4. Nate
I continued to scowl at the newspaper article pulled up on my computer screen as I reached for the phone. “Yeah?”
“‘Yeah?’ That’s how you answer the phone?”
My chair squeaked as I leaned back, pivoting toward the large window that overlooked downtown to get a sense of the time of day—not quite sundown. “Hello, Mother Dearest. How are you?”
If it wasn’t past seven, my assistant would’ve let me know it was my mother on the line, and not another client who wanted something. Admittedly, my nerves were frayed, leaving me sharp and ready for the battle I’d begun three years ago.
“Oh, I just wanted to check in,” Mom said. “I thought I should let you know that I, uh, rented out the bottom floor of the duplex.”
Talk about three days too late. Although, I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Willa since our run-in the other night. That probably had more to do with me and how busy I was than anything. I’d left before sun-up and arrived at home long past sundown, and thanks to my younger sister, Rylee, my caseload had gone from consuming to impossibly bloated.
This past year, I’d taken on so much it’d nearly crushed me, but I only had a couple more months to accomplish the fantastical, and I was so close I could taste it. Unfortunately, it tasted like burnout and exhaustion, but it’d be worth it when I proved to my uncles they’d not only underestimated me, but also made a huge mistake crossing me.
Waving a white flag, my ass. As soon as they’d seen how close I was making good on my threat, they suddenly had “a change of heart” and wanted to call a truce.
“Now, hear me out,” Mom continued, returning my scattered concentration to her. “I realize that I agreed to wait until after the place was renovated to rent it out, but we both know that you don’t have time to deal with that right now, and this lovely woman needed a place to stay, so?—”
“You leased it for a whole year. I know, Mom. I met the new tenant the other night.”
“You did?” Her surprise carried over the line, and I wondered why she sounded so shocked by that fact. “I called Willa to see how she was settling in right before I called you, and she never mentioned meeting you.”
My feet hit the floor, my chair nearly bucking me out from flopping forward so fast. The amount of irritation corkscrewing through my body didn’t make sense. Still, why wouldn’t Willa mention the fact that we’d met?
Then again, why would she tell my mom all about how I slammed into her and sent her and her intimate belongings flying. “Hmm.”
There. Nice and vague, so Mom wouldn’t read anything into it.
“Well, anyway, she’s a friend of Rashida’s, so please make her feel at home. Maybe you could offer to show her around Boston? She attended college here, but it’s been several years, and I’m sure enough has changed that she’d appreciate a personal touch.”
When it came to Willa, I was all about exploring personal touches. Something I refrained from telling Mom, who’d get the wrong idea—hell, she probably had the wrong idea already. She attempted to play matchmaker before, but had never come so close to nailing my type.
Nailing. Another thing I’d like to do to Willa. I ran a hand over my face. God, I needed to spend a few hours outside the office. While I didn’t think Willa was avoiding me, I was fairly certain I was avoiding her. Perhaps subconsciously, but now that I’d called attention to it, I supposed it was in full consciousness.
The other night at dinner, my friends had been paired up and hitting the PDA extra hard, leaving me feeling like a third wheel. Or fifth wheel, I supposed. Let the record show that I wasn’t jealous. Not one bit. In fact, I’d answered dozens of emails when they were too wrapped up in one another, getting a leg up on the next day’s tasks.
Ben’s new boyfriend clearly adored the semi-famous chef in our group, which was a relief. Ben tended to rush into relationships that burned out as quickly, but he’d taken his time with this guy, so my chances of threatening to sue that one for attempting to steal his recipes—like I had to do with the last guy—were slim to none. My friends loved slamming me over my cynicism, but who did they call when people tried to screw them over? That’s right, me.
Anyway, the problem with the dinner, and its excess of coupledom, left me inordinately aware that most people—women, especially—wanted commitment. As previously stated, I had enough on my plate as it was.
“Nathan? Are you even listening?”
No. “Yeah, Mom. It’s just been hectic here at the office this week, and I’m trying to wrap things up so I can call it a day. That’ll free me up to land a few more big-time clients so I can hit my deadline with time to spare.”
“For someone who claims to have been listening, it’s interesting that you decided to admit that you’re planning on doing the opposite of what I just advised you to do. You don’t have anything to prove, hon. They’re the ones who lost the best lawyer they could’ve ever worked with, and they’ve apologized several times. I truly think they’re sorry and that they regret it.”
So nice of my mom to say I didn’t have anything to prove, but it was the equivalent of telling a bully my mommy thinks I’m special. “I appreciate that, but with guys like that, words are nothing but hot air. They do, however, understand actions, and they’re about to see that erasing Dad’s legacy was the dumbest thing they’ve ever done.”
That was more important to me than losing out on a job where they would’ve put me in an underling position and kept me there longer than necessary. All in the name of teaching me to be the best I could be or some other bullshit like that.
Mom’s sigh carried over the line. I didn’t expect her to understand. We were talking about the woman with a target on her back when it came to sob stories. With Dad gone, it was my job to look out for her. I’d gone so far as to enlist her phone number on every do-not-call list out there. Not because the cold calls annoyed her, but because she’d go broke giving away her money.
