person who refuses to acknowledge your existence even when you stand in the middle of your back patio for hours on end with your new easel and canvas, painting the black-and-white cat sprawled on the limb of a lemon tree, looking very much like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland, except being more formal with his tuxedo coloring.

Yes, even Sir making himself at home on the grounds of Daire’s estate could not draw the man out. He didn’t even send one of the Guzmans or Jackson to deliver a note or to speak to me on his behalf. I wondered if I should turn it around and send him a note. If so, what would it say?

Every time I got the prickly feeling that someone was watching me, I was doomed for disappointment when I surreptitiously checked the windows and saw no curtain twitch. It was all in my mind. I was being one hundred percent ignored and I didn’t like it, not one little bit.

Even more irksome, there was no note attached to my door when I headed out for work on Monday. I’d played music, quite loudly, after nine the night before. I let Sir come and go, leaving my door open, and I even jumped in the hot tub. And what did I hear after all of this bad behavior? Crickets.

It was maddening. I was bummed out and a tad surly when I arrived for work on Monday morning. Nyah greeted me with a big smile and a thank-you for the happy hour, as did the rest of the staff, and it occurred to me that I was beginning to consider them my friends. That helped. So what if my landlord didn’t like me, my crew did.

I tried to catch Soph before the weekly meeting, but she was mobbed by other staff. I had known when I took the job that her business was all-consuming. It shouldn’t have hurt that she had no time for me. I was a grown-up, after all, but still, I felt as if once she’d gotten me to take the job and move here, I’d been cut loose in a sink-or-swim sort of way. Honestly, it stung.

But now that I’d met Nick Daire, she really had some serious explaining to do. Like, what happened to him that he was in a wheelchair? And why had they let me believe he was an old coot when he was clearly the hottest man alive?

We gathered in the big meeting room for an update on all of our projects. I was still learning our client roster and what projects we had in the queue, so I was caught off guard when Miguel asked me for a status update on the Schneider account.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Who?”

“Schneider,” Miguel said. “You know, as in Schneider Pretzels. They’re one of our biggest clients.”

I blinked. “I didn’t realize they were ours.” In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have admitted this out loud in front of the entire staff.

Miguel frowned. Sophie bit her lip, which was her go-to anxious gesture. I could feel the eyes of the rest of the staff on me, which were sympathetic, well, all except for one. Carson West.

“Surely, you’ve been in touch with them,” Miguel said. “They want us to design all new packaging. It was one of the projects Carson delivered to you on your first day here. I’d hoped to see the creative brief by now.”

And just like that, my plans for the day and quite probably the night went right down the toilet. Carson. I hadn’t gotten anything about the Schneider account from him, but I couldn’t say that without it becoming a he said/she said situation, which had the potential of causing a very unpleasant scene.

Carson had been here for years while I’d been here mere weeks. So far, I was successfully building a strong rapport with my team, and I didn’t want to jeopardize it by being perceived as a supervisor who blamed others when things went wrong, even in this case, where it was definitely Carson’s fault that I hadn’t been in the loop about the Schneider account.

I smacked my forehead, overly dramatic, and said, “Of course, I’ve been working with them. Sorry. My caffeine hasn’t kicked in yet. I’ve got meetings all day today. Would tomorrow morning be all right for me to catch you up on the account?”

Sophie visibly relaxed while Miguel looked a tad less grumpy. “It’s later than I would like, but sure, ten o’clock.”

“Don’t we have a conference call with Bravo Pianos at that time?” Booker asked me. I stared at him. I didn’t have a meeting on my calendar for Tuesday morning. What was he up to? He glanced back at Miguel. “You’d better make it midafternoon in case our meeting runs late. Mr. Bravo can be very exacting.”

If it weren’t totally inappropriate in the workplace, I might have kissed Booker on the mouth. We didn’t have a meeting; he was just trying to buy me more time. I nodded. “You’re right. Good plan.”

Miguel glanced between us. “Fine. Two then.”

