by Raquel Belle
“I’m also your friend.”
Problem is, I don’t want us to be just friends. I’ve always considered the possibility of having more with Nick—dreamed of it, as a matter of fact. The day I met him, I’d instantly developed a silly crush that blossomed into something much deeper after getting to know him. I’ve been fighting that something―which is love―for three years…and it gets harder every day. But, something more than friendship wouldn’t work between an employee and employer—in my opinion—so I’d rid my mind of anything romantic ever happening between us. Mixing sex with our friendship and our professional relationship is a recipe for disaster.
“You didn’t have to run out of my apartment with some lame excuse of having something else to do. We could have talked.”
“We’re doing that now,” I defend weakly.
Nick grunts. “So, what now? What do you want?”
Already swallowing the regret forming before I utter the words, I say, “I want things to stay the same between us. We work so well together and making the same mistake—”
“Sleeping with you wasn’t a mistake. I always do what I mean to do.”
“I know. It wasn’t a mistake to me either—”
“Yet, that’s what you just said. You’re contradicting yourself.”
Arg! Nick in lawyer mode is impossible. “Nick, this isn’t a courtroom and I’m not on trial,” I snap. Composing myself with a deep breath, I calmly say, “You said you’d let me speak.”
He huffs. “So I did. Speak.”
Being reminded of his arrogance makes me grind my molars. Still, I love and accept that part of him. “If I wanted a real relationship—I mean, a meaningful intimate, romantic relationship, could you give me that, Nick?”
His silence says it all before he huskily answers, “I...you know I couldn’t right now...”
Maybe not ever. I’m well aware of how emotionally scarred he is. Pain shoots through my chest because that’s what I would want with him if we were to continue being intimate. Of course, I’d have to quit my job, but he’d still be in my life and that’s ultimately what I want. Since I can’t have anything more with him, I’ll just hold on to my job—and the friendship we have—for dear life. Surely, I’ll get over him in no time if we keep things platonic so I say, “Right. That’s why we shouldn’t let what happened last night happen again. It’s best for both of us if we forget we crossed the line and move on.”
There’s another long pause before he says, “If that’s what you really want.”
It isn’t, but what can I do? “What do you want?”
He doesn’t really answer, he just says, “You’re right, it’s for the best if we...forget and move on.”
I won’t likely ever forget, but I can sure as hell pretend to. Taking a deep breath, I lay back on the sofa to stare at the ceiling. There’s this overwhelming feeling of longing tugging at my heart. I want something serious with Nick so badly, and knowing it won’t happen hurts. “Nick?”
“Yes, Grace?”
I smile slightly because he always answers like that when I call his name. It’s never yes, yeah, what? Always yes, Grace, and I always know I have his full attention. “Promise we’ll go back to normal and be us—the dynamic duo. No awkwardness.”
“I promise.”
My smile is hampered down with sadness. I’m giving up something I’ve wanted since the day I met Nick. But like I said, it’s for the best.
Chapter Eleven
Grace
Present day…
The Atlantic dinner party is going exactly as I imagined it would. I’m surrounded by a bunch of middle-aged bankers and business men and women rambling on about the state of the economy. I can tell that Nick is only half listening, the same as I am, only putting in his two cents whenever someone looks at him expectantly. We’re both bored out of our minds. During our five-course meal, he glanced at me a few times, silently pleading with me to rescue him. I know that look all too well because he does it at just about every function we attend. Sometimes I come through and manage to get us out of things. But this time, when he looked at me, I could only shrug in a ‘it is what it is’ kind of way. I mean, there’s only so much his assistant can do to get him out of a dinner party.
I did think about feigning a sudden illness so we could both leave, but then thought better of it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nick’s eyes droop and his head sag just a little. I elbow him in the side and he bolts up, clears his throat and jumps right back into a conversation with Betty Orville, the CEO of some cosmetic company—I forget which—and Donald Perry, one of DMP’s biggest clients.
