Chapter 18
Nico
It’s glaringly obvious to me, the moment Lucy Sullivan walks through the door on Monday morning, that she slept with Dane.
I’m sitting on the edge of Dane’s desk, fucking with him like I always do when I’m starting to feel bored.
Cole is working on some improvements, but, if I’m being honest, I know we’ve already cornered the market here.
It’s time to start seeking out the big dog that wants to purchase, or to start looking at the initial public offering.
So I’m bored, and that’s bad for poor Dane, because it means I’m looking for a distraction.
For something fun to take my mind off the next steps.
Ember has done its job—made us a shit ton of money, revolutionized the industry, shaken things up, and given Cole a new challenge. It’s time to start planning our exit.
Which is always a slog. The trough between one venture ending and another opportunity arriving can be maddening.
Lucy Sullivan is wearing a simple ivory blouse and fitted dress pants, paired with heels.
Her hair is carefully braided back, little diamond studs shining from her ears.
It doesn’t look quite right on her to me—there’s definitely the sense that she would be more comfortable wearing casual clothes.
But just because she’s not used to the clothes yet doesn’t mean she’s not fucking gorgeous in them.
I’m not the only one to notice. Dane’s head turns sharply, his attention locking onto her and tracking her through the office until she sits down at her desk.
Dane has always been good at keeping his emotions bottled up. And I’ve always been good at reading people, figuring out what they don’t want me to know.
Luckily for me, there’s a really easy way to get confirmation on my hunch.
“Lucy!” I call, clapping my hands, hopping down off Dane’s desk, and stalking toward her.
Lucy looks up at me with an o-shaped mouth, her water halfway to her mouth. I catch her looking me up and down appreciatively, and don’t expect her to speak before I can, saying brightly, “Well, you’re here early.”
I raise my eyebrows at her and give her a big grin.
She looks different. More color on her cheeks, a little more makeup than the last time I saw her. This girl did something monumental—like sleeping with her new boss in the big city.
I don’t even have to look at Dane to feel his angry, over-focused gaze on my back as I pause in front of her desk and place my fingers on the surface, leaning forward. “Are you ready to go?”
Lucy blinks several times, glancing in the direction of Dane’s office—another dead giveaway—before looking at me once more.
“…ready to go?” she parrots, in an uncertain voice.
“Right—I need your help today with some important business. I was just waiting for you to come in.”
She glances at her computer, like she’s worried she might have missed an email, but I tap the desk, not wanting her to linger for long enough that Dane can interfere. If he can, he’ll keep me from taking her, which I know he wants to do.
“Yeah, of course,” she says, swallowing and gathering her things, before glancing back at Dane again.
I bite my tongue to contain my chuckle. Right before we step into the elevator, I spare a glance over my shoulder to find my friend glaring at me with such dark intensity that I’m surprised it didn’t burn a hole straight through my head.
Together, Lucy and I ride in silence down to the garage. Normally, I would take the opportunity to chat, get to know her better, but I’m too caught up in my thoughts about Dane.
Sleeping with an assistant is so far outside the scope of something I would expect from him that if I were anyone else—if I were Cole, for example, I might not have even thought it possible.
“CEO sleeps with female assistant” is a headline more likely to be attached to my name—not that I’ve ever done anything like that.
Dane usually hires stone-like copies of himself. Not really my type.
Lucy, however, is. My type is most women, actually.
As long as they have a sense of humor and like to have fun, I’ll have fun with them.
Curves, skinny girls, tall and short, all hair colors—I’ve never been one to discriminate.
Dane, however, will cite the most minor reason for why he’s not interested in a woman.
Her perfume, her laugh, how she ordered her drink.
Dane is a rule follower. Conservative in everything he does. Careful.
So, what is it about Lucy Sullivan that’s made him act so out of character?
