The Financier (Hudson Kings Book 2)

by Liz Maverick

  “What’s wrong?” Nick asked.

  “It’s nothing,” she said, the slur in her voice from the alcohol sounding a little more defined. “Nobody’s punching me in the face. Well, not literally.”

  “Tell me,” Nick said, a little surprised by how badly he wanted to grab her cell phone out of her hand and throw it out the window just for making her sad.

  Jane sighed. “Talk about stupid,” she said, chewing on her lip. “My ex-boyfriend cleaned me out. He cheated on me and then cried when I broke up with him, and then he moved on to the next stage, which was to dismantle my joy. I’m still working through the repercussions.”

  “And yet you’re fairly matter-of-fact about it. You’re over him. You’re over it,” Nick confirmed, realizing this was important for more than one reason.

  “Oh, I’m over it. I was over it the night he left me standing at the coat check after a big party. He said he’d be right back. Turns out he was having sex with the bartender under a champagne pyramid. And then somehow I was the bad guy.” Jane shook her head. “All of the stuff he did was basically to show his power, to show what would happen if I made a thing about any of it, like file a lawsuit. I never intended to make a thing. Relationships happen, and nobody needs to be spending negative energy on making a thing unless it really deserves to be a thing. I don’t know what he was thinking. Why would I publicize our relationship and call myself out as sleeping with the boss? That never goes over well for the women. Anyway, I like to save my energy and figure out the next path.” She tossed her phone to the couch and looked over at him. “Which led me to you.”

  Nick tried to read her face and then just asked, “How much did he take from you?”

  “It’s embarrassing. It’s a lot.” She raised the fireplace poker and started flailing at the ashes again.

  “How much?”

  “He claimed it was the value of money and gifts he had given me, which was just not true. Unless you counted my actual salary, which seems like the sort of thing you really should not have to give back.”

  “How much?”

  “A lot.” Poke. Flail. Poke. Flail.

  “How much, Jane?”

  “My entire nest egg. About fifty K.” She winced, apparently waiting for his horrified reaction.

  Nick stared at her for a moment, and then he looked away. That’s a lot?

  Jane froze. “Oh, Jesus, you don’t think that’s a lot. Of course not. Your bathroom faucets probably cost fifty K.”

  “What’s his name?” Nick asked.

  “I don’t want to say.”

  “What’s his name?” Still low-key, but not a question this time. An order.

  “No,” she said, with the snap in her voice. “This is personal, okay? It’s shit and it’s personal. It’s my personal shit. You’re my boss, and you now know why I need a job so badly I’m willing to overlook the weirdness that comes along with it, but I don’t have to tell you my personal details.”

  “I’m sorry, Jane, I didn’t mean to make you angry,” Nick said quietly.

  “Well, I am angry,” Jane yelled, throwing the entire poker into the fireplace with a clang.

  Ally, Cecily, and Geo looked over from the dining room.

  Jane stood staring at Nick, two fists at her sides. “I am angry. I’m very angry. And it’s not just because I’m a little drunk. I don’t want you to die! I mean, I can’t even believe I’m standing here having to say that. Do you realize you’re still holding a gun? This isn’t a movie. This is serious, and I don’t know how to fix this, and I’m very good at fixing shit. I mean, I just want to go to whoever is doing this to you and be all, ‘Look, sir, this can’t go on. My boss is . . . well, it turns out he’s a good guy and there must be a compromise or a solution that will suffice, and let’s just sit here and hash it out until you stop wanting to kill him.’”

  Her mouth snapped shut after that speech. Her pale skin was trying to decide which shade of red to settle on.

  Nick stared at her, gripping the gun in his hand so hard that he thought he might sprain something. He was gripping it that hard to stop himself from doing what he really wanted to do, which was to let go and touch her, hold her body in his arms, and let her just be the anchor he’d been looking for, for so long.

  Which was right at the moment that she turned on her heels and walked away from him. Nick watched Jane belligerently start to clean up, slamming dirty plates and napkins into a ripped delivery bag. Angry cleaning, he quipped silently. This made him smile through the pain boring a hole in his heart. Because, holy shit, it seemed like everything about her had started having that effect on him.