“Looking forward to it,” I lied. The tension between Miguel and Sophie visibly eased. Crisis averted, for now.

I didn’t have to look at him to know that Carson was smirking. I would bet my favorite pair of Magalli boots that he’d been waiting for just this moment. What an asshat. At least now I had a heads-up and could find out what other projects he’d neglected to mention to me.

“I’m sure Annabelle’s been too busy wooing her brand-new client to think too much about pretzels,” Carson said. “Isn’t that right, Annabelle?”

He turned to me. His sandy hair flopped perfectly over his forehead, and I suspected a lot of product had been employed to make it seem so effortless. Had I really thought he was handsome when I’d first met him? Now I noticed that his face was too thin, his lips had a cruel twist, and his eyes held no warmth, just cold calculation.

“I’m sorry?” I asked. I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Oh, don’t be so modest,” he said. “You told me the other day, when you were late getting in because of an early meeting, that you were bringing in a huge account. Don’t leave us in suspense!”

Oh, shit. He was using my fake phone call against me. Judging by the delight on his face, he had figured out it was bogus and was now fully prepared to humiliate me with it.

“New account?” Soph asked. She looked so hopeful that I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pretend that I’d had a client and lost them or even more outrageously admit that the entire call had been a sham to keep Carson off my back when I was fifteen minutes late.

See? This is the thing with lies; they’re like the law. You can never truly escape them. This is why I never lied and why I’d been kicking myself ever since that awkward moment at the elevator. I’d have been better served to let Carson rat me out for being late that day, but I’d panicked. Well, lesson learned. Still, I couldn’t disappoint Soph. I decided I’d better find a new client and fast.

I forced my face into a big grin and said, “Well, we’re still working out the details but I’ll loop you in as soon as there’s good news.”

“Excellent,” Soph said.

I don’t think I imagined the triumphant look she sent Miguel. I glanced at Carson. He looked annoyed. So there was that. Mercifully, the meeting ended shortly after that.

As we exited the room, I waited for Carson to leave and then asked Luz and Booker to follow me. They exchanged a look and then nodded. Once the three of us were inside my office, I closed the door. They took the seats across from me as I sat behind my desk. I folded my hands and considered them. I wasn’t sure how to go about asking them what I needed to know, but it was clear I needed information, and from what I’d observed, they were my best access points.

“Contrary to what was said in the meeting, I never received any information about Schneider Pretzels.” I paused then glanced at both of them, and they exchanged another meaningful look. “From what I’ve observed, I don’t think either of you are surprised by this.”

“Carson is trying to sabotage you,” Booker said.

“He wanted to be creative director and pitched a complete hissy fit when he didn’t get it,” Luz added.

I nodded. “He’s let his feelings be known to me. That’s fine. He doesn’t have to like me, but I won’t stand for his sabotaging the work.”

“You should tell Miguel and Sophie,” Luz said.

“I would,” I agreed, “but there seems to be a difference of opinion about Carson in-house. Miguel wanted him for my job but Soph convinced him, sort of, to hire me instead.”

“But Carson’s not qualified,” Booker said. He raised his hands as if imploring the gods to help him understand why Carson would even be considered. “He’s not the best graphic designer, and he has terrible management skills. Being a creative director is all about solving the client’s problems, new business pitches, and bringing innovative ideas to the table. He has none of that. He just wants to quaff beers on the golf course with clients and then offload the rest of the work onto his assistant.”

“So exactly what he does now but for a bigger check,” Luz said. “Working for him is a nightmare.”

“Why haven’t you told Miguel and Sophie?” I asked.

“Because Carson said he’d get me fired if I went over his head, and he’s tight enough with Miguel that I think he’ll do it,” Luz said.

“You could leave,” I said.

“No, I love my job, I love my team, and I really believe Vasquez Squared is going places. Why should I leave because of him?”

“Fair point. All right, so that I can be prepared, in what way is he awful?” I asked. “Other than what I already know?”

“Do you remember when you were in school and you had to do group projects?” Luz asked.

I nodded.

