Chapter 15
15
Natalie
Nick Christiansen is the definition of swoon worthy.
Look it up.
I should be exhausted after spending the night with Nick, but I’m not. I’m full of giddiness instead. I haven’t felt this good in so long and optimistic about the future professionally and personally. It’s great to feel like my life is back on track again.
After locking the apartment door, I lean against the back of it and fist my hands in excitement. Not wanting to wake Tatum because she’s a bear if she wakes up before ten, I squeal silently to release the energy coursing through me.
Do I go to bed to make up for the sleep I lost last night or get ready to slay the day?
Even though my parents don’t expect me to come by the office before lunch, I take the opportunity to impress them. Shower it is! Today is the day I save my business.
Knowing my mom loves when I dress up, I plan the perfect outfit for today while showering off my night, and Nick. His scent may be washed from my body, but my muscles ache deliciously as a reminder of him, a sensation I haven’t felt in quite some time.
Dressed and ready to go, I walk out of my bedroom to find Tatum leaning over a bowl of cereal. “Good?—”
“Shh!” I’m hit with a glare. I’d recognize that look anywhere—the slumped shoulders and squinting eyes even under the faintest sunlight, old makeup because she was too tired to take it off last night, and the shushing. Yeah, that’s a dead giveaway.
“You have a hangover?” I whisper.
She drops her sunglasses from the top of her head to the bridge of her nose. “You could say that.”
“I just did.”
“Ha. Ha.” Holding the large black Chanel frames up, she looks me over. “You look like a lawyer.” I burst out laughing. Maybe I should wear this for Nick later. She continues, “Where are you going?”
Clasping my briefcase in my hands, I reply, “To see a man about a loan.”
Her mouth quirks up at the sides. “You’re going to see your dad?”
“I sure am. Wish me luck.”
She slides off the barstool and comes to hug me. “I wish you all the luck in the world, my friend.” Leaning back, she adds, “You got this, Nat. Don’t be intimidated. Stand up for what you believe in—yourself and us.”
“I will, and I hope you feel better.” I open the door, but before I go, I say, “And thanks for the pep talk.”
“That’s what I’m here for. That and the Lucky Charms.”
“They are delicious.”
“Magically.”
With a pep in my step, I hurry down the stairs and call a car to deliver me to Wall Street. As soon as I arrive on the infamous street, I duck inside the building and head up to the Manhattan Financials’ offices on the twenty-fifth floor.
The elevator doors slide open, and I keep walking toward the entrance, signaling to the receptionist that I’m here to see my dad. Although she’s on the phone, she waves me in after buzzing me through. I spent every summer from my eleventh-grade year in high school to my junior year in college interning here. I’ve worked every job from mailroom to reception. I was brought into meetings with my parents to observe them in action.
Despite their best efforts to teach me financial advising and the brokerage side of the business, I never acquired a taste for either. Stockbrokers are intense, and I’d rather spend people’s money than manage it. Although the gifting profession sounds easy, it takes a knack for reading people. What will have their heart racing with excitement not only to give a great present, but they seek the reward for the thought. I have to stay two steps ahead of popular gifts and know what’s the next hot item.
My parents have tried to understand what I’m trying to create, but other than hiring me to sort out their corporate holiday gifts, they lose sight of the potential.
Taking a deep breath, I psych myself up for the sales pitch of a lifetime and then knock. From the other side of the door, my father calls, “Come in.”
Entering his office has never intimidated me until now. “Hi, Dad.”
“Natalie.” He only glances up for a split second before he returns to analyze something on the computer monitor that has his face all twisted. “Have a seat and I’ll be right with you.”
Mom comes in before I sit down. Hugging me, she asks, “How are you, honey?”
“I’m good. Really good.” I want to sing Nick Christiansen’s praises, but my parents are the last people who should hear about my sexual exploits. Though they might be interested in hearing about what a gentleman he is and that he’s a lawyer. Parents love lawyers for their children, especially if one of said children has no aspirations of becoming one.
“That’s good to hear.” My mom sits next to me. “Let’s talk.”
With that phrase out there, I barely have time to set down my bag. My dad turns away from the screen to look at me. “It seems the loan was calculated at the correct rate and should last you through the end of the term. Which, of course, is the end of November.”
Covering my hand on the arm of the chair, my mom adds, “We know how hard you’ve worked on STJ, even with the heavy course load you were taking your senior year. We can see how it could turn into an exciting revenue stream. It utilizes your creativity, craftiness, and people skills. I can speak for both your father and I when I say that we do hope to have you join our team one day. But you’re allowed to pursue your own dreams, which you’re doing.”
A glance from my mother to my father is the equivalent of a tag in the ring to take over. Without missing a beat, he folds his fingers together on the desk in front of him. “I can see you came prepared, Natalie, and I’ve already read over the email you sent. Not to discount the fact that you’re here to defend your plans, but we support you.”
Still sitting with my back stiff as a board, I nod. “Thank you. That’s very much appreciated.”
He continues, “Most businesses take twelve to twenty-four months to turn a profit.” He clicks something on the keyboard and then squints at the monitor again. “You broke even the past three months. With two of the biggest gift-giving months ahead, we think it would be foolish to pull the plug right now.” I have worked so damn hard, and I’d almost wondered if they weren’t proud of me. But this endorsement goes a long way to heal that pain.