  “Maybe we should all call it a night,” Ally said, a little unsteady on her feet.

  This made him frown. “Maybe we should stay,” Nick said.

  Cecily’s eyebrows flew up. She looked at him and then looked at Jane.

  “You’re all drunk at the same time,” he added.

  “Well, that happens,” Ally said. “It’s called a party.”

  “I just want to make sure there’s someone to hold her hair back if she needs it,” Nick said, before he could stop himself. He tried to fix it, crossing his arms over his chest and explaining in his boardroom voice, “She has a lot of hair.” Okay, yeah, that sounded more like a bedroom voice. Not better. He sighed, wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

  “Oh, Nick,” Ally said, her face softening.

  What was happening to everyone? Why were they all going soft?

  “What?” Nick asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Done here,” Geo said gruffly. He took Nick by the shoulder and steered him to the door.

  CHAPTER 16

  When Nick Dawes didn’t call the next day, it was kind of a shock to Jane’s system. Like she was waiting for that call. Expecting that call. Missing it when it didn’t come.

  Thing was, she needed him to call after making such a fool of herself the prior night. Just to know that he wasn’t disgusted by the revelation that she . . .

  That she what?

  That she wasn’t always as cool, calm, and collected as she projected? That she had a breaking point? Sounded like he did too, and it’s what got him into this mess.

  That she cared? Oh, god. Don’t care too much, Jane. You know how that goes. You won’t be in his life much longer.

  Jane wasn’t sure how to process all the new information. It was all starting to make sense, every last crazy detail. The only reason she was in Nick’s house with Nick’s pets sleeping in Nick’s bed was because he couldn’t come home because he was at the Armory trying to figure out how to avoid being killed.

  She lay there with her cell phone in her hand. Yeah, she could pretend it was because she wanted to make sure she didn’t miss a call from her boss. But now she was worried about him. She wanted him to call, not so that he could make sure the animals were okay, but so she could know that he was okay.

  And something about that was really not okay.

  Why had she snapped at him when he asked about Bill and the money? God, how embarrassing. He probably wanted to fire her. A weird lump formed in Jane’s throat. Yeah, it was definitely personal. Her feelings for Nick Dawes had jumped the track at some point.

  She certainly wasn’t sharing this with Nana. Because, strike number one, HE’S YOUR BOSS. Strike number two, you don’t get close to someone who’s being hunted; in his line of work, he had to know that better than she did. Strike number three . . . Jane tried to think of a third reason why falling for Nick was stupid and/or ridiculous. She curled up against Rochester passed out on the edge of the bed, in deep puppy sleep probably dreaming of that fantastic romp on the floor with Nick.

  I’d like a romp on the floor with Nick, thought Jane.

  Maybe I should call him. Apologize for being sharp with him. Maybe I should just stay in my lane. But maybe he wants me to call. Maybe he wants to call me, find out how the dog is, the fish . . . but maybe he thinks, Oh, I just saw her last night, and she al
so yelled at me and acted weird, so I’ll call tomorrow.

  Still no strike three. Jane picked up her phone. Hesitated . . . and then hit “Favorites” and then “Mr. Dawes, Sir.” The phone rang.

  He picked it up on the second one. “Hi, Jane. You okay?”

  “Yes, sir. Um . . . just checking that you’re safe.”

  He chuckled, didn’t answer right away. There was a swishing sound, like maybe he was getting comfortable on his bed at the Armory. Do not think about it, Jane.

  “I’m always safe here,” he said.

  Good. “I also called to say that I’m sorry that I lost it last night. I think I’ve been having this feeling that life is unfair. Every now and then I forget to suck it up like everybody else does. Gotta, you know, rage at the world. Get it out of my system. Ha ha . . . heh . . .” Sigh. This sounded worse on the phone than it did in her head. He must think I’m a lunatic.

  “It’s good to hear your voice, Jane,” was all he said.

  “Likewise, sir.”

  “Do you have a question?” Nick asked.

