Sheesh. This guy really hates me.
Lifting my chin, I say, “Win asked me to work with you today. He’s busy doing other things.”
Nate’s lips curl into a smug grin that annoys me. “The shiny toy lost her luster?”
“Something like that,” I lie because I’d rather him think he’s won than continue to discuss the fact that Win and I will repair our relationship. “What do you need help with?”
His eyes greedily sweep over me. I feel like I should take a bath after the filthy way he undresses me with his stare alone. “Drag up a chair.”
I set my handbag down on the table near a couch and then set to pulling the office chair across from his desk around to the other side. He’s not satisfied with the distance I’ve left between us and yanks the seat closer. Gritting my teeth, I take my seat, sitting primly and wishing like hell I’d chosen something longer to cover my legs. The hem rides up revealing more skin than I’d like to show this creep.
He immediately sets me on task scouring through a stack of contracts looking for a particular one for him. It gives me something to do and I don’t have to talk to him, so I take my time flipping through each one. Every time his knee brushes against mine, a shiver of disgust slithers through me.
“You know,” Nate says in a conversational tone that’s contradictory to his words, “he’s already growing tired of you. Know what Win does when he’s tired of someone?”
I ignore him, my attention on the contract in front of me.
“He lets me have them,” he murmurs. “Best friends and all.”
“Some friend you are to him if he gives you his leftovers.” I flash him an icy smile that makes his eyes harden.
A large hand slides over my bare thigh and he tightens his grip. “You have lots of secrets, don’t you, Ash? So much more to you than those dick-sucking lips and golden pussy.” He starts to slide his hand under my skirt and I smack it hard. “Don’t worry. I’ll have it soon enough. When he’s done with you and you’re reaching for scraps, my hand on your cunt will feel like a blessing.”
“Touch me again and I’ll skewer your balls with this pen,” I grit out, waggling the pen in front of him. “Test me, Nate.”
His phone buzzes on the table with an incoming call from “My Baby.” After shooting me a dark look, he answers it and stands. “Hey, beautiful.” A pause. “Yeah, I can talk. Hold on.” He holds up a finger to me in the universal sign that it’ll be a minute before he slips from his office.
I didn’t even know he was dating anyone.
There’s a lot about Nate I don’t know.
Like why he would tell me Win had a towel warmer when he clearly doesn’t. At first, I’d thought about that text last night from Winston and wondered what it meant, but after some thought, I realized it was Win’s way of telling me he thought I was lying. But it wasn’t me. It was Nate. Why? About something so dumb? Nate rubs me the wrong way. He’s slick—too slick. My gaze slides to his drawer. After a quick look to make sure he’s not standing in the doorway, I open the drawer, unsure what I’ll find. Inside are a few ink pens, some business cards, rubber bands, and his keys.
Two keys and a fob.
The fob goes to a BMW. The other two seem like they could be an office key and an apartment key. I study the apartment one and decide it’s most definitely not the same as Win’s.
“Hmm.”
“Looking for something?” Nate asks, his voice nearly a growl.
“Chewing gum,” I say, tossing the keys back into the drawer. “Nothing.”
He sets his phone down and sits back down in his chair. His hand covers mine, pushing the drawer closed but not letting go. “Don’t touch my things, Ash.”
The chilly words make me shiver but I manage a nod.
He releases me and gets back to work, business as usual. I try to focus on what he’s teaching me but my mind can’t let go of those keys. Did Win take his key back from him? I make a mental note to ask Win when he’s not being pissy with me.
At least an hour passes by without incident until someone bursts through the office door. Of all the people I expect to see, it’s not Dad. His face is red with anger and worry shines in his eyes.
“Ash,” he growls. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
I leap to my feet and rush over to him. Dad catches me in his embrace, hugging me tight. Tears prickle at my eyes but I blink them back. Now’s not the time to cry. Not in front of stupid Nate.
“What in the ever-loving hell is going on?” Dad demands. “If Constantine was here, I’d put my fucking fist through his face.”
“Would you now?” Nate practically snarls. “Perhaps I should call security.”
“He’s joking,” I snap at Nate. “I’m taking a break.”
Tugging from Dad’s hold, I grab my purse and motion for Dad to follow me. We leave Nate’s office and I guide him to the employee lounge where people aren’t yet milling about with their microwaved lunches.
Once we’re out of earshot, I motion for a table and take a seat. Dad’s expression is haggard. Guilt trickles through me. He was up all night dealing with the triplets’ fiasco and now he’s dealing with mine. Talk about a double whammy.
“I’m sorry,” I croak out, unable to look him in the eyes. “It’s a really long story.”
“And I have time,” Dad urges. “Tell me what’s going on.”
I gnaw on my bottom lip before just letting it all spill out. Everything. The maid job that I got caught slacking on. How I grabbed Win’s attention. Our games, though not so detailed. The triplets and their scary threats and actions. Leo Morelli and what happened the night of Win’s birthday ball. I even tell him about my spa day with Caroline and the dinner last night, though I conveniently leave out what Winston did to the triplets. By the time I finish explaining the drama that has been my life, his face is stony and unreadable.
“Dad,” I whisper. “I know I screwed up but—”
“Don’t.”
I swallow hard, fighting against the tears in my eyes.
He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. “I thought you were more like me,” he says, a tired smile on his face, “but it seems drama finds you much like your mother.”
Hearing about Mom has my chest aching painfully. “I’m like you.”
“Stubborn like me, yes. But that ability to get yourself into crazy shit? That has Maggie written all over it.”
I’m curious to hear this new side about Mom. Dad always painted her as a saint to me. I was eight when she died so my memories are fuzzy. All I remember are humor-filled hazel eyes and the softest brown hair. She had smile lines that I thought were pretty. Her voice was enchanting. God, I miss her.
“I once had to bail her out of jail,” Dad says, chuckling.
“What for?” My eyes are wide with shock. This is a first.
“Public indecency.”
“No.”
“Yes. I mean, it was my fault.” He winks at me. “But she’s the one who got caught since it was on the hood of the car I was inside.”
“Dad! Oh my God!”