by Sara Cate
But fuck, is she a great secretary.
"No, it wasn't a bad meeting," I groan, trying not to think about anything Alistair said and especially not about Nash.
"You seem tense," she replies as I pull her off the desk and spin her around so she’s facing it. She lets out a satisfied sigh as I pull her skirt up, letting it bunch around her waist.
“I’m fine,” I reply tightly. Then, I pull a condom out of my top drawer and put it on quickly because like I said, what Valerie does on her own time is her business, but sticking my dick in her is mine. She keeps quiet, letting out only a soft cry while I plunge myself in, fucking her fast and hard. I try in vain to shrug off the anxiety the call with Alistair has caused.
But it’s no use. Nash is back in my head, and I know from experience it’s going to take a while before it’s clear of him.
And I was having such a nice day.
4
"You called him?" I snap, shooting out of bed. It's not even six in the morning, but the email that just popped into my inbox had me calling my dad pretty fucking fast.
"Jesus, Nash. Do you know what time it is?" His voice is like gravel on the other line. He never used to sleep past six. I don't know why the fact he's changed so much in the past few years bugs the shit out of me.
"I can't believe you called a business consultant behind my back."
"Calm the fuck down. Ellis is an old friend. I was just checking up on him and mentioned the acquisition. You should consider it. He made a world of difference for us before.”
"It's my fucking company, Dad. You don’t run it anymore, so stay the fuck out of it!"
He lets out a frustrated groan. "You sound like a teenager throwing a fit, Nash. God dammit, will you grow the fuck up?" This time I do throw my phone across the room. I didn't even hit end before it lands with a thud against the plush carpet and slides to the wall. It's probably not broken, but right now I don't give a shit.
Ignoring his voice calling for me from the floor, I throw on a pair of basketball shorts and socks and run down to the gym. Pounding out a few miles on the treadmill should help me get his voice out of my head. I'll never stop feeling like a bratty teenager until he stops treating me like one. I said I didn't want a consultant, but he refuses to believe I can handle this on my own.
After mile number two I realize I can blame my dad as much as I want for putting me in a shit mood, but I know it's really the email that started it.
From: [email protected]
Nash. This is strictly a business email. I hope you know, regardless, my services are still available to Wilde Aviation.
Ellis
So, fucking formal. Regardless. Regardless of what? Regardless of the shit that went down in Amsterdam. So much meaning in one fucking word.
The second I opened that email, I knew Alistair couldn’t keep his fucking nose out of my business. He had to do something.
The jog does nothing to calm my nerves. I need to get back to work. After a quick shower, I get dressed and pick up my phone off the floor. It's covered in notifications, mostly notes and messages from my assistants. Nothing super pressing, which irks me. I need something important to work on.
As I cross the grounds toward the office building, movement in the guest house catches my eye. What the fuck? I've told the housekeeping staff to stay out of there unless I give them instructions to clean it. I've been in the habit of taking girls there when I can bring someone back from the city. Sometimes it involves kinky shit I don't need everyone seeing. I always clean it up myself, but I can't remember if I put everything away after my last time in there.
Fuck, when was my last time in there? Too goddamn long.
Before I head to the office, I make a detour and head toward the guest house. The door is closed, but I toss it open and hear scrambling in the bedroom. What the fuck? Is someone snooping through my shit?
Quietly, I creep across the living area and into the one bedroom. A blur of copper-colored skin and black hair flashes by, and I quickly reach out, grabbing onto the curls, pulling the girl out of the bathroom before she can shut herself in there. People are sneaking into my guest house, using my bathroom, getting naked on my property.
I'm more pissed than I should be, but there is something gratifying about the way she screams.
"Nash!" I catch sight of her face in the mirror and immediately let go of her hair.
Jesus Christ. Hanna Thurber is standing naked in my guest house bathroom looking fucking terrified, and rightfully so.
