| |
We moved from the sushi bar, to an actual bar across the street. This time, we got a private room in the back—one that was strategically off-limits to both patrons and the inevitable paparazzi hovering on the sidewalk. Those cameras Ella had been craving the entire time.
Buttons were loosened, jackets were removed. A bottle of aged whiskey was set in between us on the table. Nick opened it without a word and poured two glasses.
Then he leaned back and waited for an explanation.
...an explanation I was having a hard time giving.
I took one look at his face, and abruptly panicked. He didn’t look particularly mad, but the fact that I was even in this ridiculous situation, speechless as a guilty school girl sitting in the principal’s office, was making my head spin. I took a big gulp of whiskey. Then another. Then one more after that. After that...I realized my glass was empty.
He pursed his lips with a little smile and poured me another.
Oh...how the tables have turned.
How many times had the roles been reversed? How many times had I been sitting on the other side of the table, watching Nick have a silent panic attack before confessing his latest batch of sins? Gentling them first with copious amounts of alcohol.
I picked up the glass with shaking hands, then set it down again—at a complete loss for words. When it became clear I needed help, Nick gave me a little push.
“So...what are we into this time, Abby?”
My head snapped up, and I stared into his eyes. It was the exact same line I used to begin my routine rescue attempts. The standard preamble to unlock whatever new kind of mess he’d found himself in. I must have used it a hundred times.
His eyes twinkled back into mine, and in spite of all the odds, I started to smile.
“I’m sorry.”
There. Might as well just get it over with. Give him enough time to gloat.
He cocked his head teasingly to the side, frowning with false confusion.
“And what, pray tell, are you sorry for?”
The whiskey was taking effect. A nervous giggle rose up in my throat, but I swallowed it down—bowing my head with a grin as we started reading each other’s lines.
“You know...the usual.” I took another sip, shaking my head with regret. “Lions, and tiger, and bears.”
“Oh my.”
The glass went back on the table, and I dropped my head into my hands.
“I did this really stupid thing...to a really good friend of mine.”
A pair of warm fingers slipped beneath my chin, lifting it back up again. An almost crippling wave of guilt crashed over me, but when I looked at Nick, all I saw was a gentle smile.
“I’m sure he had it coming.”
I froze for a split second, then a burst of actual laughter escaped my lips. My hands clamped over my mouth, desperate to apologize, but the second I laughed, he started laughing as well. Before long, it was over-taking us completely, filling our eyes with tears as we bounced back and forth—replaying the bizarre events of the day, slowly emptying the whiskey as we did.
As the bottle got lower and lower, our voices got louder and louder. More buttons were loosened. Twenty minutes in, I kicked off my uncomfortable shoes. The manager was summoned to bring in round two and disappeared with a smile—shaking his head at the thousands of dollars us crazy kids were spending to just to cut lose.
“I literally had no idea what to think,” Nick admitted, when conversation finally turned to the now-infamous grope. “For a second, I actually thought she might be blind or something. Poor thing just didn’t know where she was reaching.”
I slumped over the table, shaking with uncontrollable laughter. Nick tried to swat at me, but he was too far away and it didn’t help that he was still laughing himself. For the last hour and a half, it was like the two of us had been caught in a wave of it. Unable to stop. Unwilling to try.
“You’re just lucky she didn’t try to give you a hug,” I finally caught my breath enough to speak, rubbing absentmindedly at my collarbone as I remembered her crushing embrace. “I think those implants might have broken something...”
He snorted with laughter, pouring himself another glass.
“You know, if we ever actually had sex, she would kill me with those things.” His smile abruptly faded as he stifled a shudder. “I’m not even entirely sure it would be an accident.”
We shared a grave look, before collapsing once more.
It was all just too much.
The headlines. The merger. The trouble with his father. Something had to break, and our little Miss Oklahoma had been that proverbial tipping point.
Of course...she would have never factored into the equation if it hadn’t been for me. A fact that Nick was just starting to realize, through his drunken stupor.
“Hey,” he scooted suddenly closer to me in the booth, kicking off his shoes as we both reclined against the designer cushions, “about Ella...”
Even as intoxicated as I was, my chest tightened nervously at the name.
Shit—so we’re back to this again?
“Who?”
Not my best defense, but it was worth a try.
He flashed me an indulgent grin, but then grew suddenly serious—his eyes dilating thoughtfully as they met mine. “Why did you pick her?”
That’s a damn good question. One that I’d like the answer to myself.
What the fuck had come over me last night? Why—when I opened up Ella Campbell’s file—had I picked up the phone? What had possibly possessed me to be so foolish?
“You said that being with a stranger would be awkward, but professional,” I quoted his exact words from the day before, my voice lowering to a soft murmur. “A mutually beneficial arrangement. One with no real emotion—everything would be staged.”
He tilted his head to the side, trying to understand.
“So you found me a real-life succubus?”
“No.” I laughed quietly, then the alcohol took hold. “Well actually yeah...kind of.”