“There was always one team member who didn’t do any work, but in the end took all of the credit?” Booker added.

I cringed. “He’s the slacker.”

“Exactly,” Booker said. “But he’s even worse, because he overpromises and then underdelivers, as in delivers nothing at all, and everyone else has to scramble to make it right with the client.”

“What he did to you today, he’s done to me, too. I almost lost my job because of him,” Luz said.

“He hasn’t pulled that with me,” Booker said. “But if he’d been promoted to creative director, I would have quit.”

“How have Miguel and Soph not noticed this?” I asked.

“Oh, Sophie knows,” Luz said. “I think that’s why you’re here.”

“As for Miguel.” Booker paused and shrugged. “His bro code runs deep, and he simply can’t see his old fraternity buddy clearly.”

“All right,” I said. “Thanks for sharing all of that with me. I know it’s uncomfortable to talk negatively about coworkers.”

Luz smiled at me. “In this case, it’s a relief. I was a little worried you’d get taken in by him, too. Half the staff despises him—”

“The ones he’s screwed over,” Booker jumped in. Luz gave him a look, and he pressed his lips together.

“And the other half adores him,” Luz said. “It can be hard to know where the loyalties lie in regards to him.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I said.

She nodded and I glanced at both of them. “So do either of you have a minute to get me up to speed on the pretzel company? I have to come in fully prepared with guns blazing for tomorrow.”

Thank heavens they did, and we spent the next hour brainstorming. I worked through the day, taking a break for lunch, which I spent tracking down Sophie.

I did a sweep of the office, checking with Nyah first to find out if she had any meetings. She did not. Then I checked the restaurant upstairs, the staff lounge, and the break room. No sign of her. Hmm. On a hunch, I went to the bathroom.

Vasquez Squared had four unisex bathrooms, two on each side of the building. I got lucky on the second door on which I knocked.

“Just a minute,” she said.

“It’s me,” I called. “Open up. There’s nothing I haven’t seen in there.”

I heard a snort and then the sound of the door unlocking.

The bathrooms had all been designed as multipurpose lounge rooms. Seriously there was a divan and an armchair in the front room, with the facilities, sink and toilet, behind another door at the back. Soph had wanted nursing moms to have a private place to pump or nurse as she and Miguel had agreed babies were welcome in the office until they were moving on their own power. And the lounger was big enough for a person to catch a nap if they’d pulled an all-nighter, which was a frequent occurrence in the graphic arts.

I followed Soph back inside and took a seat on the armchair while she touched up her makeup in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. There was a pink suit in dry cleaner’s plastic draped over a chair, so it was clear she was headed off to another event.

“We need to talk,” I said.

She whirled around to face me. “You’re not quitting, are you?”

“No.”

Her shoulders slumped in relief.

“But you have to be straight with me about a few things,” I said.

She looked wary. “All right.”

“Miguel only agreed to let you offer me the position of creative director because he didn’t think I’d take it, did he?” I asked.

“No, he didn’t,” she said. “But I need you here, Belly. You’ve already improved our designs so much, even Miguel admitted that you bring a fresh perspective to the studio.”

“That’s nice,” I said. And it was. “But do you remember our lunch on my first day here. I told you I had a bad feeling about Carson, and you asked me to document any problems, particularly in regards to work?” She nodded. “Well, an email will be coming your way, but you have to know he totally sabotaged me at the meeting today. He never mentioned Schneider Pretzels to me, and I checked the project management list and it wasn’t put on there until after our meeting today.”

“I suspected as much,” she said. She looked grim. “I’ll talk to Miguel and tell him what Carson did.”

“But you don’t think Miguel will do anything about it,” I said.

Sophie dropped her head and sighed before she glanced back up. “I’m sure Carson already has an excuse locked and loaded. You know, one of the things I love most about my husband is his loyalty.”

“But?”