Nick reaches for his champagne glass and sends me a look of gratitude. With a smirk, I reach for my own glass. I’ve consumed way too much champagne—severe boredom will do that. It isn’t just the dull conversation that’s getting to me though. Every time I have a flashback of the conversation Nick and I had at his place, I feel the need to drink. I must have taken a temporary leave of my sanity when I asked him if he ever saw himself in a relationship.
But I needed to know if he was in a different place psychologically after so many years. Well, he isn’t, so now I’m both bored and depressed. I gulp down some more champagne and feel my bladder protest. I don’t move though, choosing to stay close in case Nick nods off again. I have to ensure that he seems at least remotely interested in what everyone is saying. He’ll thank me later.
Finally, dinner comes to an end and everyone becomes engaged in drinking and idle chatter. I’m about to excuse myself when Betty Orville zeroes in on me. She sends a plastic smile in my direction. “Mrs. Peterson, it’s good to see you again. You seem to be everywhere Nicholas is.”
Gritting my teeth, I resist glaring daggers at the older woman. Betty is forty-six, but she hasn’t aged well. The crow’s feet around her eyes and the frown lines between her eyebrows show just how miserable the woman is—and has probably always been. Obviously the Botox is wearing off.
“Naturally,” I reply as neutrally as possible, “I’m his assistant. And it’s Miss Peterson, ma’am.” I know she’s sensitive about her age I and couldn’t resist using a title that makes plenty of women feel old. Betty’s eyes narrow to slits. She’s pissed, but she can’t express it with the rest of her face—she really needs to lay off the injections. I try desperately not to snicker, but it’s a struggle keeping my expression schooled. Nick coughs lightly beside me and he picks up his glass once again, probably trying to keep himself from laughing too.
Betty is by no means old and I respect her work ethic, but the woman is like a thorn in my side at every event I encounter her. I know why she constantly targets me. She’s been throwing herself at Nick for the better part of two years and I guess she thinks I’m standing in her way. Word on the street is that she prefers younger men. Looking at her with her over-done makeup and stiff expression, I wonder what makes her think she has the slightest chance with Nick. He always respectfully dodges every inappropriate attempt she makes to flirt.
Just when I think Betty has taken her one and only jibe at me for the night and I’m about to excuse myself, she says, “I thought secretaries stayed in the office. Mine does.”
Okay, I’m by no means insecure about my job. I’m an ambitious, educated woman. I have a master’s degree in communication with plans of starting my own business. I’ve been thinking seriously about starting my own public relations firm. I’ve always wanted a job that involves interacting with different people because I’m a people person. And I’d be damn good in the PR business. It’s just that one needs money and experience to start one’s own business. I’m still working on the money part and I have no idea where the experience is coming from. So, my plans have been...dormant…for a while. Plus, I love working with Nick. Nevertheless, Betty’s slight does have some effect.
“Grace is an amazing assistant, Betty. As a matter of fact, she’s more a partner. Of course I always want her by my side. She is the better half of our partnership.”
I send Nick a grateful smile, but he has Betty trapped in his famous cold stare. It makes Betty squirm a little in her chair and flush, and I feel a sliver of satisfaction. Of course, Betty doesn’t back down because she simply has to ruin my night.
“Oh, that’s an interesting thing to say about a secretary. What else does this partnership entail?” she asks innocently, but gives me a smug glance.
That hit a sore spot with me. I know that many clients we’ve done business with think that Nick keeps me around because I’m giving him other favors. They always give me that knowing look, when in fact they don’t know shit. Nick wants me around because I’m freaking amazing at my job. You can’t tell people like Betty that though. My thick skin thins just a little when I look around the table and it hits me that everyone there is probably thinking the same thing as she is. Maybe that’s why some of the men address my cleavage when they speak to me. They think I’m an easy secretary. Nick’s toy or something.
“Please, excuse me,” I grumble and throw down my napkin.
