by Sierra Rose
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.
Chapter 17
In my entire life, I had never been as hungover as I was the next morning.
Water didn’t help. Food didn’t help. Not even my precious coffee. And it certainly didn’t help, that behind every wave of nausea, there lay an over-whelming feeling of guilt.
You yelled at Nick last night. Screamed at him. Did exactly the thing he accused you of, the thing you promised you’d never do: You lied to him, the same way you lie to the press.
But what was the alternative? Tell him the truth? I didn’t know it myself! And maybe he was completely right. Maybe I didn’t want to see him with one of his exes. And maybe I wanted him to pretend because I wanted him all to myself.
No! That was outrageous!
My thought process was literally: he decided to go along with my PR plan then walked abruptly away...so I found the most wretched girl in the world to stick him with.
In what possible dimension did that make sense? What impulse in the world had possibly inspired such a ludicrous lapse in judgment? And then I yelled at him on top of everything else?
I was lucky he hadn’t fired me on the spot.
Don’t worry about that...there’s still time.
With the speed and coordination of a shell-shocked turtle, I managed to yank some clothes over my head, stick my feet in some shoes, and head out the door. My purse was still packed with all my work equipment from the day before (thank goodness—so I didn’t need to do my customary ‘racing all over the apartment to find things’ routine), so without another moment’s delay, I hailed down a cab and headed into the office.
“Morning,” I mumbled to the cabbie, before giving him the address. “And I know everyone says this—but if you could hurry, that would be greatly appreciated.”
The man’s eyes twinkled as he glanced at me in the rear-view mirror.
“Late night, sweetheart?”
I fought back another wave o
f nausea, and twisted my grimace into a smile.
“...you could say that.”
He chuckled and pulled out into the gridlocked rows of cars.
“Don’t worry about it. You’re not the first walk of shame I’ve driven into work today.”
Walk of shame?
I looked down at my clothes in dismay, only to see that in my zombie-esque state, I’d pulled on a sundress—not my usual work dress. The thing twisted up in a halter, before dropping just beneath my knees. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I’d also pulled it on backwards.
“Oh, that’s just perfect,” I muttered, “because nothing says New York City winter like halters and daisies...”
For a second, I considered yanking the thing around right there in the car. Then I saw the cabbie was still watching with a little smirk.
...probably best to wait until I’m at the office.
Ten minutes later, we had arrived. I over-paid the man, too hungover and embarrassed to count out the correct bills, then climbed out and waved him on his way with the world’s biggest tip. From there, it was just a quick, freezing dart inside to the elevator.
“Morning Ms. Wilder,” Joe—the doorman—called out as I ducked inside. “Late night?”
For the second time, I glanced down at the sundress with a scowl. It was only then that I noticed the two mismatched pairs of shoes. My cheeks flushed and I glanced back up, ready with a hasty excuse, only to see him smiling. I flipped him off instead and hurried to the elevator.
That bastard. Guess who’s not getting a Christmas card from me this year...
By the time the doors opened on my floor, I was in a particularly foul mood. My head was spinning, my stomach was queasy, and freezing gusts of air kept flying up the skirt of my ridiculous summer dress. The interns recognized the look and ducked for cover.
Allison, my unassuming secretary, was not so lucky.
“Messages?” I snapped, pausing at her desk to remove my coat.
Her eyes widened slightly at my ensemble, but she said not a word. She also had the good sense to hand me her own cup of coffee.
“Harold called from the Times, said that he’ll retract the lobster piece, but he wants a sit-down at the company’s annual party on the Fourth of July.”
“Fine. What else?”
“Cynthia called from Denver, said they discontinued that cologne Nick wanted, but she did get some definitive information on, and I quote: time-share adopting a bear.”
“Fine. What else.”
She flipped through her notes at the speed of light, disregarding and prioritizing as she went. “Oh, your mother called—”
“What else?’
“I think...I think that’s about it.”
“Good.” I handed back her now empty coffee and looked down at my dress. “I going to fix this really quick in the bathroom, and then—”
“Abigail!”
I looked up to see Jake waving to get my attention. Both hands on his keyboard, and a blinking phone glued to his ear.
“What was that one guy’s name?” he called from across the office. “The one with that girl from that show that we said we looked like Tommy Tamica’s cousin? Dressed in drag?”
“Ryan,” I answered automatically. Then I looked down at the fading lettering on my hand with a sudden burst of illumination. Oh my gosh—that’s who it was. “RYAN!”
I raised my hands in silent victory, drawing curious looks from the staff, before lowering them back down with a decided smirk. At least one thing was going right today.
...or so I thought.
“Oh—and Nick’s on his way to the office.”
The smirk melted right off my face, replaced with a cold chill as I glanced automatically towards the elevators. He was coming here?! He NEVER came here!
“What?!” I hissed. “Why the hell didn’t you lead with that?!”
Her eyes widened with confusion as she shook her head.
“You’ve only been here a minute, I thought—”
“You always, always lead with the client,” I snapped, misdirecting a good deal of pent-up nerves. I glanced again at the metallic doors. “Did he say what he wanted?”
