Stir (The Sizzle TV Series Book 5)

Chapter 9 – Nic

When I leave my apartment Tuesday morning, Finn is standing in front of his own apartment, hands in his pockets.

“Good morning,” he says.

“What are you doing out here?” His lips quirk, and I realize I’m being rude. “Good morning, Finn. Nice weather we’re having. What are you doing out here?”

“I’m supposed to be guarding you. Makes more sense for us to ride in together, all things considered.”

“You’re not guarding me; you’re providing security for my office. What if I’m not coming straight home today?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ve got plans tonight. I’ll find my own way.” Whatever it is, it’s clearly something awesome. Finn’s anticipation is palpable.

Spending more time in close proximity with a hot, straight man is not what I need right now, but he’s right; it does make sense.

“Fine. But I’m driving.”

“I get to ride in the Audi? Sweet.” That gets an actual smile out of him, and damn. Just damn it all to hell. The only other person my body’s paid attention to in the last year; why the hell does it have to be this guy?

Sliding into the car, he makes appreciative noises over the leather, the console, and the design, and while I fully agree with him—I bought this car for all those reasons, it’s nice to hear somebody else appreciates them, too—I cannot stop thinking of the sound he made when he opened the door and ran his hand over the leather. It was a cross between a groan and a growl, like a revving engine, like sex itself. I spend the next fifteen minutes navigating traffic with minimum attention, far more focused on keeping my dick under control. His shoulders take up more than his share of space in the compact cabin, brushing mine every time I shift gears. His eyes drift to the gear stick, and I realize I’m stroking the fucking thing like a cock.

“We’re here.”

“Easy there, boss,” he says when I whip into my parking spot with more enthusiasm than necessary. “That’s no way to treat a lady.”

I snort. “You’re not seriously talking about my car right now.”

He pats the armrest before opening the door. “I am absolutely talking about this beautiful thing. She’s a work of art. If you don’t take care of her, somebody else will.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up. I let a beat pass, two beats, three, breathing deeply before I climb out. The smell of his cologne or body wash or something—whatever produces that faint musk he wears—lingers, clouding my passenger seat.

I take my time retrieving my briefcase because I am a fucking professional, and I absolutely refuse to walk into my office with a fucking hard-on.

He’s whistling, for God’s sake. Who goes to work whistling? Of course, he’s about to spend the day in the same room as Natalie, so maybe I can see his point.

“You and Natalie seem to be getting along,” I say as we file into the elevator, crowded together by a handful of other people, the muscle of his biceps brushing mine as he shifts to make space for them.

He arches a brow at me. “You said our dating wasn’t a problem.”

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with either of your jobs, of course not,” I say coolly. He studies me carefully but holds his tongue as the elevator empties out on the sixth floor. When the doors close, he puts a step between us and braces his arms on the handrail behind him.

“Tell me something, Nic. Have you two ever—” Finn gestures vaguely.

“Dated? Good God, no.” I glare at him. “She works for me.”

“Plenty of people don’t care about that anymore.”

“I’m not one of them.”

The doors open, and I head for the office without another word.

“Hold on,” says Finn. I stop at the door, remembering the instructions he’d given us the day before about letting him check the office before either of us entered.

“You’re clear,” he says a moment later. He follows me through to my office, I assume because Natalie’s not yet arrived. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t offend me.”

He looks me in the eye, cocks a brow.

“Nobody should have to deal with that kind of pressure when they’re working, least of all Natalie.” I stare him down, raising my brows right back at him.

“You mean from me?” He points at himself and frowns. “Did I say anything?—”

I cut him off with a wave. “I didn’t hear anything inappropriate yesterday. I’m not accusing you of anything. Just…”

Christ, I never fumble for words anymore. I might as well be fifteen again, crushing on the prom queen. Though, in my case, I was trying to get over my crush on her brother.

“Natalie is special,” I say firmly. “I’d like to know your intentions.”

His eyebrows climb up slowly.

“My intention is to have dinner with an interesting, attractive woman away from her workplace.” He articulates every word slowly. “Having said that, I’m not entirely sure it’s your business, Nic. If this is going to be a problem after all, maybe we’d better draw the line here and now.”

I could do it. I could fire him right here. No more sitting here listening to them flirt, no more of this… this cloud of awareness, no more wondering about the muscles under the cut of his suit or just how much Natalie might be enjoying his eyes on her from across the room.

Not that I’ve spent time thinking about any of those things.

But then, I’d only be able to speculate on how things between them were going without seeing it for myself. At least this way, I’ll be able to tell if—when—things go south.

