First Love Second Chance

by Kira Blakely

  “Nathan,” he corrects me. “You’re not one of my employees, so call me Nathan. And now that I have you in my suite and am providing you with clothing it might be nice to know your name as well.”

  I chuckle from a little nervousness. That’s right, I know him, everyone knows his name, but he doesn’t have any clue who I am. “I’m Sam, Samatha Willis. Nathan,” I repeat. It feels weird calling him by his first name but at the same time, I can’t help but feel fuzzy inside. “Thank you for the gown.”

  “I thought I owed it to you.”

  Right.

  “Besides, it’s not like I can wear it.”

  No. He can’t.

  “I better go,” I tell him. “I—”

  “Drink?” He offers me a glass of red wine. “Or would you rather have champagne?”

  I’d rather have you.

  I shake my head. “I should go.”

  Before I make more of a fool of myself.

  “Should or want to?”

  “Should,” I answer, gathering my things. “And want to.”

  He seems puzzled. “Are you going back downstairs?”

  “Yes.”

  So what if I’m wearing a different gown? I doubt people have noticed. I’m just the photographer, after all. Besides, I’ve got work to do and while I’ve told Mattie I’ve gone home, I’m sure she’ll be happier if she sees me back in that ballroom with my camera.

  He sets down the glass of red wine, pouring himself some Scotch. “You’re a photographer?”

  I place the strap of the camera around my neck as I nod.

  “For a magazine?”

  I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Prima Vida magazine.”

  “Ah. I’ve heard of it.” He takes a sip of his Scotch. “Is it good?”

  “It pays the bills.”

  “You sound like you’d rather be doing something else.”

  I shrug. “Well, we can’t all invent apps and become billionaires, can we?” I glance at my watch again. “If you’ll excuse me, I really need to—”

  “Do you resent all rich people or just me?” He sets down his glass.

  “Resent? No.” I shake my head. “I just find them…” Boring, I want to say. “Not interesting enough.”

  “And do you think of me that way?”

  No. Nathan Landers is hot, confident, fascinating. Anything but boring.

  “You’re… interesting enough.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  I look away.

  Shit. I can’t believe he just forced a compliment out of me. He’s sly, this one.

  “Plus, rich people can be selfish sometimes,” I add quickly. “Not that I wish they’d give me money. I just wish they’d spend their money more wisely, like use more of it to help make the world a better place.”

  “How would you spend your money if you were rich?” he asks.

  I don’t think twice. “I’d build animal shelters and reserves.”

  His eyebrows crease. “You’d rather help animals than people?”

  I frown, not liking his tone. “Animals are just as important, you know.”

  “How?”

  How? “The wild ones maintain our environment, keep the natural balance. And the domestic ones give us companionship.”

  “We can make robot pets as companions.”

  “Robots?” I can’t imagine a kid playing in the mud with a machine.

  “And we can find ways to reproduce plants so they can survive even without animals to pollinate them or disperse seeds.”

  I blink, my temper rising. “Are you saying animals are unnecessary?”

  “I’m saying they’re more valuable dead. They give food, clothing…”

  He stops mid-sentence as I splash the glass of wine on his face, the crimson drops staining his white shirt. I don’t care. I can’t just stand there when some rich jerk is talking about killing off every animal.

  Nathan wipes a drop off his cheek. “Well, that was unexpected… and a waste of good wine.”

  I set down the empty glass. “So, it’s a crime to waste wine but not to get rid of all the animals on Earth?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  I look at his stained shirt and click my tongue. “Well, well, well. It seems like our roles are reversed, and now you’re the one in need of new clothes. Funny, isn’t it? Let’s hope you keep suits as well as gowns.”

  I turn on my heel and reach the door, placing my hand on the handle. “Oh, and I take back what I said earlier, Mr. Landers. You’re not interesting enough.”

  Chapter 3

  A Weasel Out of Hiding

  “You threw wine at Nathan Landers?”