  Jane took a huge breath. We’re back to that, are we? Fine, I can roll with that. Um . . . “Yeah, so how long does your neighbor usually leave Rochester with you? I only ask because I’m getting hugely attached.” And when I look at him, I get flashes of you rolling around on the floor with your shirt creeping up.

  “She spends a lot of time in Europe. Back in a month, maybe.”

  “To the average person, it sounds a little strange to be so vague.”

  “Yes, but she knows how much I love that dog.”

  Okay, it was really hot to hear Nick say that. Just . . . really hot.

  “If it’s a problem, I can ask Roth about—”

  “No! No, it’s great. He’s sleeping like a log. I think he misses you, though. I mean, I’m never going to roughhouse with him like you did. He’s going to be so happy when you come home.” Man, I sound like a girlfriend.

  Nick laughed. “I keep meaning to get my own dog. I haven’t had one in a long time.” His voice trailed off, sounding wistful.

  “Would you get another golden retriever?”

  “Always,” he said.

  “You had them growing up?”

  “I did. I . . .” There was a long silence, and then Nick said, “Growing up in Chicago, it was not a great scene. My mother left early on. My father was around some, but he wasn’t tuned in to me, you know. Had a lot of . . . let’s call them ‘bad habits.’ By the time I was sixteen, we were more like roommates who didn’t want to be in the same room.”

  There was a thunk, like the sound of a shoe hitting the floor.

  “School was rough. I was screwed because I really loved math and poetry and . . . being smart or caring about school was not cool. So I really loved school, and you know how that goes. I spent most of my time in the school library, in part because the librarian snuck snacks to me from the teacher’s lounge and in part because people didn’t fire bullets in the stacks.”

  Thunk.

  Jane started at the sound and then rolled her eyes. The other shoe, Jane.

  “I was one scrawny dude,” Nick said, “and I barely saw the sun, and the only way to not get my ass kicked on a regular basis was to stay out of sight and not attract any attention.”

  “It’s very hard for me to imagine you like that,” Jane said.

  “Well, it’s true. It was like a war zone, and you were supposed to pick sides, and I didn’t want to pick a side. I wanted to graduate and get the hell out of town.”

  He stopped talking. Jane sat up on the bed in alarm. “Are you okay, Mr. Dawes?”

  “Yeah, it’s . . . strange to talk about this. It never comes up or the words never come or . . . I don’t know,” he said.

  “I’d love to . . .” Jane swallowed, suddenly feeling awkward. I’d love to get to know you better. I’d love to be the one person you can talk to. I’d love to . . .

  “You’re a good listener, Jane,” he said, generously allowing her to not finish her sentence.

  Something intangible seemed to pass between them over the line. Words unspoken, feelings unsaid. A sense of trust, a sense that they could reveal any secret and still be safe. Jane desperately did not want to kill the moment, no matter how long the silence, no matter what. And finally, finally, Nick began to speak again.

  “She—the librarian, I mean—she seemed so much older than me then. Thinking now, she was still young, but I thought of her like somebody’s mother.” He paused again and added, “Like she could be my mother. Technically, she could have been. I think back and I remember she said she was around thirty. I didn’t have anyone who gave a shit for a long time, and then she did. Brought me books she thought I’d like, gave me advice, solace.” He laughed softly and added, “Made me feel normal about quoting poetry with an emo expression on my face. Her name was Jemilla. I called her Ms. Johnson, of course, but after a while, it felt like I was saying ‘Mom.’”

  Tears welled up in Jane’s eyes.

  Nick cleared his throat. “Eventually, she brought her dog in, asked me to watch over him. I set up in a back room, made a little study space, almost a living space. Sometimes I’d fall asleep. Me and Shakespeare, her golden. Eating Ms. Johnson’s staff-room Christmas cookies, huddled in a pile of quilts with a warm dog, doing my homework in a secret room in the library is my perfect childhood memory.”

  It seemed like he was done, and Jane did not want him to be done. He was opening up. Out of nowhere he’d raised a window that had been stuck shut. She turned on her side on Nick’s bed and curled her legs up to her chest, the phone still pressed against her cheek. “Ms. Johnson sounds way better than any of the adult examples I had as a child, except for my nana.”