And if I fire him, I’ll have to hire somebody else, not to mention explaining it all to Natalie.

“No,” I say. “Like I told you the other day, it’s not a problem. She’s just…” Words fail me again.

“Special,” he says, his expression softening as he nods, just once. “You said. I understand.”

I’ve said too much, somehow. Or said it wrong.

“You have my word, I’ll treat her with the utmost respect,” says Finn. “Unless she requests otherwise.”

I glare at him, and before I can even get into why that was incredibly inappropriate, Natalie comes through the main door.

“Sorry! Sorry, Nic,” she says. She’s breathless and flushed, and God, if I thought Finn was being inappropriate before, it’s nothing to the reaction my body has at the sight of her now. “The line for the elevators was ridiculous, so I took the stairs.”

“It’s not even nine yet,” says Finn. His voice sounds strained. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out he’s fighting the same battle I am.

She hurries to her desk, tapping at the keyboard to wake the computer. “I know, but I really prefer to be early.” She pauses the flurry of motion to smile at him, then aims the smile to include us both. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” says Finn. I just nod and turn, ready to shut the door to my office. It’s too much. I need to pack it in.

The main office doorknob rattles, and someone pounds on the door.

Finn is there the next second, already urging Natalie back, waving her toward my office. She comes to stand next to me. I fight the urge to grab her hand.

We hadn’t discussed unexpected guests, so I have no idea what Finn wants us to do. People very rarely come to our office without an appointment.

Finn cracks the door, leaning into the gap.

“May I help you?”

“Who the hell are you? And why the hell are you blocking the door?” booms an irritated voice I know all too well.

“It’s okay, Finn,” I say, gesturing for him to open the door. He steps back, letting go just as Nicolas Pendergrass Sr. shoves the door open, only just missing Finn’s arm as he backs quickly out of the way.

“Not good business, having your door locked during business hours, Nic. You’d know that if you’d come to work for me.”

“Good morning, Dad,” I say. “Come on in. We were just about to open.” I hold out my arm, hoping he’ll follow me and ignore everybody else. No such luck.

“Who’re you?” he asks, glaring at Finn.

“This is Finn,” I say, thinking fast. “My next-door neighbor.”

Finn glances my way and catches on quickly, thank God. “Finn Hale,” he says, offering his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir. I just stopped by to see if Nic needs me to check on his cat again this week.”

Dad shakes his hand, but his attention has already moved on. “And who is this lovely creature? Shame on you, Nic, you didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend.”

“This is Ms. Casteel,” I say coldly. “My assistant. Come on back; we can talk in my office.”

Dad doesn’t take the hint, walking over to Natalie’s desk and offering his hand. I can see her struggle with not wanting to take it but also not wanting to be rude. She shakes his hand. He holds on too long, and a red haze begins to form in front of my eyes.

“Dad!” I say, loud enough to startle everybody. Whoops. Too bad. “You haven’t seen my new artwork. Let me show you. It’s back here.”

That works, finally. After a lingering glance at Natalie that makes me want to punch something—maybe my own father, his age be damned—he finally comes through to my office. I shut the door firmly behind him.

“Good Lord, Nic, you’ve been keeping secrets.” He clucks his tongue at me and wags his eyebrows. “Can’t say I blame you. She is one tasty little thing, isn’t she? I bet she’s?—”

“You will please refrain from speaking that way about my employee,” I say, as firmly as I can manage without shouting at him. I’ve managed to keep him out of the office for the last year by always meeting him somewhere else. It’s been easy to convince him it’s more convenient for me to come to him, which usually has the added benefit of being true.

“Make sure you don’t leave what’s-his-name alone with her too long,” he says, pointing at the door. “He might get there before you do. ’Course, some women are worth it.” He chuckles. “And I bet she’s?—”

“What brings you out here so early?” I ask, hoping both to distract him and to get this over with as fast as possible. “I could have met you for lunch. Is Mother okay?” The thought has my stomach clenching.

“Your mother is fine,” he says, rolling his eyes. No such enthusiasm for thoughts of his wife. Of course not. “That’s not why I’m here. I’m here about your brother.”

I frown. “Is he all right?”

“Well, I don’t know, do I? I haven’t heard from the little prick since he borrowed ten grand off me last month. That’s why I’m here, Nicky. Tell me where he is.”

I shift papers around on my desk for no other reason than to remind him that I work here and that I should probably do something that might help me pay the bills at some point this morning.

“I told you the other day, I haven’t talked to him.”

Dad catches it this time, his ears pricking up at my words. I should know better than to use the same phrase every time.