"Oh fuck, Hanna. I'm sorry." It feels like a full minute goes by while I stand there, stunned and staring at her naked body in the mirror. One hand hovers over the apex of her thighs, hiding herself from me, but my eyes go there anyway. The warm clean scent of her soap fills the steamy bathroom, so she obviously just got out of the shower.
It all comes back in a flash, racing through my head. Zara asked if Hanna could stay in the guest house. She literally told me a couple of days ago she would be here because she was going through a hard time.
What have I done to this poor girl?
Quickly, I grab a towel off the counter and cover her. "I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?"
She avoids my eyes as she hides her body. "I'm fine. You just scared me."
"I'm sorry." How many times have I said it now?
"Can you leave, please?"
"Of course," I stutter. "I'll be in my office if you need anything. The housekeeper will help you."
"She already did."
Fuck, right. Of course, she did.
"Again, I'm sorry."
Turning, I rush out of the guest house and walk toward the office, but my mind is racing. Her hair in my hands. The feel of her backside pressed against me. The way her wet body looked in the mirror, so thin, so fragile. The way her hip bones protruded like her ribs against her perfect flesh. I'm torn between being turned on and mortified.
I've never so much as touched Hanna before outside of a cordial hug when we greet each other. Not that I haven't wanted to. Fuck, I've definitely wanted to. I am a living, breathing man after all, and she's a goddess. Those long legs, the lush curve of her ass, and the bright blue and gold of her different colored eyes.
But Hanna Thurber is not my type. She's too...I don't know...graceful. Fragile. Regal. Like a princess I would only break if I had a chance to play with her. She wouldn't like my style at all. Plus, she's Zara's best friend, and that's just weird.
In my office, I try to focus on work instead of Hanna, and it takes opening up the email from Ellis to do it. I stare at it for I don't know how long. It's an email consisting of twenty words, and it's enough to shatter my day. Like a ball thrown through the glass of a fish tank, everything I've been holding in for the past three years is pouring out, and there's no way to repair it now. I can't push it back in and forget this email ever came.
Why would he send me this? Does he want to reach out? Want me to hire him?
It's business. Nothing more. I don't mean anything to Ellis anymore. Our friendship is over, and he probably doesn't even think twice about me. I'm the one sitting here dwelling on it, picking at the scab of our broken relationship.
Next to me my phone is vibrating itself to death, and I know there are a hundred emails waiting to be answered. Press releases to approve with PR, budgets to sign, business plans to update, and contracts to look over for the fifteenth time. If I fuck this up, miss one thing, screw up one part of this deal, I will have to live with it forever. How many of these did my dad do? And he never fucked them up. If I can't handle it, then I am the screwed-up Wilde. The worst of Wilde Aviation’s CEOs. A poor man's Alistair Wilde.
There are probably a hundred other business consultants like Ellis I could hire. Ones without baggage from the past. Consultants that haven't seen me naked and how horribly I behave in bed with a woman. And so much more.
And yet, my curiosity has the better of me here. If I hire Ellis, we can finally bury the hatchet, put Amsterdam behind us, form a new relat
ionship built firmly in business. He is the best at what he does. I know that. I know him well enough to know Ellis doesn't fail. He is perfection personified.
Next thing I know, I'm hitting reply to his email. Then I stare at the blank cursor wondering how the hell I'm going to respond to this.
From: [email protected]
When can you start?
5
My hands won't stop shaking. Even after getting dressed and heading toward the house, I can't stop thinking about how it felt to have Nash grab me so violently. My head nearly snapped with the way he stopped me in my tracks. Then he saw me naked.
Not just saw me naked, he looked at me. Like he couldn't stop looking. And I covered myself, but I almost felt more naked the more I tried to hide my body.
I wanted to tell Zara about it immediately, but it didn't feel quite right. She'd yell at him, maybe even be mad at me for whatever reason, and I can't ruin this opportunity to be here right now. I need this.