“Wait right here,” I instruct, before striding over to the valet and calling up my car. Lucy stays dutifully on the sidewalk, and a moment later, my pearly, ocean-blue California Spider turns the corner, the valet driving it doing so with great care.
As he should—it’s been my car since I was a teenager.
It’s my most prized possession, and nobody has ever convinced me to put it up for auction.
Every charity that approaches me about doing such a thing is quickly turned away with a check doubling the amount it would go for—nothing could be worth selling it.
I glance back at Lucy, waiting for her to let out a wow, or some other appropriate response to such a beautiful, rare car, but when I meet her eyes, she just asks, “Where are we going?”
A chuckle bubbles out of me, and I realize she’s nervous. About what though? Disobeying Dane? Whatever I’m going to ask of her?
“Get in,” I say, hitting a button on the fob to unlock her door. “And find out.”
Once in the car, I resist the urge to drive fast, which, I’ve discovered, is fun for me but usually scary for the girl in the passenger seat.
Instead, I take things easy, cruising along the busy streets.
It’s a relatively warm October day, and I have to take advantage of driving this while I can, before the snow comes and the streets are too dangerous for the Spider’s paint job.
When we get to the salon, Lucy gives me a suspicious look.
“It has to do with business,” I say, raising my hands up. “I swear.”
Reluctantly, she relents, and we walk into the salon together.
It’s a luxury place with towering ceilings, black and chrome everywhere, photos of stunning, perfect models staring out with serious expressions.
They don’t just do hair here—it’s a makeover type place, one that’s been the location for quite a few beast-to-beauty transformation reality TV shows.
Lucy, of course, is not a beast, but I do need her to look a specific way before we leave here. She looks uncertain, clutching her bag to her chest and walking through the place like simply touching something might start racking up her bill.
The third time the receptionist offers Lucy a glass of champagne, I nod, and she relents, saying a small, thank you as she accepts it.
“The stuff you sent over?” the lead stylist asks, breezing into our room and glancing at Lucy, who sits like someone headed to the gallows in her salon chair.
“Yep, that’s the plan. Thanks, Becca—appreciate it.”
She blows me a kiss, snapping a gown over Lucy with precision, “Anything for you, Nico.”
Lucy darts a glance at me, and Becca starts undoing her braids, massaging product into her hair.
“So, Lucy,” I mosey through the words, hoping the casual demeanor will keep her from clamming up. “How was the conference?”
Her eyes dart to me, her cheeks going pink. “It was good. I learned a lot.”
“Did you learn more about Dane over there?”
To her credit, she stays composed, aside from a single, quick swallow. “Yeah. We worked together well, I think.”
“I bet you did.” My words are dripping with meaning, and this time, she shoots me a panicked glance before returning her gaze to herself in the mirror.
Becca is working fast, spraying product and rolling massive curlers into her hair.
“I’m glad the two of you are getting along, he can be a tough cookie sometimes. ”
Lucy lets out a low noise, and I let her have a little peace and quiet as they continue with the makeover.
They take her out of the blouse and pants, put her in a creamy, thousand-dollar dress with wide, square panels.
Her simple studs are replaced with pearls, and a string of those settles around her neck, too.
By the time Becca and her team are done with Lucy, she looks positively waspy.
“She’s perfect,” I say when Becca asks how they’ve done, and I don’t miss the blush that creeps over Lucy’s cheeks at the compliment. “Grateful to you, as always.”
It’s not until we’re back in my car that Lucy, apparently having kept it bottled up in the salon, bursts from the passenger seat, “What is going on? Why did I need a makeover to look like a freaking Kennedy?”
Laughter snorts out of me as I pull the Spider away from the curb. “Okay—that’s hilarious.”
“Seriously,” she presses, crossing her arms over her chest, which only draws my eye to the beautiful curve of her bicep. This is definitely a woman with a history of caring for her body. “What—why were you asking about Dane?”
I glance at her, raising my eyebrows. While it’s fun to tease her about the whole thing, I don’t want to cross the line into bullying. “Don’t worry, darling. You’re doing a great job.”