  “She’s your closest family?” Nick asked.

  “Closest in every way,” Jane said.

  Nick sounded like he was going to say something or ask a question, but he hesitated.

  “What?” Jane prompted, desperate for this window of opportunity to stay open.

  “You’re such an easy person,” he asked. “You take everything in stride. Why aren’t you close to your family? How does that happen to someone like you?”

  How does it happen to anybody? How did it happen to you, Nick Dawes?

  “Well, let’s just say it’s not me, it’s them,” Jane said. “It’s sort of like they were surprised to become parents and then eventually lost interest and stopped showing up for the job. I can’t even count how many times they accidentally left me at random places around whatever town we were living in. During the times we lived near Nana, I started calling her directly to come pick me up, and after that, I just made her my primary caregiver.” Jane bit her lip. “Sounds like Jemilla Johnson was your ‘Nana.’”

  “Oh, yeah? Then I’d like to meet your nana.”

  Jane’s eyes widened. Yeah, I’d like you to meet her too. In another version of our reality. Where you have a guaranteed life span, and you aren’t my boss.

  “Sometimes on her lunch break, Ms. Johnson would come in and say, ‘Nicholas, let’s chat.’ And we’d sit at the desk, and she’d ask me how school was going, and she’d ask me what I wanted to be in life, like it was obvious I was going to be something. Not one other person, place, or thing ever made it sound like me getting out of the shithole of my youth was a forgone conclusion, but Ms. Johnson acted like it was obvious I was made for better things.

  “‘Nicholas,’ she said. ‘By the time you’re my age, I want you to be living the life you were meant to live.’ Because she talked like that, like a motivational poster on heels. But she believed all that shit. She told me to keep studying and learning, and to practice elocution so that nobody would judge me. And one day when I came in with a black eye after being jumped because being smart was uncool, she told me that I needed to focus on my body in the gym as well as my mind in the classroom. She wanted me to build up some armor.”

  “It’s a little crazy that a school librarian would have to recommend
that to a student as a survival mechanism,” Jane said sympathetically.

  “Yeah, right? But she was counting on me for the long haul. To get out of town, make something of myself. Be a good man. Make a good life,” Nick said. “She always said, ‘Use your brains, but swing hard when your brains don’t cut it.’”

  His voice took on an amused tone when he added, “There was also the really awkward day when she told me not to go and get any girls pregnant. She told me to wait for my star, and that I’d know her when I found her.”

  “Do you stay in touch with her?” Jane asked.

  “No,” Nick said, the lightness in his voice gone again. “I don’t.” And then, “That was all such a long time ago. I should . . .” Here he trailed off. Jane wondered if his face looked like he sounded. Pained.

  Jane remembered the picture of Nick as a kid, tucked behind the books. “The picture in the living room on the bookshelf. Is that you with Shakespeare?” Jane asked.

  Nick took an audible breath. “She gave him to me.”

  “Do you have a picture of Ms. Johnson?”

  There was a long silence. “There’s one of her in my office. Bottom desk drawer.”

  “Maybe you could look her up. I’ll bet it would mean a lot to her to know what she meant to you.”

  “It was a long time ago,” Nick said dismissively and then abruptly took a detour: “You’ll stay until Rothgar comes, take care of the kids, won’t you, Jane, if something happens to me?”

  Jane’s eyes unexpectedly flooded with tears. “Yes, sir,” she choked out.

  “Good. Thanks. If it matters, sometimes I want to rage at the world too.”

  For some reason, the quiet way that he said it made Jane’s heart pound faster. “I wish you were here. I mean, I wish there was something I could do for you.” She suddenly wondered if she’d overstepped, and added, “Mr. Dawes, sir.”

  There was such a long silence that for a second Jane thought he’d already hung up on her. “Actually, there is,” he suddenly said. Jane sat straight up. Rochester opened one eye.

  “I got a notification that my PO box is full. There’s a key in the false bottom of the drawer under the concierge phone. If you were willing to meet me halfway with the mail, that would be helpful.”