4. Nate
Chapter 4
I maneuver Bernard’s pint-sized PA—I still can’t remember her fucking name—toward the VIP area, and security pull back the velvet ropes as I approach. I give my friends the nod that I want a few minutes alone to find out what the hell is going on and why she’s balling me out in public. Two bouncers move in front of the rope as we pass through. They won’t let anyone past unless I give the go-ahead.
I let go of… of… oh, for fuck’s sake. “What’s your name?”
She glares at me and plants her hands on her hips. “I’ve worked for Bernard Sullivan for six months, during which time you must have been to the office on at least fifteen separate occasions, and you don’t know my goddamn name?”
I clamp my hands over my ears when she screams the last part. “All right, sweetheart, no need to pierce an eardrum.”
She jabs a finger in my face. “My name is Dex, you complete and total ass, and you got me fired from my job. A job I fucking need. Not that you’d know anything about that, Mr. Moneybags. Well, think on this. Not all of us drink out of gold-plated goblets and eat caviar and lobster for breakfast. Some of us live hand to fucking mouth. And now, because of you… I’m screwed!”
I take a step back and make a calming motion with my hands. “One thing at a time, sweetheart. Firstly, what kind of a name is Dex for a girl?”
Her dove-gray eyes widen. “Are you trying to be a jackass on purpose, or does it just come naturally?”
My lips twitch. This one is a little fireball. It’s been a while—too long—since anyone called me out on my shit. Apart from my brothers, obviously. One of the reasons I keep my distance. Not the main reason, of course. Regardless, I’m enjoying the experience. Dex’s wrath is making me hard.
“If you think that was rude, you must have led a very sheltered life.”
She kicks up her chin and draws herself up to her full height, which must be all of five-foot one if she’s lucky.
“What’s the point,” she says. “The great Nate O’Reilly is hardly likely to give a shit about a nobody like me.”
She makes a move to leave, but I stick out a hand, stopping her.
“Whoa there, Titch. Where d’you think you’re going?”
She crosses her arms beneath her chest. “Titch? What the hell does that mean? Some stupid Hollywood in joke, I presume.”
I chuckle. It’s a word I picked up at drama school in London. It means a small person. Suits Dex perfectly, in height if not in personality. When I don’t answer her question, she huffs.
“I’m going home,” she spits. “To search for a job.”
She makes another attempt to leave, but I clasp her around the waist and lift her in the air. She weighs next to nothing, but what she lacks in physical stature, she makes up for in one hell of a pair of lungs, evidenced by the loud squeal she makes.
I plunk her on the navy leather couch at the back of the VIP area and stand in front of her, barring her way. “You’ll leave when I say you can leave. And can you drop the decibel level? I can barely hear myself think.”
Her mouth hangs open in astonishment, probably at my sheer gall. “You can’t keep me here against my will. And I am not loud.”
I grin. “I can do anything I want to, sweetheart. Fancy your chances getting past me, then past them two?” I jerk my head back, indicating the bouncers standing guard. “And believe me, loud is a polite term. Fucking deafening would be more accurate.”
Her lips press together in a fierce grimace as she glares at me with fire pouring from those soft gray eyes that have me staring longer than I should. I can almost see her mind ticking over, weighing her options. When her shoulders bow in defeat, I know I’ve won.
“If you must know, my dad named me after Soren Dexter, the pro-footballer who played defense for the Green Bay Packers. Dad was a huge fan. It didn’t occur to him that Dexter wasn’t the most suitable name for a girl. I use Dex because… well, just because.”
“At least you weren’t named after Dexter Morgan.” She gives me a confused head-tilt, which is fucking adorable by the way, and I flash my teeth at her. “TV show. The male lead, Dexter, was a serial killer. It’s awesome. I think you can get it on Netflix.”
“Oh, nice.” Dex’s tone drips sarcasm. “Comparing me to a serial killer. Aren’t you a treat? Although I’d like to kill you for getting me fired today.”
I take a seat beside her and stretch my arm along the back of the couch. I don’t miss the redness creeping up Dex’s neck, or the quiet sigh she lets out as my thigh presses against hers—further proof that Little Miss Dex has a crush on me. Except unlike the other starlet sycophants who constantly paw and beg for my attention, Dex won’t let the small matter of physical attraction detract from the actual bodily harm she’d love to lavish on me.
“Yes, let’s get to that. Are you gonna tell me what happened?”
Her eyes flash all kinds of hatred my way. “I wasn’t supposed to let anyone into Bernard’s office.”
I chuckle. “And we all know why, don’t we?”
Dex’s lips twitch, despite her predicament. Maybe she’s starting to thaw out. Good. I want to see whether I still find her interesting when she isn’t breathing fire.
“And because you ignored my instruction, Bernard fired me.”
My temper rises on her behalf. Bernard Sullivan is a fuckwit and a bully. To blame a woman who didn’t stand a chance of stopping me, even if she’d been several inches taller, is unacceptable.
As an idea takes hold, I get to my feet and hold out my hand. “Okay, Titch, let’s go.”
Dex frowns. “Where to? And stop calling me Titch.”
I flash her the kind of smile I know from experience girls find hard to resist. Dex is no exception. Without question, she takes my hand, the resultant blush confirming my earlier supposition. The thought brings a smile to my lips. I like this little dynamo, and I’m not going to stand for Bernard Sullivan thinking he can get away with using his bully boy tactics on her.
Time to get Titch her job back.