“But because he’s loyal to the core, he seems to believe everyone else is. Carson and Miguel are fraternity brothers. I don’t know the specifics, but Miguel told me enough to get the gist. When they were hazing, Carson saved Miguel from getting seriously hurt. Because of that, I can’t seem to break the spell Carson has got Miguel under. That’s why I need you here. Together, we can document every move Carson makes, and when we have enough, we can present it to Miguel as proof positive.”

“I’m not gonna lie,” I said. “This is stressful.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. She hugged me. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to stay.”

“Don’t be stupid,” I said. “Of course I’m staying. Carson can’t have my job. He’s made it personal now.”

She smiled. “That’s my Belly.” She turned back to the mirror to finish her makeup.

“There is one other thing I wanted to talk about,” I said. “Nick Daire.”

Soph was applying her mascara. Something in my tone must have alerted her to the fact that I’d met Nick Daire because she met my gaze in the mirror and then slowly turned around.

“What about him?” Her voice was guarded.

“Why did you let me think he was some shriveled-up old man?” I cried. “He’s, like, crazy hot. Hotter than hot. He’s scorchin’ hot.”

“No.” Soph shook her head. “No, no, no, no. You have to stay away from him. You haven’t talked to him, have you?”

I opened my mouth but she cut me off.

“Don’t!” she cried. “Don’t talk to him. Don’t go near him. Maintain a ten-foot perimeter at all times.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because he is everything you fall for,” she said.

“Charming, funny, handsome, and smart?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “Broken, damaged, needy, and hot.”

“You admit he’s hot?”

“I’m not blind,” she retorted. “He’s not for you, Annabelle. He’ll use you up and spit you out, and I desperately do not want you to get your heart broken and leave. I need you. Promise me you’ll stay away from him.”

“He’s my landlord,” I said. “We live mere yards away from each other. That’s a virtual impossibility.”

“Is it?” she asked. “Miguel says he never leaves his house. How exactly did you happen to make his acquaintance?”

“Um . . .” I wasn’t sure I wanted to lead with the rule breaking. “Timing, you know, our comings and goings lined up.”

“Unalign them,” she said. “Seriously, you don’t want a repeat of Jeremy or the BD again, do you?”

“He doesn’t strike me as being anything like Jeremy or the big disappointment,” I said. I remembered the feel of his fingers on my wrist, tracing my tattoo, and my visceral reaction to his touch. Yeah, neither of my exes had ever affected me like that.

Sophie heaved a breath. She picked up her mascara and resumed her touch-up. “I can’t tell you what to do, I know that, but I can tell you that Nick Daire is not someone you want to get involved with, Belly. In all the years Miguel and I have known him, he’s never dated a woman for longer than a season, and now he’s—”

“In a wheelchair,” I said.

She lowered the wand again and met my gaze. “You know then. I’m surprised. He’s kept his situation private, very private, even going so far as to retire from his business, Daire Industries.”

I waited for more. There was no more. Maddening!

“What happened to him, Sophie?” I asked. She didn’t answer right away. I waited.

“I don’t know the details,” she said. “All I know is that he had a stroke last year and afterwards he withdrew completely from everyone and everything.”

“A stroke,” I said. “But he’s so young.”

“Thirty-five,” she confirmed. “Annabelle, please trust me when I tell you that steering clear of Daire is for the best.”

“Sure thing,” I agreed. To distract her from asking me to promise to avoid him—not gonna happen—I said, “You look really beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she said. “We have a . . . a client meeting and then we’re having dinner with the local entrepreneur group tonight, a snoozefest but the food is always amazing.”

“Eat a jumbo shrimp for me,” I said. I slipped out the door while she was still chuckling.

I’d been here only a little while, but I’d already noticed that Miguel and Sophie seemed to have standing client meetings at four o’clock in the afternoon a few times per week. I mentioned that Soph was a terrible liar? Yeah, every time she said “client meeting,” she got a crinkle in her nose and she tipped her head. Something was up with my friends, and it took all of my restraint not to demand to know what.

It was dark when I packed up my work to finish at home. I used an app on my phone to call for a car to come collect me and left the office, switching off the light as I went because I was the last to leave.