“You haven’t talked to him? Or you haven’t heard from him?” he asks pointedly. I sigh.

“I haven’t talked to him,” I say, giving up. It’s Barry’s problem now. Hell, it was his problem in the first place. He’s a grown man; he doesn’t need me protecting him, no matter how much money he borrowed this time. “He’s left messages for me.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did he need that much money for this time?” he asks, crossing his arms, and something in the action clicks, communicating more than I suspect he meant to. Dad doesn’t just want his money back this time. He’s actually worried about Barry.

Which is concerning, but again, my brother is a grown man.

“I don’t know. What does he usually borrow money for?” In my experience, it was always stupid shit—cars and baubles for his girlfriend of the week, trips to Vegas, or spending money in Tahiti.

“Hell if I know. I’ve about had it with that boy,” he says, winding up for a tirade I’ve heard so many times the last few years, I could recite it from memory. “He makes a good living when he bothers to show up for work. Pisses it away like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t know where he’s at, sorry. If I talk to him, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”

“No, for Christ’s sake, boy, don’t do that,” he says. “You just give me a call next time he calls you.” He leans over, placing his hands on my desk to make sure he has my full attention. “And Nicolas. When he calls, you’d best answer that phone.”

“Yes, sir.”

He smacks the desk with an open palm. “All right. I’ve got to run.” He walks over, twisting the knob on the door before turning back. “Tell you what, Nicky, if you don’t make a move on that sweet young thing, someone else is going to. She is—” He growls, then laughs like he finds this uproariously funny. When the door swings open, I see Natalie and Finn. Her eyes are wide, his are furious. There’s no way they didn’t hear what he said. Probably everything he said.

“I’ll call you soon, Dad. Say hi to Mom for me.”

He waves, already ignoring me, stopping only to smile at Natalie on his way out the door.

“It was wonderful to meet you,” he says, offering his hand. Again. “What was your name, young lady?”

“Ms. Casteel and I have to get back to work,” I say, coming up to urge him to keep moving forward. Finn’s a step ahead of me, already opening the main door to the hall. “Bye, Dad.” With another laugh and a careless wave, he’s gone.

I don’t want to see the look on their faces, so I keep my back turned as I close the door behind him.

“Sorry about that,” I say, shame creeping up in a flush. I swallow hard and brace myself, turning around. I don’t get to be chickenshit about this. “Both of you. I’m sorry. Especially you, Natalie. You shouldn’t have to put up with that.”

She walks over, smiling gently. She stretches out a hand, as though she’s going to reach for my arm, or maybe my shoulder. Whatever the intention, my body tenses, bracing for impact. She stops, hand in midair, before letting it drop back to her side.

We’ve never touched, except the day I shook her hand when we first met. I’ve made sure it didn’t happen twice. There’s already too much at stake.

Her smile dims. “It’s not your fault,” she says. “I appreciate you intervening.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

She clearly wants to protest but keeps it to herself. I turn to Finn.

“Thank you,” I say, “for not telling him why you’re really here.”

His lips quirk in that half-smile I’ve seen so much the last few days. “I can keep a secret.”

He’s not subtle at all. And damn, if that doesn’t make my own lips twitch. “Evidently so.”

Natalie smiles at us both. The tension fades, the negative energy bleeding away, replaced with a new awareness, one I’m not accustomed to feeling in a room with more than just one other person. One that feels a lot more like anticipation. A new silence stretches between us for a long moment until the phone rings.

Natalie startles, blinks, then walks over to answer it. “Pendergrass Law,” she says.

“I have to get to work,” I say.

Finn nods at me, checking the lock on the door before resuming his post near the bookshelf. If yesterday was any indication, he’ll spend most of the day there, on his feet, rather than camped out on our client sofa. Her at her desk, him at his bookshelf. Both firmly out of my line of sight.

Works for me.

It works for most of the day, until I hear Natalie gathering up her things to leave a little after five o’clock. It’s my cue to start wrapping up, not wanting to keep Finn late, since he said he has plans tonight. This paperwork can wait until the morning.

“What would you think about just leaving from here?” says Finn.

“For dinner?” says Natalie. She laughs lightly. “If you don’t mind me wearing my work clothes.”

His voice drops. “You look fantastic. If I haven’t said so already today, chalk it up to my not wanting to distract you while you’re working.”

“Oh.” That single syllable is softer, more feminine.

They’re going out tonight. That was what had Finn so chipper this morning, what had him whistling. Not only did he get to see Natalie all day, but now they’re going out for dinner. And then?—

Oh.