Lucy opens her mouth, like she might be about to ask more, or refute that, or press the issue of what happened between her and Dane directly, but then she snaps her mouth shut, apparently deciding silence is the best option.
Too bad for me—and for her. I’ve never been very good at silence.
“So, where exactly is Lancaster?” I ask, watching as her expression shifts slightly. There’s a hint of homesickness there, I note, despite the fact that she came all the way to New York City on a whim.
For the next thirty minutes, as we drive toward Chelsea Piers, I get Lucy to tell me about herself.
Growing up in the middle of Nowhere, Missouri, she played several varsity sports.
Cheer was her favorite, apparently, and it makes sense to me.
Her balance, grace—maybe if she’d done debate, too, she could have polished the awkwardness away.
I learn about her many, many siblings—only one older than her, Mary, who is currently pregnant.
Paul, who just started college. The twins, Therese and Thomas, set to graduate from high school this May.
Augustus—the brother who looks most like Lucy, with his blonde waves and blue eyes, and the baby, Valentine.
“Saints, huh?” I ask, and her eyes widen.
“Most people don’t catch on to that.” She studies me, shifting in the passenger seat. I’m getting used to the sight of her in the pearls and starting to understand why Dane was so eager to buy her clothes. It feels good to supply her with nice things.
But more than clothes or jewelry, I could shower her in experiences. I could introduce her to her favorite celebrities, take her to new countries and show her a world befitting a princess.
The question is on the tip of my tongue—to ask about her favorite music. Maybe Adele or Taylor Swift? Someone younger, like Sabrina Carpenter, or that Rodrigo girl? I could set up a casual lunch through my acquaintances in the music industry.
I don’t end up offering it, though.
First, because I know enough to sense that it will come off as desperate, rather than impressive, to this woman. And second, because we’ve just pulled up to the gate at the marina, and I have to flash my credentials at the guard.
When we pull through, Lucy asks, “What are we doing here?”
Now that she’s in the right clothes and we’ve actually arrived at the job, it’s time to tell her about it. Leaning over, I plant my hand on her seat as we twist along the roads, heading for the yacht at the very end.
“Here’s the deal—the man we’re seeing on this yacht is a potential investor.
The money will go toward Cole’s next round of innovations.
The tandem line and the self-cleaning stuff.
But this guy—” I shrug, “can only do it if he gets the sign-off from his wife. She’s convinced a vibrator company run by men couldn’t possibly be good.
Another Victoria’s Secret situation. You know, all that bad press. ”
Lucy nods thoughtfully, then says, “But Cole does a lot of work on the products. All that research and testing.”
That’s unexpected. Has she even met Cole? He wasn’t at the office when I got there today, so I thought he was still in Brazil. I file away the peculiar look on her face as something to examine later and forge ahead.
“I know that, and you know that, but this guy’s wife, she doesn’t know that. So, I need someone familiar with the product to convince her. Preferably, someone she’ll relate to, you know…” I give her a pointed look, and realization dawns over her face.
Lifting her hands, she says, “No, no—Nico, I can’t.”
I like her saying my name, but don’t let it show, “You’ll do fine. Just don’t let on that you’re my assistant, and we’ll be golden.”
“Nico,” she hisses my name as we swing into our parking spot, and I kill the engine. She shifts in the seat, turning to me, the skirt of her tight dress sliding up her thigh slightly. “Seriously, I can’t lie straight to their faces. I’m not good at keeping secrets.”
“Really?” I ask, giving her a half-grin. So maybe I’m not done with the teasing after all. “You’re doing a pretty good job with it so far, sweetheart.”
Lucy blinks rapidly, her mouth puckering, and I step out of the car, quickly coming around to her side to open her door for her.
Then we’re walking up to the yacht together, and even though her resistance is basically radiating from her, I can’t deny how good it feels to have her on my arm.