I locked the doors behind me, feeling weary all the way to the marrow of my bones. Thank goodness Booker had been quick on his feet and stalled Miguel. It bought me the morning and I was going to need it.

The driver let me off at the gate. I used the security pad to enter, waiting until the gate closed behind me before striding up the walk. I didn’t want to let any more surprise guests inside the grounds. I still felt bad about that, and knowing that Mr. Daire—he’d gone back to being Mr. Daire after he yelled at me—was in a wheelchair only made it worse.

What if something awful had happened to him, and it was my fault for letting in the perpetrator? I thought of his muscled arms and chest and realized that it was highly unlikely that someone could get the best of him, but there was something wrong with his leg. I wished Soph could have told me more.

I arrived at my house, exhausted but knowing I needed to work well into the night to come up with a concept that really dazzled for the Schneider account. I had the work the team had already done and it was okay, but I knew if I wanted to redeem myself, it needed some wow factor. Ugh.

Once inside, I dropped my stuff, flicked on the lights, and crossed the room to open one of the French doors. There was no sign of Sir, which made me sad and a little worried. I was late; maybe he’d given up on me and gone to forage dinner elsewhere. I tried to remind myself that he wasn’t a pet, but right now he was the only source of daily affection I was receiving, and given that today had been the Mondayest Monday of all the Mondays, well, a little kitten love would not have been out of order.

I cleared off the dining table and set up my laptop and preliminary sketches as I was going to need to spread out a bit. I knew I was going to be working until my eyes crossed, but that was fine. I’d had plenty of jobs just like this one in Boston. The difference, of course, was that when I was working for myself, it was only my reputation on the line. Knowing that my work was reflecting on Vasquez Squared made the stakes feel that much higher.

The old logo was a traditional pretzel outlined in a vintage seventies yellow mustard color that did nothing for the pretzels except keep the design recognizable. I had done a background check on the family and discovered the Schneiders were from the Midwest and the company had been started in the 1800s. There was a lot of family pride in their corporate message but they needed more than that. They needed to catch the eye of the younger generation.

I looked at the layouts we had. I liked them. I liked them a lot. They kept the same vibe of the old company but looked fresher. It occurred to me that one way to kick off the new logo was to let the consumers choose. I checked out the company’s social media and noted that they had a solid presence. This would make my suggestion to take it to the public more viable. Cool.

I took another swing at each of the logos, making them pop. I tweaked the fonts, the size, and the color schemes. The only one I didn’t touch was one that I’d worked on all afternoon, after talking to our client on the phone this afternoon, which was also my favorite. I’d taken the old logo but redrawn the letters so that the S and the P in Schneider Pretzels looked like a tasty pretzel. Then I’d stylized the S and the P so that they were a new logo of intertwined pretzel letters. Hand-drawn on Adobe Illustrator but in white with an aqua background, they popped, which would be particularly important for the thumbnail image on their social media channels.

Of course, this was the resolution of only one of my problems. I still needed to come up with a huge client to impress Miguel and Soph and keep Carson off my back. Damn it. I was brand new to this city. I wasn’t networked or connected to anyone other than the people I worked with. How the hell was I going to pull this off? I had no idea.

Frustrated, I closed up my work for the night. I glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that it was past midnight. I frowned. I glanced at the red throw on the sofa. No Sir. He hadn’t snuck in while I was working. I’d left the door open but he hadn’t appeared. Now I was worried. It was the first time in over a week that he hadn’t shown up.

I stepped out onto my patio and searched the area for him. I took in the chilly air and pulled my sweater more tightly about me. I could hear the faint sounds of the crickets, but that was it. There was a stillness to the night, as if everyone was tucked into bed. It was so strange to find such a pocket of silence in the heart of the city. I glanced at the big house. Did Nick know how lucky he was to live here like this? Then I thought of his wheelchair, and I doubted he’d view himself as lucky at all.