I try not to let my hopes get ahead of reality, but excitement ignites inside me. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” my mom starts, “we’ll extend the loan for another year.”
“Really?” I mentally pack the pie charts and the line graphs I’d memorized away.
My dad replies, “Yes, but there are conditions because a floundering company is not a good investment. Blow it out of the water.” I wait for more, assuming the agreement will be the same as before. “Get in the black and stay flush in cash. Also, you must pay back ten percent of the loan by the end of the term. You go into default if you miss one of the quarterly payments. Don’t miss one, okay?”
“I won’t. I promise.” I finally relax back in the chair, holding tight to the slim portfolio I bought to carry my color-coded reports. I hadn’t run over the figures with my accountant to be 100% sure I am in the black, but to hear such endorsement from my parents blows me away. I can do this. They believe in me. “Thank you for the extension. I’ll make you proud. Can we go over my projections together? I’d like you to see where I think STJ is heading.”
Standing, my mother heads for the door. “I can’t look at them right now. Some investors from out of town have flown in to meet with us this week. We need to prepare for them.” With the door in hand, she adds, “Honestly, Natalie, put your energy into your company, and don’t worry about us. You’re making sound business decisions.”
“Thanks, Mom, I appreciate you saying that.” The door closes behind her, and my dad asks, “I think that went well. You?”
“Better than well.” I get up and move around the desk. When we hug, I spy his monitor. Jolting upright, I ask, “Solitaire? I thought you had my account up on the screen.”
He shrugs. “Sometimes I play to take off some stress.”
I laugh and then grab my leather portfolio. “I really do appreciate you both supporting this dream.”
“We support you. I have a call now, so if you’ll excuse me.”
“Yeah, no worries. Thank you and love you.”
Slipping out of the office, I do a quick fist pump, then leave before they change their minds. I pass reception and then wait for the elevator to arrive. It’s such a production to get out of here, and I start to lose patience. I just want to call Tatum and share the good news, but I wait to tell her until I’m outside the building where I’m allowed to squeal with glee without embarrassing myself or family.
When I enter the lobby, I head for the revolving door and spin into it. I only take two steps forward before I’m enclosed in the pie-shape space, and it comes to an abrupt halt. I put my hands flat against the glass and push again. When I’m met with resistance, I shove the side of my arm and hip to the unyielding door. And then again, even harder.
Crap, I’m trapped.
A knock on the glass has me looking up to see a familiar face in the opposite compartment as me. Excitedly, I lift onto my tippy-toes as if I can kiss that smirk off his face. “What are you doing here, Nick?”
He points at the door in front of him and mimes for me to watch out. I’m not sure I have much of an option but to stand still and hope he can dislodge it, so we don’t spend the rest of his time in New York trapped in a glass box staring at each other.
Setting his hands against the brass bar, he leans into it and then I see him angle down and shove really hard. It doesn’t budge. He catches me watching out of the corners of his eyes and seems to find a new motivation to give it another try. This time, he puts a shoulder into it while looking right at me and slams against it. The momentum has him stumbling forward into the lobby just as the door behind me slams into my ass, sending me flying outside.
Despite my classic and gorgeous black Chanel “too high to run in” heels, I catch my balance within an inch of my life just as Nick grabs my middle. Phew!
I tap his chest and tease, “Your timing was off, Counselor.”
He chuckles. “I guess my glory days of catching women now lie in the past.”
My breathing is still a little off-kilter, but I don’t care. I’ll sacrifice the air I need to get another kiss from this man. I lift and kiss him with no concern for PDA in broad daylight on a Monday.
When our lips part, I reach up and rub the lipstick that transferred to his lips, and say, “What a nice surprise.”
“You’re telling me.” Still holding me with no regard to anyone passing us on the street, he caresses my cheek and kisses me again.
He makes me feel like more than someone he met at a bar once. He makes me feel like we have a history worth building upon, as though I’ve made his life special, and I’m a great catch—not just physically—but for a relationship. I could wipe that lipstick that lingers near the corner of his mouth, but I have a feeling he doesn’t mind the marking.
Without the words being said, I know I’ve found someone who makes my life special as well. At least until he leaves tomorrow. But we’ll worry about that when the time comes.
Stepping back before I maul the man, marking him with hickeys and more red lipstick kisses, I ask, “What are you doing here?”
“I have a meeting.”
How ironic. Until I remember there are dozens of companies stashed throughout the building. “Are you busy tonight? I have some celebrating to do, and I hope you’ll be there, too.”
“I have no plans but you. You’re at the top of my to-do list if you know what I mean.”
“I do and can’t wait for you to tackle that task later. Since you have my number now, don’t be afraid to use it.”
He kisses my cheek, then reluctantly takes a step back. “I won’t.” Backing away, he adds, “Sorry, I have to go. I can’t be late for my meeting.”
I wave him off. “Don’t worry about me. Go.”
“See you tonight, Ms. St. James.”
“Can’t wait, Mr. Christiansen.”
Giving me a little wink, he then turns and dashes in the manual door, skipping the revolving door altogether and leaving me standing here like a schoolgirl with a new boyfriend.
Maybe I should keep my guard up and not let him so far into my heart. But judging by how I’m floating on top of the world, is it too late to save me now?