  Pamela, my best friend, otherwise known as Pam — some people call us SamPam or Spam or Sam-I-Am and Pam-I-Am — looks at me across the cafeteria table with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. Thankfully, she hasn’t taken a bite of her pasta or it would have fallen out.

  “Shh,” I scold her with a finger to my lips.

  Quickly, I look around the crowded cafeteria. No one’s looking at me weird. Or looking at me, period. That’s good.

  I don’t want anyone else knowing about the ‘slip’ I made.

  As soon as I got home and the anger had subsided, I realized what a fool I’d been. I shouldn’t have let him get to me. I shouldn’t have risen to the occasion.

  And I definitely shouldn’t have thrown that wine on his face.

  “I know, I know,” I tell Pam. “I wasn’t on my best behavior. I should have just put on a fake smile and then walked away.”

  “You should not have been with him in the first place.” She eats a forkful of pasta. “Haven’t you heard that he’s a womanizer?”

  “How do you know this again?” I ask.

  She looks at me like I’m an alien. “I’m a news reporter, Sam. I hear things. I know things.”

  Pam writes for the company’s news magazine. Mostly in-depth stuff. Investigative journalism, she calls it.

  “He didn’t try to seduce me, though.” Or did he? “He pissed me off, that’s what.”

  “Then you’re lucky. Oh, but wait. You called him despicable.”

  I frown at the reminder. “He called animals unnecessary. Like they are just weeds or something.”

  Pam took a bite off her piece of garlic bread. “So, you threw wine at him.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Question. Does Nathan Landers know who you work for?”

  “I might have mentioned it.”

  Pam shakes her head. “Not good. You never know how powerful men will retaliate. I hate to break it to you, but he could ask Henry to fire you.”

  He could?

  “Or worse, he could talk to the investors — I hear one of the major ones is a friend of his — and have them pull out their money and our company would… well, take a big blow.”

  “No way.” I hadn’t thought of that.

  Pam shrugs. “Rich men usually have big egos, egos they don’t want deflated. Who knows what they do when their feathers get ruffled?”

  I sigh. Pam’s right. I should know, having been around a lot of rich people for the past several months.

  I let my head fall on the table. What have I done?

  Can my day get any worse? Nancy already gave me an earful for not taking enough pictures at last night’s gala because I ended up not returning to the ballroom after that heated argument with Nathan. Never mind that I told her I was suddenly not feeling well. Mattie seemed disappointed, too, reminding me that I’m a professional and I shouldn’t let personal things like wardrobe malfunctions get in the way. Oh, and she gave me a heap of safety pins.

  Now, I find out my career’s in jeopardy.

  What next? A broken arm? God forbid.

  “Sam?” I hear the concern in Pam’s voice.

  “I’m fine,” I lie.

  It’s not Pam’s fault. She’s a news reporter, so she has a thing for bearing bad news. Even so, she’s just the messenger. I brought this upon myself.


  “No, you’re not. Eat something.”

  “I’m still full.”

  “Suit yourself.” She pats my hair. “I have to go back to my desk. I’ve got a deadline to beat. Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s not the end of the world.”

  Easy for her to say.

  “Who knows? He might just let it go.”

  I lift my head and look at her. I can tell she thinks it’s unlikely, and yet she said so anyway just to make me feel better. That’s why she’s my best friend.

  She crosses her fingers as she walks away then turns and blows me a kiss.

  “Good luck with that deadline,” I call out to her.

  She gives me a thumbs up. Then she’s gone.

  I look around the cafeteria, the crowd seeming smaller now.

  I glance at my watch. 12:42.

  Should I go back to my desk? But I don’t really have anything to do there. And frankly, I don’t want to see Nancy or Mattie again. Should I go home then? My next event isn’t until noon tomorrow, so I can.

  I’m still toying with the idea when my phone beeps.

  A new message from Barry Baker.

  I frown. Didn’t I tell that scumbag not to contact me anymore? Why does he still have my email?

  There are pictures. I don’t understand what…

  Oh, shit.