I turned to go inside and get some food as incentive to lure Sir in when I heard a sound from the other side of the citrus trees. What if it was the intruder Nick had warned me about? I almost ran inside and slammed the door shut. We were in a major metropolitan area, after all, but something made me pause.

And then out of the citrus trees, he appeared, in his wheelchair. My eyes went wide as Nick propelled himself down the walkway to my house. He was wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, zipped up, and I could see the muscles in his arms and chest bunch and ripple as he rolled toward me. When I glanced at his handsome face, all I could think about was the feel of him lying on top of me. Oh my.

“Hi, Annabelle,” he said.

“Hi.” I stood perfectly still as if he were a wild creature and I might scare him away with any sudden movements.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize he hadn’t wanted me to see him in his wheelchair the morning he’d called me up to the house. In fact, having me walk in on him, during his workout, was likely his way of disguising any weakness. The fact that he was here now in his chair was definitely him owning his bullshit by putting it out there. I could respect that.

“I found something that I believe belongs to you,” he said as he came to a stop in front of me.

“What’s that, Mr. Daire?”

He tipped his head to the side. “I’m Mr. Daire again?”

“Sorry . . . Nick,” I said. His hazel gaze was direct, making me feel as if he could see not just me but what I felt and thought as well. It was unnerving and made my sleep-deprived brain flatline, so naturally, I started to babble. “Unless you’d prefer Mr. Daire because that’s fine, too. Whatever you want, I’m good. I mean, name-wise whatever you want . . . oh god. Shut up, Annabelle.”

He laughed. It was a delightfully deep, dark, and delicious sound. I felt my face get warm and my nervousness ratcheted up. There was something about this man that made all of my usual coolness vanish into complete nerd girl.

“Nick is fine,” he said. “But ‘Sir’ is definitely not fine for this guy.”

He set the brake on his chair and unzipped his sweatshirt. Gently he pulled the black-and-white cat out of his hoodie and held him out to me.

“Sir!” I cried. I scooped him up and clutched him close. I kissed his head, which made him meow in protest, and he batted my nose. “I wondered where you’d gone.”

“He arrived around suppertime, looking quite put out,” Nick said.

“I had to work late,” I explained, although I wasn’t sure if it was to Sir or Nick. “Poor guy. He must be hungry.”

“I doubt it,” Nick said. “Lupita fed him a hearty meal of roast chicken, and then he decided he needed to nap on my lap.”

I grinned. “And you let him.” He looked disgruntled but didn’t deny it.

“I was going to bring him by earlier, but I fell asleep, too. When I woke up, he was still in my lap and I saw your lights were on so I thought I’d bring him over as you might be worried.”

“Thank you, I was.” I nuzzled Sir’s soft fur, relieved to have him home.

“No pets,” he said. But there was a gentleness in his eyes that I knew meant Sir had worked his charm on him and Nick was reconsidering.

“He’s not a pet, he’s a guest,” I said. “A visitor. Surely we can grant him a temporary visa.”

“Until a suitable home is found?”

I shrugged, which was my nonverbal answer of maybe.

“Even if he’s visiting, he needs a better name,” Nick said. “At the very least, he needs to be Sir Somebody or Other.”

“Sir Somebody works,” I said.

“Ack, no!” he cried in mock horror. “That’s worse than plain old Sir.”

I pressed my face into Sir’s fur to hide my smile. We stood there for a while, enjoying the bond of affection we felt for this whiskered little ball of fluff, who chose that moment to leap from my arms and stroll into the house as if Nick were his driver and I was his butler and he was now done with us.

“Well, I can see we’re no longer needed,” Nick said.

I glanced at him, taking in his ridiculous good looks. Truly, one person should not be this blessed in the hotness department; it simply wasn’t fair. And I said, “Thanks for bringing him by. I would have fretted all night.”

Nick nodded and glanced up at the night sky. “Sir Lancelot, no, that’s not it. It’s too old-world and he’s clearly a hip cat. I’ll keep thinking on it.”

“How about Sir Mick,” I said. Nick raised one eyebrow in question. “You know, as in Mick Jagger.”

