by Nana Malone
Mr. Dirty
Nana Malone
Contents
Nathan
Nathan
Sophie
Sophie
Sophie
Nathan
Sophie
Sophie
Sophie
Sophie
Sophie
Nathan
Sophie
Sophie
Sophie
Nathan
Sophie
Sophie
Nathan
Nathan
Nathan
Sophie
Sophie
Sophie
Sophie
Nathan
Nathan
Sophie
Sophie
Epilogue
Read London Calling…
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Thank You
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About Nana Malone
1
Nathan
Nathan knew it was coming.
For over a week, his father had been distracted. Disorganized. Even missed a few meetings. So that meant that any moment now, the old man would come running into his office and beg him to handle whatever it was. Nathan wasn't sure why, but the old man was definitely checking out. Funny thing was, Nathan handled most of the new business that came in. His father was the name, but he was essentially the face. They didn't call him 'The Closer' for nothing.
So, what was the old man working on that had him so distracted? Even his assistant never seemed to know where he was. And the kicker of it was that Nathan was good at what he did. He had a way of getting the clients excited about the partnership. After all, he was a Windsor. The name alone often had people seeing pound symbols. But he had a genuine enthusiasm for some of the projects. But he didn't want to do this for the rest of his life. Windsor Corp. was his father's dream. Not his.
After he closed with the clients, he handed them off to a VP. He wasn't the deep dive person. And if he were honest, anything more than the surface fun stuff of what it could do and what the potential was, bored him silly. Getting into the nitty-gritty of details was not his forte. But he knew when to delegate so things ran smoothly. And at the end of day, the bottom line was all that mattered. So he went on instinct, on what genuinely excited him. The old man didn't even weigh in anymore.
Windsor Corporation had several arms: technology, wellness, beauty—hell, even a liquor division. Luckily for him, it spoke to his strengths. He liked to keep things interesting and dynamic. You get bored. Yeah, that too. Because this isn't what you really want to do. He shut the thought down quickly. Not that he couldn't do what he really wanted to do, but this company—his parents had started it. And with his mother gone, the guilt ate away too much at him. But he couldn't just leave his father.
Even at your own expense? Challenged a part of him. Not at his expense. He had a great life. He loved this company. More often than not whenever he looked at a new product he wanted to feel it was something his mother would have been excited about. Even after all these years it hurt to think about her.
Sure enough, the summons happened just as Nathan was about to head out to meet his mate and accountant Garrett. “You pinged me, Dad?”
His father ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, listen, I know it’s the height of holiday party season, and I hate to ask again but—”
“Let me guess: you need me to take care of the Milton Meeting?”
His father nodded absently as he ran a hand through his hair and stared grumpily at his laptop. “I'm sorry but something has come up. Do you mind?”Unfortunately, Nathan recognized the pattern. He'd seen it before. After Nathan's mother had died, his father promised him that he was going to change. But something was off.
"You all right there, Dad?"
"Yeah, I'm just looking at the projections for next year. Trying to wrap my head around it."
Nathan narrowed his gaze. "Is there anything you want me to run you through? I can have James up here."
His father shook his head. "No, no. You go ahead. You know, do what you do, woo the client. Bring in the new business. I'll deal with this."
"Are you sure? Because it's not a bother. I can—”
"No, Nathan. I'm fine. Just do your job."And that was the crux of it.
That distance between the two of them. The sting of pain was swift and immediate and sliced right through him. But immediately, he locked it down. He knew just how to assuage that particular brand of pain his father was good at dealing out. "Yep, on it." He left his father in his office and headed straight to the elevator. He just climbed into a company car to take him over to Thrive nightclub. Once he was done with the client, he was going to make sure to dull the pain the only way he knew how. Booze and women. Oh, he'd get the client on board. Get them to sign on the dotted line. Show them a great time. But he was also going to have some fun while doing it.
Settling back in the plush leather seats of the black Mercedes, Nathan closed his eyes and tried to dull the throbbing that was starting to poke him between the eyes. All he had to do was get to the club, and he'd feel better. A little distance between him and the old man was probably a good thing right about now.
He reached for his phone to text his best friend Garrett to meet him at Thrive. But when he patted down his pockets, he found—Shit, he'd had his phone when he went into his father's office, right? He mentally ran through his actions as he tried to get everything straight in his head. He'd been standing in the doorway, walked over to the desk and—Oh bugger.
He leaned forward and tapped his driver Adam on the shoulder. "Yeah, sorry mate. We need to turn back. I left my bloody phone."
Adam nodded. "Not a bother at all. Just a moment." At the next light, he made a right and a U-turn, taking them back in the direction of central London towards the office. Within five minutes, they were out front at the chrome and steel building of Windsor Corporation.
"I'll be right back," Nathan muttered.