Yesterday, I packed my bags and told my mother I was going to stay with a friend. Even when she bombarded me with questions, threw a fit about missing my auditions, played every card in her deck from gas lighting to guilt tripping, I still managed to get on the helicopter with Zara. It took a lot of reminding myself I am twenty-nine, a grown woman.
Her voice is still with me though. She's still in my head, reminding me I'm throwing everything away, fucking up my own life. I'm not good enough, so I have to work ten times harder than everyone else to keep up. Nothing I do will ever be enough. The thoughts have etched themselves into my brain the way water carves through stone over time.
The new head housekeeper, Thalia, said she would bring me my meals to the guest house, but I was always welcome to eat in the main house. I tell myself that's why I'm going over there now. I hate to have her deliver me food like I'm royalty or something. I'm perfectly capable of going to the house to get my own dinner.
It's a little after five when I walk into the house. It's silent except for the sound of someone in the kitchen. Expecting to walk in and find Thalia making dinner, I stop in my tracks when I pass through the dining room and see Nash shoving greens into a blender. He's in the same business attire he had on earlier when he practically attacked me in the guest house. His dark gray slacks are tight around his backside with a black snug-fitting T-shirt tucked into them.
When I first met Nash, he still seemed like a kid. We're the same age, but he was in such a low place at that time. Now he's a man, and it almost feels like we switched places. His life got substantially better while mine got so much worse.
For a moment I watch him fill the blender with yogurt and berries, trying not to gaze too long at the sculpted muscles of his back or the way he fills out those pants. He still doesn't even know I'm standing here, so I clear my throat and make my presence known.
He does a double take after first looking at me, probably thinking I'm one of the housekeepers. Keeping my eyes averted, I walk straight to the fridge to get something to drink.
"Oh, Hanna...hi."
I respond with a small smile. Nash and I have been acquaintances for years, but now suddenly things feel weird.
"Are you getting settled okay?" he asks after a moment.
"Yep. I'm fine."
"Good."
It's awkwardly quiet for a moment, and I'm tempted to leave but it would be rude to just walk in and out so quickly. Instead, I linger at the kitchen island.
"Would you like some?" He holds out his smoothie toward me.
"Aren't you going to eat dinner?" I ask after shaking my head at his offer.
"I eat late. I usually work until eight or nine."
His eyes linger on my face for a moment as the silence absorbs us, and I find myself biting my lip because I have nothing to say.
"I'm sorry again," he mutters before turning back to the blender. "For what I did today."
"Who exactly did you think I was?"
There's a quick glance in my direction before he answers. "I had no clue. Maybe a housekeeper or employee."
"And that's how you would treat them? Grab them like that?"
When he finally looks up at me, there's a thin layer of shame on his expression. Like I opened a wound or made him face something he didn't want to face.
"You took me by surprise. That's all. I wouldn't...normally..."
Suddenly I see Nash, the boy. The one I met three years ago. And I wonder what he sees when he looks at me.
Instead of harping on him more about the incident, I brush past him and head for the refrigerator. Seeing a carton of eggs and some vegetables in the drawer, I pull them out and make my way for the kitchen island.
"Thalia will be making dinner soon," he says, eyeing me skeptically.
"You need to eat more than a smoothie, and you shouldn't wait until eight tonight to do it. Let me make you an omelette." He doesn't reply as I set to chopping up the spinach, red pepper, and onions. For a moment, it feels good, like I’m a part of this family, not such an outsider, and in the silence of the kitchen, I write poetry in my head. Something about the sizzle of the skillet and feeling so far removed from the real world. It needs work.
"Thank you," he mumbles quietly while I work. Then he sits on the bar stool and scrolls through his phone. Every few moments I feel his eyes on me.
"Do you ever take a break?" I ask.
"I like to work." His fingers are typing away frantically at his phone, and I notice the way his shoulders are tight against his ears. I have the urge to walk over and smooth my hands along them, forcing them to relax.
"You seem stressed."