“He does have an air of rock and roll royalty about him,” Nick conceded. “We can consider it.”

“Oh, we can?” I asked. He seemed awfully invested in naming the cat all of a sudden.

“If he’s going to be visiting my house, too, then, yes, I think I should have some say,” he said. His gaze met mine and then slid away, only to come right back as he continued, “Anyway, he was just an excuse for me to stop by. I wanted to apologize for the other morning. I wasn’t prepared for you to see me like this.” He held his hands out to indicate the chair. “But I guess that cat is out of the bag or the hoodie, as it were.” He met and held my gaze. “I acted like an asshole. I yelled at you and you did nothing to deserve that. I’m very sorry.”

Well, I’ll be. Despite his off-putting control freak nature, Nick Daire was a good man. And truthfully, now that I knew he depended upon a wheelchair, it made the control freak thing easier to understand. He likely had to think things through, because of the logistics of using a wheelchair, much more than other people did. Simple things like going to the store, how to navigate bringing the chair, getting items off the top shelves, pushing a cart, and a million other tasks. It made sense that he had the Guzmans and Jackson to help him.

“Apology accepted,” I said. “And I’m sorry—”

“Please don’t,” he interrupted. His startlingly pretty eyes held mine. “That’s twice you’ve apologized when you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

The urge to apologize again, for apologizing no less, was right there on the tip of my tongue. As if he knew it, he slowly shook his head from side to side. Saying “I’m sorry” was my default setting. I wasn’t sure of what to say without leading with an apology.

We stared at each other for a few long moments, and feeling incredibly self-conscious and fully aware that I have no sense of personal boundaries and was being peak rude, I asked, “What happened to you?” I wanted to hear the story from him.

He looked as if he was going to ignore the question or redirect, both of which I would have expected. Instead, he shocked me. “I had what they call a cerebrovascular accident.”

“A stroke?” I asked.

He nodded, looking surprised that I knew the term. I didn’t feel the need to enlighten him that I hadn’t until now. Instead, I studied him. How could he have had a stroke? He was only a few years older than me. A stroke or a cerebrovascular accident was an old man’s condition. It simply didn’t compute.

“Yes, a stroke,” he said. He glanced down at the chair with chagrin. “I got lucky. I didn’t lose my powers of speech, my brain was unharmed, and the side of me that went slack came back, mostly.”

“Is that what’s wrong with your leg?” I asked. I still hadn’t been able to figure out how he’d rescued me from the falling weights. “Did it not recover?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “The truth is I’m a medical anomaly. There’s a residual weakness in my left leg and my left arm. It comes and goes with no warning. One minute I’m fine and the next thing I know, my left side gives out and I crumple into a heap. It’s . . . very frustrating.”

“I can imagine,” I said.

“Other people have it much, much worse.” His smile was wry. “At least that’s what I keep telling myself.”

“When did it happen?” I asked.

“A little over nine months ago,” he said.

“I’m sor—” I bit off the words I was certain he didn’t want to hear. His mouth tipped up in the corner. He was clearly amused by my propensity for apology.

“That sucks,” I said. His smile grew deeper as he no doubt remembered saying the same thing to me about my mother’s death. “Is that why you retired?”

“Partly,” he said. “I was already getting the itch to do something else, but I’m a builder. That’s who I am, that’s what I do. I was considering my options when the stroke happened and changed everything.”

My curiosity flared, but I felt like it would be bad form to grill him for more details about such a personal event. Sort of like when someone tells you they’re getting divorced. I don’t know about you, but I want all the intel, which was why, given my own past, I usually offered up the reasons for my divorces right at the start. Nick did not offer up the who, what, when, where, and why, however, so I kept my lips zipped, although it about killed me.

“Enough about that.” He gestured to the window, where my work setup was clearly visible. “Still going at it?”

“I just packed it in, actually,” I said. Staring at my laptop and scraps of paper, I felt all of my self-doubt bubble to the surface and added, “I’m in so far over my head.”