  They’re all pictures of me. And Nathan. Half of them are of us kissing, the other half of us getting into the elevator.

  How on earth did he get these pictures?

  Why am I even asking? He’s paparazzi. Taking pictures without anyone knowing is his specialty. But why send them to me?

  I scroll down.

  I know what you did last night, but hey, I can be persuaded to keep it a secret from your boss. Just have dinner with me tonight at seven at the Marriott. See you.

  If my phone wasn’t so expensive, I’d probably have thrown it at the nearest wall.

  How dare Barry blackmail me? Then again, I should have known blackmail wasn’t beneath him. He’d do anything to achieve his filthy goals.

  Anything.

  I knew it. He’s a weasel.

  Well, there’s nothing I can do. If those pictures reach Henry or Nancy or any of the executives at the company, my credibility is going to be questioned. They’ll say I’m using my job to get laid. They’ll call it a breach of trust, a conflict of interest. At any rate, I could easily get fired and my dreams will go down the drain.

  I can’t let that happen. I won’t. Luckily, Barry is giving me a chance to get rid of them.

  Lucky? Just the thought of sitting across from him at a table, enduring his mischievous grin and knowing what he’s thinking of, is enough to make me cringe.

  Yup, my day just got worse.

  Much worse.

  ***

  I’ve been through worse, I tell myself as a confidence booster as I walk across the lobby of the Marriott toward the lounge.

  It’s 6:46. The sooner we start, the sooner we can finish. And I intend to finish this as soon as possible.

  Barry is already here. He’s eager. Of course, he is.

  He’s sporting a new suit and a fresh shave, too. Not that it makes him any less of a dick.

  He sees me immediately, his smile growing wide. Then his eyebrows crease. Probably, he doesn’t approve of what I’m wearing — a cardigan over a turtleneck and a skirt over leggings. Nope, I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of gawking at me or trying to steal a glimpse down my shirt.

  His smile returns, though, as I sit across from him.

  “I knew you’d come.”

  I pick up the menu. “I didn’t have anything else to do.”

  We order. Steak and wine for him. Just salad and a glass of juice for me. I don’t intend to stay long, after all.

  “Watching your figure?” Barry asks, eyes on my breasts.

  What figure? “I’m not that hungry.”

  Who would have an appetite dining with scum?

  “Too bad. I’m paying. A man always pays on a date, after all.”

  I want to tell him it isn’t a date, but I have a feeling he’ll insist it is so I drop the subject. Besides, there’s something more important we need to discuss.

  “Where are the pictures?” I ask.

  “Impatient, are we?”

  “I just want to make sure you’re going to live up to your end of the bargain.”

  Barry grins as he touches his chin. “Feisty as ever, I see. It’s what I like about you.”

  Whatever. “The pictures?”

  “Dinner first. Then the pictures.” He holds up a USB stick.

  “And how can I be sure those are the only copies you have?”

  “You can’t.” There goes that mischievous grin again. “Although I must say, you looked beautiful in that gown.”

  Every word from his mouth makes me shudder.

  As if that’s not bad enough, he suddenly places his hand over mine. “You’re better off with me, you know. Now that he’s fucked you once, he’ll forget all about you, whereas I… I’ll never get tired of —”

  Thankfully, the waiter comes and Barry lets go of my hand.

  I’m saved. For now.

  We start eating. Finally, Barry shuts up. He seems to be hungry and the thick slab of beef in front of him seems to be perfectly cooked, the smell of the spices in the gravy wafting to my nostrils. Even my salad looks divine, the vegetables fresh and colorful, the portion just right.

  Thank goodness.

  Then just when I’m down to my last forkful, I hear the waitress speak somewhere behind me.

  “This way to your table, Mr. Landers.”

  Mr. Landers?

  “Thank you, Anne.”

  There’s no mistaking that voice. It’s Nathan Landers, all right.

  Shit.

  Of all the restaurants in town, why did he have to walk into this one?