"Well, it's a stressful job."
"All the more reason to take breaks. Take care of yourself." As if I have any right at all to preach about that.
His jaw is especially clenched, and I can see how he's flexing his hands into fists. "You know what, I'm not hungry." Suddenly, he's marching out of the kitchen, and I drop the knife to follow after him.
"Nash, I'm sorry. Wait a second."
"Did Zara tell you to say that? Did she ask you to talk me into getting help? Or was it my dad? Well, you can tell him I hired his fucking friend like he wanted, and he'll be out here tomorrow, so they can get the fuck off my case."
When I grab his arm to spin him around, he flinches violently, spinning toward me with a hand near my throat, and I yelp as he stops himself, holding his open hand near my neck. With another flex, he pulls away.
"I'm sorry."
“I’m only saying this because I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to be so buried in work you can’t breathe. But you’d rather suffocate than face reality.”
His head tilts, his eyes fixed intently on my face as if I’ve surprised him. As if I’ve just verbalized exactly what he’s been feeling. Oh yeah, I know the feeling. When work is life and everything else is an annoyance that just gets in the way. When you’re so resentful toward yourself because nothing will ever be good enough, perfect enough, happy enough.
Touching his arm, I continue. “I’ve never seen you like this, Nash. It's like you're killing yourself. Your dad didn't tell me to say anything. I promise. It’s just me…and I’m concerned about you."
There's warmth in his eyes as he looks back at me, squinting at me as if he’s scrutinizing again.
"Why would you be concerned about me?"
"You're my friend, Nash."
"Yeah, but you're here to take care of yourself, not me."
Reaching out, I touch the buttons on his shirt for reasons I don't even know. "I guess this is how I relax, by taking care of others. Let me help you."
When I glance up at him, my breath gets caught in my chest not only because he’s so fucking intense and gorgeous it’s unsettling, but because he’s looking at me with renewed interest, the way a man looks at a woman he wants to fuck…or fight. It’s hard to tell with Nash. It’s definitely not the look of a close family friend. That much is for sure.
"How can you help me?"
&n
bsp; "I don't know..." I stammer. Shit, this sounds like I’m coming onto him right now. Am I?
No, I can’t.
“What’s wrong with your eyes?” he says, interrupting me.
I flinch, reaching up to my face. “What?”
“Your eyes used to be…different colors.”
“Oh,” I reply, looking away. “They’re contacts to hide the heterochromia.”
“Why would you hide that?”
“I don’t know…it’s just strange, I guess.”
“It’s not strange,” he snaps back, and I look into his eyes, the moment growing tense between us. Before I can say another word about helping him and all the ways I’d love to help him, he walks away.
It’s for the best, I tell myself. I cannot get involved with Nash Wilde, not physically or emotionally. Not only because it scares me how alike we truly are, but also because I’m here to fix myself, and getting in bed with a strung-out control freak with a mean streak is a very bad idea.
6
I don't need a woman to mother me. I’ve gone this long without one. I sure as fuck don’t need one now. Plus, Hanna is too soft; she’s fragile. Every time I think about the way she looked, wet and shivering in the bathroom mirror, I remember this ballerina is not built to handle me.
It's past ten when I finally close my laptop. The office is quiet. My two assistants, the housekeeping crew, and the mechanics all head back to the mainland at exactly six every day, and I like to keep it that way. It was the tradeoff for opening Del Rey to the company full-time. I want the evenings to myself. I need the island to be silent when the sun goes down, alone with the night sky.
But tonight, it's not just me. The light is on in the guest house when I head back across the grounds toward the house. I should stop in and see if she needs anything. I could bring her some wine or something, apologize for being such a dickhead earlier.
I don't, because I'm not as nice as I probably could be. When I get into the house, I find a plate left out for me where Thalia always leaves it. It's wrapped in foil on the stove top with reheating instructions. But like most nights, I leave it there and head for the bar instead.