She shook her head quickly, looking more and more confused every second. “He said you’d know what it was about. I’m assuming it’s about Ella?”
With a soft gasp, I sank onto her desk. My face as pale as a ghost.
Yeah...I bet he wanted to talk about Ella. I also bet I would no longer be in charge here by the time he was finished.
“Is everything okay?” Allison asked quietly, brow furrowing with concern as she perched on the desk beside me. “Did you two have a fight or something?”
My head jerked sharply. “Why—did he say that?”
“No, I just—”
“What did he say, Allison? Exactly.”
She glanced down at her notes. “Just that he was on his way into the office with Ella and that you’d know why. They need to start planning out events.”
All my panic came screeching to a halt, replaced instead with sudden confusion.
“Wait...what?”
“Events,” Allison repeated. “They want to get started planning—”
“Events with Ella?” I shook my head. “No, that’s not happening anymore. Ella’s not going to be a good fit, I’m afraid. It’s back to the drawing board—”
“Apparently not,” she disagreed apologetically. “Nick called to leave the message himself. I think it’s actually the first time I’ve ever talked to him...”
Without another word, I rushed into my office—slamming the door behind me, whilst muttering something about lobsters and mismatching shoes.
There was a momentary hush from the rest of the staffers, but by now, they were used to such bizarre antics. The world of public relations was a strange one, and they had seen stranger things in the office than me.
Besides—I didn’t have time to worry about whether or not my employees thought I might be crazy. My boss was on his way over.
And for whatever reason, he was bringing that Oklahoma disaster with him.
Okay, think Abby! Think!
But there simply wasn’t time. Not four seconds later, my intercom buzzed and Allison’s voice crackled through the speaker.
“Excuse me, Abigail? Mr. Hunter is here to see you. Along with his...friend.”
My eyes snapped shut in a weary grimace, as I sank an inch lower in my chair. Yes, that was Ella alright. She seemed to have that sort of effect on people.
Well aware of the possibility that I was about to get fired, I pushed the button back.
“Send them in.”
A moment later, the door burst open and Nick strode confidently inside. The night of heavy drinking seemed to have had next to no effect on him—whereas I still looked like a creature that had crawled out of the Black Lagoon.
Behind him, through the slowly closing door, I saw the faces of every single person in my office—just straining to get a glimpse. While they spent their lives glued to computer screens plastered with images of Nick’s face, this was the first time most of them had ever seen him in person. And with Nicholas Hunter, even I had to admit: the man lived up to the legend.
Also behind him, dear little Ella was trailing along. Like an after-thought. As if he’d forgotten not only that he’d brought her here, but that she was the entire reason he’d come.
“Good morning, Abigail!”
Was he speaking loud on purpose, or was it just my imagination? Either way, I flinched as I pushed slowly to my feet—head throbbing with a hangover that refused to leave.
Was it?
“Good—” I cleared my throat and tried again, “—good morning.”
His eyes danced with a strange triumph as they looked me up and down. It was then I remembered I was wearing the sundress. And it was still on backwards.
“Holy shit!” Ella stepped forward, jaw dropping to the floor. “Abigail, what the hell happened to you? You look fucking awful!
”
Real subtle, that one. Sweet too.
Nick bowed his head to stifle a grin, and I grimaced her a smile.
“Uh...thanks, Ella. I just had a long night, was all.” With as much dignity as I could, I gestured for the three of us to sit. “Trust me—it won’t be happening again.”
Not ever.
Nick’s eyes flashed up, but he held his tongue. Not that he had much of a choice. It quickly seemed as though Miss Ella had a few hundred ideas of ways she and Nick could be presented as the world’s most perfect couple.
“Well good—because we’re going to need you.” She grabbed his hand, and held on like her life depended on it. “There’s so much to do, I don’t even know where to start!”
As she began rambling on about nothing in particular, Nick and I engaged in a silent war.
Both glaring at each other from across the table. Both determined not to blink first. Both firmly convinced that, at the end of the night, they had been in the right.
It could have gone on forever. Literally. Nick Hunter was the most stubborn person I’d ever met, and I had been literally trained never to back down until people saw things my way. It wasn’t until I heard the phrase ‘pirate dancing’ that I was forced to tune back in.
“I’m sorry,” my head throbbed painfully, “what?”
Ella’s eyes lit up, eager to explain.
“Okay, now try to keep an open mind. You start in a—”
“No, you know what—I’m going to have to stop you there.” I held up an apologetic hand as the other scrambled around in my desk for aspirin. Nick was literally shaking with silent laughter, and there was only so much I could take. “It sounds wonderful, this...pirate thing. But I’m afraid, when you’re in Nick’s social circle, it’s no longer an acceptable use of time. That being said, before we dive in, I think that he and I should probably work a few things out—”
“What’s there to work out, Abby?” Nick’s eyes twinkled as he stared into mine, fighting all the while to keep a straight face. “We settled on Ella, right? After all...you picked her.”
His face glowed triumphantly, but in that very moment, the same thought dawned on me.
You know what...I most certainly did. And since she was here...