Before I get up Nick peers at me with concern.
I give him a bright smile and for his ears only announce, “I’ll be right back. Bathroom break.”
Jaws clenched, he stands up along with the other men at the table. That always makes me smile—the old fashioned show of chivalry—but not tonight. I’m practically steaming as I march to the ladies’ room. I know Betty is a bitch and always will be. She’ll never fail to throw shade my way whenever we meet because she thinks I’m sleeping with the man she wants to sink her claws into. And she’s seated at Nick’s left while I’m at his right so her comments weren’t likely to have been heard by the other guests—they were having separate conversations—but I still feel awful.
I take my time in the restroom, even taking a few minutes to lounge on the white sofa. This is one of the most luxurious public restrooms I’ve ever seen. Naturally, it would be posh. This restaurant is for the rich and famous here in the Big Apple. I’d never be able to afford coming here otherwise.
Feeling as if I’ve brooded long enough and can go back into the restaurant with my head held high, I do just that. However, I quickly find out that Betty Orville isn’t going to be the worst part of my night, as I’d previously thought. As I round the corner into the restaurant, I spot the last person I want to see. My former boss, Richard Henson. I worked for him over seven years ago, before I started working for Nick, but things didn’t end well between us. It figures I’d run into him now. It’s as if the universe didn’t think my night could possibly be ruined with just Betty Orville’s slights alone. Looking skyward, I wonder what I did to upset the big guy upstairs.
I’m not in the least bit afraid of or intimidated by my former boss, no matter how big of an entitled, lecherous ass he is. What I’m afraid of is that he and Nick will have an encounter and the secret I’ve been keeping from Nick for all these years will be revealed. So, I do the first thing that comes to my stupid brain—I duck behind a table. Not a great move because that only gets me more attention. I really didn’t think this through. A few diners peer down their rich, snooty noses at me and passing waiters frown when they spot me. I can’t believe I’m embarrassing myself like this, as if I haven’t been humiliated enough for one night.
Eyes on Richard—who is strolling into the restaurant, accompanied by two others, a man and a woman—I keep moving as best I can in my crouched position. As luck would have it, a waiter stops right beside me as Richard nears and asks, “Are you alright, Miss?” That brings Richard’s attention straight to me. We make eye contact and my heart drops to my ass. Great.
Smiling through my teeth, I try not to glower at the innocent waiter. “I’m fine. I just―”
“Grace? Grace Peterson?”
Fuck me. “Mr. Henson,” I say with false cheer, coming to my feet. Smoothing my dress, I give him a cool “Hello.”
The waiter nods and walks off. Richard gives me his signature “charming” smile, which isn’t charming in the least. I always thought he looked like a hungry, snarky shark—if sharks could have personalities that is. Those cold beady eyes of his go perfectly with the sinister grin. “Look at you Grace, as lovely as ever.”
“Thanks. Great to see you, Mr. Henson. If you’ll excuse me…”
“Hold on a minute.” He glances at his companions who are being seated at a nearby table. “It’s been years. How have you been?”
“Great,” I chirp. “You?”
“Still making the big bucks,” he brags with a laugh.
I bet he is. Richard Henson is a property developer, but working as one of his secretaries for a year, I discovered that the title is just a front. He’s the most unscrupulous character I know. He disgusts me. “Good for you.” I’m starting to feel uncomfortable with his cold, penetrating eyes on me.
“So, what were you doing down there on your knees, Grace?” he nods to the floor with a teasing glint in his eyes and a leer.
Oh yeah, not only is Richard a criminal, he likes to make dirty jokes too…jokes which I never found amusing. Holding on to my temper, I search for an explanation. “Oh, I was uh...I lost a contact lens.” I squint at the floor and bending down I pretend to pick up something. “And here it is.” Lame, but it’s the best I can come up with on the spot.
Richard lifts a brow and smirks.
Kill me now.