The room spun, and all of a sudden, I was having trouble meeting his eyes.
These were not the conversations we were supposed to be having—the two of us. These were not the sorts of situations we were supposed to be getting ourselves into.
I was supposed to be in my office. Doing my job. Going home across the bridge to my apartment in Brooklyn to watch TV, drink some wine, and fall asleep holding all my phones.
He was supposed to be gallivanting around the Upper East Side. Going home with a beautiful woman, maybe two. Creating some fresh bit of mischief for me to fix in the morning.
We weren’t supposed to be sitting alone in a bar, drinking bottles of expensive liquor, recapping our day together with our shoes off. It just wasn’t...us.
“I shouldn’t have done it,” I said abruptly. “It was a bad call. I apologize.”
My hair had long ago come loose from its pins—releasing itself from its strict bun to fall in messy waves down the front of my blouse. On instinct, I started gathering it back up. Twisting and confining it once more. Grasping at some small semblance of professionalism.
His hands caught mine, freezing them in place.
“Abby...”
It was only with the greatest reluctance that I looked up to meet his gaze.
“...why her?”
My breath hitched in my chest, and all at once, I couldn’t stand to be in the room a second longer. The lights were too dim. The conversation was too honest. And Nick?
Nick...was too close.
“I really should be getting home.”
With no further preamble, I grabbed my bag and pushed to my feet...only to tilt with drunken imbalance and fall straight back into a pair of waiting arms.
Correction: now Nick’s too close.
For a second, the two of us just froze. Half-inclined on the sofa. His arms around my waist, me lying back in his arms. My hair spilling across his shoulders.
Then reality came crashing back.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, struggling and failing to get to my feet. The whiskey bottle smirked knowingly on the table behind us. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Please—don’t apologize, not for that.” He lifted me gently to my feet and stood up. “Are you alright?”
It was a bad sign that even he had started to slur. It meant I was in for a rough night.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, trying to extract myself from his arms. “Just need some water.”
He refused to let me go. If anything, he only held on tighter.
“Let me get you some.”
“Nick, it’s not—”
“Is there a bell we’re supposed to ring for service, or—”
“I’m really okay, just let—”
“You’d think there would be a bell—”
“Just let go!”
It came out a lot sharper than I’d intended. Heavy with accusation. Scalding the air in the little room, before echoing out into a stiff, ringing silence.
The hands disappeared at once. A sudden chill sprang up between us. And all our banter, and laughter, and games faded permanently into the past. Leaving nothing but the question.
“Why did you pick Ella?” he asked again.
Cold, this time. Unyielding.
I turned slowly to face him, still shaky on my feet. I didn’t know why, exactly, but the question made me strangely upset. Almost angry. An echo of his abrupt departure from the park bench the other day.
“With the option you chose, you’re not supposed to build attachments,” I answered shortly. “Ella’s the antithesis of your type. I thought she would be the perfect solution.”
“That’s bullshit, Abby.” Nick’s eyes flashed, then cooled to a low simmer. The way they did when I knew he wasn’t going to let something go. “There were a dozen other girls you could have picked. Girls you knew I wouldn’t attach to, but they also wouldn’t drive us both mad.”
I didn’t miss a beat.
“Those girls take time to find. We needed someone quickly.”
“Oh—come on,” he snapped. “You’re really going to—”
“You saw her resume!” I interrupted heatedly. “It’s exactly what we—”
“Stop trying to spin this!” he yelled, finally pushed past the limit. “I’m not just a fucking client, Abby—don’t talk to me that way! Why did you pick her?”
I glared up at him. Overly-confident with the booze. Overly-willing to speak my mind.
An idiot, through and through.
Maybe I was mad he didn’t like my marketing plan. Maybe I was sabotaging him. Maybe this was revenge for everything he put me through since I was hired. I knew my job wasn’t on the line. Because I could make this work. Meanwhile, Nick would suffer. Or was this something completely different.
Just maybe...
Maybe I didn’t want to see him kissing another girl. When maybe something was changing between us.
“...why did you buy me that necklace?” I asked.
“For the same reason you put me with that wretched woman.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I feel things changing, shifting between us. And maybe you do too. You didn’t want me to be kissing a desirable woman, like perhaps an ex-girlfriend. You picked somebody so that I would have to pretend. And while I’m pretending, I can’t date other girls. So in a way, you have me all to yourself.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
He cocked a brow. “Is it?”
“You are so conceited.”
“Skip all the games. If you want to be with me, all you have to do is simply ask.”
“You’ve seduced so many maids, cooks, stylists, and exercise instructors. I guess you’ve decided to include me in your little black book. You love to fuck the help, don’t you?”
“You’re so damn good at changing the subject. It’s why you’re at the top of your game. Directing the attention off of you ‘wanting me’ and turning it toward my promiscuous behavior.”
“Goodbye, Nick. See you in the morning.” I turned to walk away.