He was out of the car in moments and striding through the glass front doors. Security waved him through without even looking up and he was in the elevator in moments. When he reached the thirteenth floor, he hooked to the left toward his father's office, walking briskly. He checked his watch. He'd still have time to make it to the club to meet the client, but he hated to be late. Worse though, he hated feeling like he was missing out on something. The event they were all attending started at ten. It was 9:15 p.m. . He had time, but he didn't like the added time constraints on him.
What the hell was that sound? When he rounded the corner, his stomach dropped. Groaning, moaning and slapping sounds.
No. Please, fucking hell, no. His brain tried to rationalize. It's not what you think it is. Your ears are playing tricks on you. You are only hearing what you're imagining yourself doing in the next couple of hours. But the closer he got to his father's office, the more he knew that awful truth.
But he needed the confirmation. Needed to know if his own personal nightmare was coming true. It was like picking at a healing scab. It hurt, and it was gross and disgusting. And bugger, no one ever wanted to see what happened when you peeled off that scab. But it was a compulsion—a desperate need to have a thought confirmed.
The sound only grew in intensity as he neared the corner office, but he still couldn't stop himself. When he reached his father's door, it was closed. Thank fuck. But was Nathan about to get the nightmare scenario of a lifetime?
He only h
esitated for a moment before turning the knob. He needed his bloody phone. So, like it or not, he was going in. Besides, the table was right next to the door. He could open the door, grab his phone and be out in seconds. He didn’t even have to look. But you know what's going on, don't you?
Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to do that to himself. But it was unavoidable. He couldn't help it. The moment he opened the door, he knew why his father was so out of it. For months, he'd known. He pretended he didn't know. His brain had offered alternative theories, lies that he could use to soothe the disgust and disdain. Unfortunately, the truth had a way of making it difficult to lie to yourself even with the door open merely a crack. Barely enough for him to squeeze his hand in to grab his phone and turn back around, he saw his father screwing their new head of marketing on top of his desk.
The old man hadn't changed at all, despite all the lies he'd told Nathan. “This time it will be different.” “I've changed.” After years of watching his father hurt his mother— of his father swearing her death had changed him and that he would never cheat again, would never tear apart their family—this was the last straw.
Nathan was forced to swallow the bullshit, and the lies, and the pain. The moment Nathan had his phone in his hand, he and his father locked eyes. The old man's eyes widened, and Nathan's glared. And that was the extent of their exchange.
Once Nathan had his phone, he turned around and marched toward the elevator knowing he could never erase what had just happened.
Sophie
Come on, where was he? Sophie Collins shifted from foot to foot. She'd had to beg to put her boyfriend Christopher on the guest list for this event. Normally, as the events manager, she could invite who she liked. But, as one of the royals was actually going to be here, and it was just before the holidays, tickets for this were like an all access pass to an African diamond mine. She stood on tiptoes in her wedges to see over the crowd, but that was sort of useless as she was only 5'4". But she couldn't find him in the sea of people.
Guests milled about with their flutes of champagne and she did a subconscious check to make sure there were enough appetizers floating around. There was also a sushi bar off to the right. She'd managed to score a chocolate flavored champagne fountain.
Chocolate flavored champagne. Who would have thought? But it was a thing, and it was actually delicious. And every time she looked over there, glasses were going like cupcakes.
She caught the eye of one of the waiters and then inclined her head toward the quickly vanishing glasses and he nodded that he understood he had to go replenish them. Just because she was anxious about her boyfriend showing up didn't mean she still couldn't do her job.
The decorations were festive but understated. Classy. The event was a yearly fundraiser and the client wanted to make it nondenominational. So she opted for lights. Lots of lights. Sting lights, tea lights, muted track lights. And all over there were silent nods to the season.
Sophie had worked for Glass Slipper Events for the last three years, right out of Uni. And she'd been lucky as all hell to get this gig. She always worked her arse off. She’d gotten the job by working her friendship to Allison, so a part of her always felt like a fraud.
The good news was that Allison and her partner, Deborah loved her. The bad news was she constantly waited for them to find out she had no idea what she was doing.
She'd met Allison in her second year at Uni when she'd snuck into a club. Granted, there had been a guy behind that excursion. One that she'd had a major crush on and who had no idea she existed. Her flatmate at that time had the grand idea that if they just snuck into a club, then she'd sidle up to him, he would notice her and they would have a grand affair. Things hadn't exactly worked out that way.
The bloke, Harrison Weabley, hadn't noticed her. Matter of fact, he'd spilled a Cosmo down her back and hadn't so much as apologized for it. As a result, she'd squealed and bumped into the girl in front of her. That girl was Allison. Of course, being polite, Sophie had apologized. Allison got wind of what happened and actually helped her out. The two of them then formed a friendship. Allison had been just an event coordinator then herself. And they'd kept in touch. The next thing Sophie knew, she had a job out of school. Not bad for a girl from St. Albans.