“I don’t believe that,” he said. “I’ve seen your work.”

“How?” I asked. Weary all the way down to my bones, I sank onto one of the outside chairs. Nick moved his wheelchair beside me.

“Your replies to my rules always included a drawing,” he said. “You’re very talented. You shouldn’t doubt your abilities.”

Flattered, I shook my head. “Those were just doodles, but thank you. It’s not the art part. I’ve got that. It’s the managerial stuff.” Nick looked interested so I continued, “I have a coworker who, well, never mind. He’s not the problem. Well, actually he is, but the bigger issue is my own stupidity.”

“Not getting any clearer,” Nick said. He shook his head, looking bemused as if I were a hummingbird zipping around him. I took a long breath, tried to center myself, and exhaled slowly and mindfully.

“In a moment of panic, I, quite stupidly, said I was bringing a huge new client into the business to said coworker, Carson West, who has resented me since the day I arrived,” I explained.

Nick held up his hand. “Wild guess, he thinks you took his job?”

“Yes!” I cried. It felt so good to tell someone. “Which is ridiculous. I mean if it was his, it would have been his, you know what I mean?” I plowed on, not really needing a response because I was on a roll. “Needless to say, Carson’s been impossible to work with, trying to make me look bad at every turn, so in an act of sheer dumbness, I told him I was bringing in a huge client to get him to back off. I’m such an idiot! Naturally, he told Miguel and Soph, who are now expecting me to deliver, and I don’t know a soul in Phoenix. How the heck am I supposed to pull this off without looking horribly unprofessional, childish, and ridiculous?”

Nick pursed his lips. “You need to channel this”—he paused and waved his hands in the air at me—“insecurity—”

“I am not insecure!” I protested. I was totally insecure. “I’ve just been a freelancer for five or so years and I’m not used to working in an office environment with all the backstabbing and petty meanness.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “That, right there, use that insec—pardon me, that frustration to give yourself momentum. Push yourself. Prove yourself. Win the job you have, leaving no question who it belongs to.”

I stared at him. “So you’re a motivational speaker now?”

“That depends,” he said.

He glanced away, studying his house from this angle as if he’d never seen it before. From the aha expression on his face, it appeared he was having an epiphany of his own. I wanted desperately to ask what was happening in that big brain of his, but I didn’t want to scare him off. I went for just looking cool, and asked, “Depends upon what?”

He turned back and smiled at me, a real smile full of warmth and affection, and a deep dimple appeared in his right cheek. I was charmed all the way down to my socks.

“Is it working?” he asked.

“Huh,” I grunted. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that it was working and that I did feel motivated to kick some Carson tail. I didn’t want Nick to think he could roll me with a pretty speech and a dimple—a dimple, for Pete’s sake! “I feel like my situation is more complex than that.”

“Human behavior is complex,” he said. “That’s why you break it down to its simplest construct. What do you need? How do you get it? In your case, it seems pretty basic. You need to prove yourself, and you do that by bringing in a huge client.”

“Did you miss the part about how I don’t know anyone in Phoenix?” I asked. I flopped my head back, resting it on the top of my chair. “I’m doomed.”

“Not necessarily,” he said. “Again, if you break it down, you really only need to know one person.”

I lifted my head and stared at him. “And who would that one person be?”

He tipped his head to the side, and the smile he sent me was one of pure undiluted hotness. “Me.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. Soph said Nick had retired from Daire Industries, the business that afforded him these luxury digs. Why the heck was he willing to help me?

“Are you offering to help me to make up for yelling at me?” I asked. I drew my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, partly for warmth and partly to curb the intense longing I had to crawl right into his lap. His fault. Muscled arms like his were made for snuggling.

“Is it a problem if I am?”

“Not for me.”

“Good, but I’m not. As it turns out, I need your help, too,” he said.

I knew it! He was the quintessential businessman, and the only way Nick would be willing to assist me was if there was something in it for him. Okay, then.

I tipped my chin up and said, “I’m listening.”