Something she had less of due to the men who hadn’t been my uncles through blood, but through familial ties. Growing up, I’d admired them and had gone to them for advice. They repaid that loyalty by striking Dad’s name from the firm he’d helped build from the ground up. Adding insult to injury, they’d chipped it off the plaque that hung on the door before he was even in the ground. Then, they pushed me out with a shrug of their shoulders, claiming it was “just business.”
They meant money, and I’d flat-out told them I would’ve respected them more if they would’ve said it that way.
That day, I vowed that within five years, I’d have built a firm that overtook theirs as the top corporate law firm in all of Boston. I’d yanked open the door, stared at the spot where my father’s name should be, and abruptly turned around. Then, since I was a cocky bastard, I said, “You know what? I don’t even need that long. I’ll do it in three.”
People who used others to get to the top rarely got what they deserved; being a dealer of justice, I had the ability to make it happen, and I planned on doing exactly that.
Is that…?
The streetlight glinted off a pale blond ponytail that landed a foot or so above one of the most voluptuous asses I’d ever seen. I second-guessed if the woman was Willa, struggling to believe I wouldn’t have noticed that fine feature the other night.
Then again, I’d been lost in her ample cleavage while doing my best not to take my staring to the creepy level.
The beam of light illuminated her profile, highlighting her slender, slightly prominent nose. Sure enough, it was my neighbor. With every few steps, she readjusted the three giant paper bags in her hands, one wrong move away from losing the battle to balance them all.
After a quick glance in the rearview mirror, I slowed the Porsche and pulled up next to the curb. This was my chance to be a gentleman and offer her a ride that’d allow me to do my due diligence to ensure Mom didn’t get taken advantage of.
Yeah. That was why my heart beat faster at the idea of Willa climbing into my car. I had a thing for multitasking.
Only Willa’s footsteps quickened, and she veered toward the opposite end of the sidewalk instead of my car. Of course. She didn’t know me from Adam, and the windows in this thing were tinted well enough to obscure anyone inside.
I rolled down the window on the passenger side door. “Willa, it’s me.”
That didn’t seem to assure her, as she continued at a clipped pace, the grocery bags in her hands tipping more precariously than before. Perhaps I hadn’t made as much of an impression on her as I’d first thought. No wonder she didn’t tell my mom she’d met me. “It’s Nate. Your next door neighbor.”
Her footsteps finally slowed, but then one of the bags listed to the right. As she overcorrected her grip, one of the other bags slipped free of her grasp, which caused the first troublemaking bag to tumble to the ground as well.
They burst open as they hit the sidewalk, sending tiny oranges, apples, and cans across the cement.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Willa said, dropping to her knees to gather the runaway items.
I cut the Porsche’s engine and leaped out to help. The apples were likely bruised, but I tossed them into the overturned paper bag.
Willa snagged a can of cat food and sat back, plunking that glorious ass I’d gotten a glimpse of against the soles of her shoes. “Why is it, Nathan Fox, that you always manage to get me down on my knees?”
A gasp immediately followed Willa’s remark, and even in the dim light, I could see her cheeks flush pink. “I mean… That didn’t sound…” She covered her face with her hands.
I wrapped my fingers around her wrists and gently lowered her arms, a jolt of electricity firing through me. She’d done that thing women did with their eyes, where they drew black points at the corners that emphasized the shape and the inner vixen within. “Don’t worry. I get what you mean. Does it make it any better that I was slowing to offer you a ride?”
She glanced toward the Porsche, and what was with sour expression? “That’s your car?”
“Nah, I stole it, so we’d better hurry before the cops arrive.”
Willa cocked her head, lips pursed. “Very funny. As for the ride… The thing is, walking home is my exercise for the day. I figured I’d knock out two birds with one stone, only I kept grabbing more groceries, telling myself the items were small. And they were, until it took three bags to hold them, and obviously, I overestimated how much I could carry. But this”—she lifted a box of chocolate chip cookies—“is why I have to walk the entire way.”
“The cookies told you to?”
“I shouldn’t have bought them. I’ve just been stressed and—no, no, no.” Her mouth pulled into a sorrowful frown as she lifted a bottle of wine from the bag. With the help of the streetlight, the crack was evident, the liquid remains continuously dripping onto the cement in a dark red pool. “This and the cookies were supposed to help.”
Willa opened her mouth and lifted the bottle above her head, doing her best to catch the last few drops.
I took the bottle from her, ignoring her offended squeak. “You’re likely to get more broken glass than wine.”
“After the day I’ve had, I’m willing to risk it.” She tugged at the neck of the bottle, but I didn’t release my hold.
“I’m not,” I said, voice firm.
She sank farther onto the sidewalk with a harrumph, defeat hanging heavy in her posture. “No one’s saying you have to drink any.”
A splat of water hit the top of my head, my arm, my nose. “It’s starting to rain.”
“Astute observation, Mr. Holmes,” Willa snarked. “All the more reason to sit here and drink what’s left of my wine.”