Chapter Twelve
Nick
Still fuming over Betty Orville obviously upsetting Grace, I give her the cold shoulder and turn my attention to Donald Perry. The sixty-five-year-old man is quite the talker and full of stories. As one of the firm’s biggest clients and the host of the dinner party, I can’t do much else than entertain the old guy by pretending to listen attentively as he dishes out the tale of how he started as an intern and rose to be one of the richest men in New York. My bank account rivals Donald’s but you don’t hear me going on and on about it.
Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I quickly look in the direction Grace disappeared. She’s been in the restroom for a while. I hope she’s okay. I frown. Grace isn’t one to take offense over stupid assumptions from people like Betty. There has to be something more to her storming off. I glance in Betty’s direction with a scowl and she smiles. What I’d give to rip her a new one for causing Grace the slightest discomfort. But, we’re in polite company.
I put on a smile for Donald’s benefit and nod at something he says, but I’m not really listening. When I look again in the direction of the restrooms, I do a double-take. What the fuck? Grace is crawling behind a table. As animated as I know Grace is, I’m confused. Now, my attention is split between Grace and Donald.
My full attention switches to Grace when a man approaches her and she stands up. My eyes narrow as jealousy sweeps in full-force. Who the hell is that guy? She’d better not be flirting with him. I remind myself that Grace has the right to flirt with whomever she wants. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it. Concern replaces jealousy when Grace begins to shuffle from one foot to the other while rubbing her arm. She’s uneasy.
“Donald,” I interrupt the man and glance at my watch. “I’m afraid I have to get going.”
“Already?” Disappointment shines in Donald’s eyes—probably because when I leave, no one else will listen to his stories. Even if I wasn’t rushing to rescue Grace, I would have probably found some other excuse to leave. The man is boring me to death.
“I’m sorry, Don. I just remembered that I have another engagement tonight. Thank you for the invitation. It was a wonderful evening.”
Donald grasps my hand. “Anytime my boy,” he says and pats me on the shoulder.
Boy? Christ. I’m thirty-seven. Then again, he is older than me...I guess he’s just using it as a term of endearment.
“Davis Michael Porter knew what they were doing when they took you on, son. I have a feeling you’ll take over that place very soon.”
I’m sure the compliments stem from the fact that I helped him make a shitload of mon
ey last month during a very sticky acquisition, but I smile and say, “Thanks, Don. I appreciate that. I’ll see you.” Getting up, I nod to the other well-dressed guests surrounding the table. “Ladies, gentlemen, have a good night.”
My smile disappears as I turn and stride with purpose toward Grace and the mystery man. As I get closer, recognition hits. It’s Richard Henson, he’s a well-known businessman. I don’t really know him, know him, but I’ve heard stories—not good ones. To be honest, I can’t stand the guy. I’ve only ever spotted him a few times and I’ve never actually had a conversation with him, so I doubt he’d even recognize me. But, there’s something sketchy about him—it’s just his demeanor, his body language—and we’ve never interacted enough for me to find out what it is. Didn’t Grace use to work for him? I vaguely recall seeing his name on her resume. But I’d barely taken a second look at the resume after she won me over and I gave her the job. So, I could be wrong…but my instincts rarely are.
I arrive just in time to hear Grace saying something about losing a contact lens. Funny since she doesn’t wear contacts. She even has a finger held up as if the lens is actually on her finger. With a smirk, I stop at her side and play along just for the fun of it.
“Oh, you found it.” Leaning forward and flicking absolutely nothing off the tip of her index finger, I add, “You can’t put that dirty thing back in your eye.” Her shocked expression as she turns to look at me nearly makes me break character and laugh.
Richard Henson glances at me and then at Grace, expectantly, as if waiting for her to make an introduction. Even I’m surprised when she grabs my arm, snaps, “Goodbye, Richard,” and pulls me in the direction of our table. Grace is never anything but polite.
I place a hand on the small of her back and divert her toward the exit instead. “I already said goodbye. We’re leaving.”