Growing up she hadn't had very much money. She'd had zero access to places like this. It had all seemed like a dream really. She had gotten a scholarship to Uni, which should have been fantastic. But she hadn't had any money for any extras, so she had to have a job like everyone else. Trying to make it through because her mother couldn't afford to just give her whatever she wanted.
Now she catered to the stupidly rich. Full circle moment. Money apparently couldn't buy you good looks or taste. No skin off her back really. She would just take the funds and stockpile them away.
She'd always marveled at how Allison always seemed to have a well of cash somewhere. She had her own company. But wouldn't it be smarter to save some of it? It was none of Sophie's business of course. Allison could buy as many Miu-Miu bags as she liked. Sophie, however, would buy a knockoff, or buy a last season one from a charity shop and save her money.
The dream she never told anyone about was running her own events company one day, kind of like what Allison had. But one that had charity in mind. Yes, she was good at her job and she actually did enjoy it. But endlessly supplying chocolate champagne to people was not her end goal. She wanted to do things that helped people too. Like NGOs and providing scholarships.
Yeah, you'll get to that, but first focus on the job at hand, the one in front of you. Stop daydreaming and stop looking for Christopher.
Christopher. Just even thinking about him right now twisted her stomach in knots. He had been her boyfriend for over a year and he was great. Okay, perhaps great was the wrong word for it. He was perfectly nice. Solid. Sort of handsome. He occasionally worked out. And by work out she meant he went for a brisk stroll in the English air. But he was perfectly nice. They were well suited. He didn't have any vices, and he had a stable and steady job. He was perfect—just exactly what she needed.
Never mind that he wasn't exciting, or particularly fun, or at times like this made her feel as if he didn't even want to be with her. He knew how important this event was to her. Why the hell would he be late?
You know he's not coming.
No, she didn’t know he wasn't coming. She had to believe he was coming. She only told him twenty times. Mentioning that a member of royalty was going to be in attendance should have done it. He had been starstruck. Who would give up a chance to be in the same room as royalty? Honestly.
She made another final sweep of the room when she realized he wasn't there. He really was standing her up. She always thought she picked well with Christopher. He was the kind of guy who was supposed to be reliable. Unlike your father.
She didn't need excitement. She didn't need unpredictability. She had enough of that growing up. But here she was at one of the biggest events of her career, and her boyfriend was a no-show. She stepped out onto the balcony grabbing a flute of champagne on her way. She didn't normally drink at events. But right about now, she needed the fortification. She still had two more hours to go being on duty. It was only eleven o'clock. The party would go on for a while. She'd limit herself to just the one, as always. But hell, she wanted more than just the one.
There were only three other people on the wide stone balcony at that time. Two of them were a couple snogging in one corner. Bloody fantastic. She had no choice really but to stand near the bloke who was leaning on the stone balcony holding a highball glass with some amber liquid.
"Sorry. I don't mean to disturb you. I just needed some air and I have a feeling I'm going to get a show I'm not particularly interested in at the other end."
He lifted his head and glanced down at the other end before chuckling. "Oh, come on. Those two are pretty tame."
Sophie shifted her glance back to the couple. "Are you tak
ing the piss? Any second now, he's about to slip his hand up her skirt."
"Oh, come on, that's not even adventurous. When they start removing items of clothing, that's when I'd worry."
Sophie shuddered. "I have no idea how they can even do that. There are hundreds of people here."
He shrugged. "Sometimes life is fueled by alcohol and bad decisions."
She chuckled. "Down the hatch then." She downed the champagne and immediately wished she hadn't. The bubbles went to her nose and head straight away, causing her to wince.
The dark-haired guy next to her lifted his gaze and turned his attention on her. Sophie could feel the heat of his stare and turned to meet it. Oh bugger. Stormy blue eyes bored into her. And for some reason she felt naked and vulnerable. "I see you don't drink often," he muttered.
Sophie frowned. "What?"
He nodded at her glass and a lock of his dark, silky hair fell on his brow. "You should know better than to guzzle down champagne like that. You will end up with a headache."
"Oh yeah, I was just thinking that. And no, I don't drink often. But I needed it tonight."
He nodded and held up his glass. "I understand. Next time try scotch. It will go down smoother. Minus the headache if you just have the one."
"I'll take that under advisement." With eyes full of smoke and steel he pushed himself to standing, and she couldn't help but stumble back a step as he spoke. "I'm Nathan."
Dear Lord. The man was—Jesus Christ people, they made men like this? He looked like something legitimately out of a catalogue. For starters, he was very tall—over six feet at least, lean, soccer player or tennis player kind of build. His thick dark hair curled slightly on the ends. Sculpted cheekbones and strong jaw, combined with deep set eyes framed by dark sooty lashes completed the godlike appearance. And he was talking to her. Shit, he'd asked her a question. Bugger, what was it?