When I carried the broken bottle to the nearby trash can and dumped it in, I let the scowl she fired at me bounce right off. Bracing my hand under the soggy, wine-soaked bottom, I lifted that bag, along with the one filled with fruit, and placed them on the floor in the backseat of my car.
Willa stood, the other bag in her arms. I moved to take it, but she swiveled it out of my reach, staring upward as the raindrops picked up speed.
“What? Are you scared to get in the car with me? If that’s the case…” I wracked my brain for a solution. “I’ll get you into a nearby shop, call an Uber, and drop your groceries at home.”
“No, that’s not it. I just had a plan.”
“Plans change.”
“Yes, I know, and I’m not a fan.”
Finally, Willa relented, allowing me to place the last bag with the others. I opened the passenger door for her and helped her inside, then rushed around, climbed in the driver’s seat, and pulled onto the road.
At the next red light, my eyes strayed to Willa’s legs. Her gauzy skirt landed at mid-thigh, the filmy fabric swishing across her skin in a way that made me want to follow its lead. The tucked-in waist emphasized the flare of her hips and breasts, and I couldn’t quite decide which part of her I wanted to get my hands on first.
Not that I was going to follow through, but my shower scenarios had been lacking lately. I could use a few more to add to my repertoire.
Willa’s mouth parted as she studied the hand I had on the gear shifter, and I gripped it tighter, rolling the smooth knob against my palm. “So? How are you settling in?”
Long lashes and half-lidded eyes with a dusting of glittery makeup lifted to my face, and I readjusted in my seat. That shower scenario needed to be sooner rather than later. “Huh? Oh. Just fine.”
“Job?”
“Yes,” she said, and I accelerated through the intersection, fast enough her back hit the chair and a tiny gasp came out.
“Care to expand on that?”
“What do you do?” Turning the conversation back on me. Interesting. “It must be something fancy for you to afford a car like this.” Her fingertips drifted across the dashboard, and I’d never been jealous of my Porsche before—usually it provoked envy from others, not the other way around.
“I’m a lawyer. I started my own firm, and plan to be the top one in Boston in the very near future.”
“Impressive. Explains the nice suit too.”
I tugged on the lapels. “But not how nicely I fill it out, am I right?”
She laughed. A little too hard. Then the fingers that had been drifting over the dashboard moved to the hand I had on the shifter. She rested them there, and my pulse picked up speed, all my blood rushing to that one spot. “Can I confess something?”
My throat went bone dry. “Go for it.”
She leaned in until her breasts grazed my upper arm. “I know I made fun of your ridiculous ride, but the buttery soft seats that hug you just right, the way it accelerates, and the whole gear shift thing? I kind of want to have sex with this car.”
Fuck. Me.
A nervous laugh followed, and she sat back, the warmth of her body and hand gone. “So many men are obsessed with their vehicles, the horsepower number, and whether their engine is V-shaped or whatever. I always thought the whole status symbol thing was silly. This is the first time I’ve kind of understood it.”
My eyes locked onto hers, and desire claimed my lungs as her throat worked a swallow. If I didn’t pull myself together, I’d ask her if she’d like to knock out part of her sentence and have sex in this car. “Fair warning, if you ask to drive it, I’ll have to give you my spiel.”
“Your spiel?”
“It boils down to how I’d let my buddies fuck my girlfriend before I’d let anyone else drive my car.”
Her eyebrows arched at the bold statement—one I’d voiced and stood by, for the record. “Well. That’s…” She fiddled with the hem of her skirt, and speaking of driving, she was driving me fucking crazy. “Does she live around here? Or in Boston, anyway?”
“My car?”
Her eyebrows drew together, and so did mine, our confusion feeding off one another. “Your girlfriend,” Willa said.
“My girlfri—? Oh. That was just a saying. I don’t have a girlfriend.” The news seemed to satisfy her, that gleam of interest reentering her eyes. Not that I wanted a girlfriend, and was that something I should clarify?
The road ahead was sparsely populated, a rarity that demanded I go as fast as I could. Did I need the speed for my short drive to the office? No. Did I care? Also no. It did, however, come in handy for drives to the beach house in Provincetown and the trips to Martha’s Vineyard. Speed and keeping busy were my drugs of choice. Nothing bothered me more than sitting still and wastes of time, but I suddenly found myself wanting to draw out the short drive to the duplex, along with our conversation. “What about you? Are you attached?”
“About as far from it as I can be. Right now, I’m feeling more averse than ever too.” That statement spoke to a whole heap of baggage I would never have time to unpack.
Just leave it alone. It’ll only land you deeper.
Call it my ceaseless pursuit of the truth, a trait that served me well in my career. It’d also destroyed many a romantic relationship, so maybe that was a pro instead of a con. The sooner I got the possibility of fucking Willa senseless out of my head, the better.
“Ah, so we’re back to that. See, that’s the thing about distracting me from my line of questioning—as a lawyer, I’m always gonna circle back.” One more block and we’d be at the duplex. “What happened today that left you willing to drink wine from the bottom of a broken bottle?”