  My mind races. What do I do? Just sit still and pray he doesn’t see me?

  Nope. So far, I’ve been unlucky, and I don’t expect my luck to turn anytime soon. I can’t take any chances.

  I shove the last bit of salad into my mouth and wipe my lips with the napkin. “Excuse me. I have to go to the ladies’ room.”

  Without waiting for Barry to say anything — he can’t since his mouth is full — I rush to the door.

  As I cross the vast expanse of the lobby, its black, white and gold tiles gleaming beneath the multiple pendant lights, I see the sign for the restrooms. I turn the corner, but just as I am about to go to the ladies’ room, I catch a glimpse of glass doors leading to a garden. I go there instead, thinking that I need fresh air.

  I gulp in deep breaths as I sit on an empty bench beside a lamp post, willing it to clear my mind.

  Why? Why does everything have to be so messed up?

  First Nathan. Then Barry. Now Nathan again. What am I supposed to do? Go back in there and face them both? I want to see Nathan again, sure, but I don’t think I can after what I did to him. Nor do I want to see Barry again. What then? Do I just let Barry do what he wants with those pictures?

  I exhale. I should have snatched that fucking USB stick when I had the chance.

  I’m still trying to find a way out of my dilemma, my face buried in my hands, when I hear footsteps approaching.

  I lift my head, frowning when I realize Barry has found me.

  “I thought you’d left.” He sits beside me on the bench and lights a cigarette. “But I knew you were smarter than that.”

  “Sorry. I… needed some fresh air.”

  “You should have told me. I would have accompanied you.”

  “It’s fine.”

  He takes a puff. “And here I thought you were running away from Nathan Landers.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Wait. You didn’t invite him, did you?”

  “Hell, no. Why would I?”

  “To blackmail him, too, of course. He’s got lots of money.”

  “Do you think he cares if a picture o
f him and you gets out? The guy doesn’t give a shit.” He leans back and takes another puff. “I swear that asshole must have sniffed you out. Maybe he wants to see how you’re doing the night after he fucked you.”

  “He didn’t—”

  “Or maybe he wants more. Maybe you were too good.”

  I don’t like how Barry’s looking at me. “Just give me the pictures already. You promised.”

  “I said after dinner.” He moves closer. “Thanks to you leaving, I didn’t get dessert.”

  Sensing danger, I get up, but he grabs my arm and pulls me back to the bench, then places one arm around me.

  “Barry…”

  He whispers in my ear, “Do you want that USB stick or not?”

  Shit.

  I’m trapped. Literally. His mouth clamps down on mine. It’s nothing like a kiss. Messy. Disgusting. More like a leech trying to suck the life out of me.

  I can taste the beef, gravy, wine and nicotine on his tongue. And it makes my stomach turn.

  Please… stop.

  Suddenly, out of nowhere, a leg comes swinging, kicking him off the bench so hard he hits the ground with a thud, his cigarette flying.

  “What the hell?”

  Quickly, I get off the bench, wiping my mouth with the sleeve of my cardigan as I catch my breath. I stop, though, when I realize who has just saved me.

  Nathan.

  Chapter 4

  Claws Out

  “Didn’t anybody ever teach you not to force yourself on a woman?” Nathan asks Barry as he crushes the cigarette butt with his expensive leather shoe.

  Barry snorts. “You’re one to talk.”

  Nathan stops and glares, the look on his face reminding me of a bear about to attack. It’s scary enough to keep me glued where I’m standing and cause a lump to form in my throat.

  So, this is how Nathan looks like when he’s pissed.

  “I’ve never forced myself on any woman. I’ve never had to.”

  “Why, you…”

  Barry gets up, only to have Nathan grab him by the collar, lifting him above the ground. “Stay away from Sam or you’ll never be able to take your piss-poor pictures again. Do you understand?”

  Barry nods, speechless and trembling in fear. As soon as Nathan lets him go, he scurries off like the weasel that he is, back into the shadows.