Chapter 14 #2
“What’re you doing?” I ask as he removes the blue lid from the Tupperware holding the remaining egg rolls. There’s only a couple left. I wanted to bring them home to Charlie.
“These were my favorite. Everything was superb tonight, but these were…” He blows out a deep breath, seemingly unable to come up with an adequate description. “Did you try them?”
I shake my head before nodding to my protein drink on the far counter. The flavor is awful. Leave it to Protein Milk Extreme to ruin vanilla cupcakes. “I’m dieting.”
He scrunches his face in a mixture of disdain and confusion. Yet, at the same time his eyes sweep over me in a way that makes heat radiate across my skin.
“Why?”
I match his befuddled expression. “Usually people diet to lose weight.”
“Yes, believe it or not, I’m aware of that, Spencer.
I’m asking why you feel the need to lose weight?
” There’s something hazy and warm in his eyes—like they’ve feasted, and they’re satisfied.
It makes me feel suddenly self-conscious but also…
seen . When’s the last time a man has looked at me like this ?
Hovering my hands over my body from my shoulders to my knees is my only response.
“It’s confusing to me,” he mumbles as he removes the lids from a smaller container filled with the mustard dipping sauce.
“What is?”
“You’re so clever and intelligent. Yet you don’t see what everybody else does.
” He dunks the egg roll into the sauce and crosses the kitchen with purpose.
Cupping his hand underneath the coated end, he holds the egg roll to my mouth.
“One bite won’t ruin your diet.” His eyes lock with mine, at first. Then they fall back down to my lips.
“No, thanks.”
“Spencer. It’s life-changing.” He flashes me a wicked grin that’s lined with flirtatious energy, jolting straight to my core.
“No,” I repeat, scrunching my toes to try to keep myself steady. He’s too damn close. I’m going to lose it. The way he smells…the way he’s looking at me… All I can think about is what his lips taste like.
“Your boss is giving you an order,” he says in a low tone that pulls me from my haze.
“How about one task at a time, hm? I’m still finishing the last order my boss gave me.”
“Try. It.” He pokes me with the egg roll, smearing sauce all over my top lip. “Boop.”
I inhale slowly, then exhale even slower, trying to exercise some gentle parenting techniques.
I don’t shout at him. I don’t deck him in the face.
“You’re not tipsy, you’re drunk, aren’t you?
” I accuse, before chomping down on the egg roll just to get him off my back.
I tried to accidentally nip his finger, but the jerk is too fast.
He basically force-fed me, but damn does real food feel good.
I chew, savoring the medley of flavors in my mouth.
I’m so distracted by the relief of real food in my mouth, I’m completely caught off-guard when Nathan swipes a finger over my top lip, clearing the sauce.
He pops the finger into his mouth, releasing a soft, rumbly moan.
“See? So good.” Nathan’s wearing a smug smirk as he watches my jaw sweeping the floor. What the hell is he playing at?
He continues nonchalantly, “I’m not normally a fan of fusion food, but this is something else. And here I always thought a Cuban sandwich was made with ham.”
I want to take the rest of the egg roll from his hand and shove it down my throat, whole.
My stomach churns in misery, begging for more solid sustenance before I go back to restricting myself to liquid protein.
I also secretly want to bathe in this sauce and see what else he’s tempted to sample.
More than anything, I hate how he has this hold over me.
Hate it. I want to be as impervious to Nathan as I am to any other man because logic tells me not to want what I can’t have. It’ll end in heartbreak.
I quickly redirect the conversation. “My dad would make them with mojo-brined roasted pork and ham. You need both for a real Cubano. He’d hate this sauce, though. Plain mustard only.”
“You’re Cuban?”
“A quarter. My dad was black and Cuban.”
“Was?” Nathan asks softly. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, no, he’s alive…I think. I don’t know. He left us when I was little and”—I pop my shoulders—“he just never looked back.”
“And your mom?”
I pause for a moment, feeling the sudden weight of the conversation. “My mom was fair-skinned, with platinum-blonde hair and light blue eyes. She was my dad’s polar opposite. She died five years ago.”
“Oh.” He doesn’t say “sorry” again. Instead, we make our peace with the uncomfortable silence.
What could he possibly say? An apology never fixes it.
All the empathy in the world doesn’t bring her back.
But I appreciate the torn expression he’s wearing.
It’s probably in my head, but I get the feeling he’d like to embrace me.
Except that reminds me, I’m not the woman he’s interested in taking home tonight.
“Should you get back to Shaylin?” Dammit. The question comes out with an edge of jealousy I’ve been keeping locked down.
“I ordered her a car and sent her home,” Nathan answers, plainly.
My whole body relaxes at the surprisingly good news. “But I thought…”
“It was a business dinner. We talked business, now it’s over.”
I could make a comment about how their cuddling didn’t look like just business but I don’t want to ruin this moment. He’s actually acting human, and I don’t know how long we have until he turns back into a toad.
“Want some help with the dishes?” Nathan reaches for my sponge, his fingers brushing mine for a beat longer than necessary. The brief contact sends a flutter through my chest.
“Very nice of you to offer.” My smile grows, heat rising to my face as I notice his gaze dropping south of my lips.
It’s an obvious invitation, right? “What do you want in exchange?” I mean it to be a little flirty.
I keep playing hopscotch with this line of hate and longing, my body refusing to align with my better judgment.
He deadpans, “For you to quit.”
I’m stunned into momentary silence. If it weren’t for the suddenly stone-like stare on his face, I’d think I misheard. “Excuse me?”
“I can’t fire you without risking a wrongful termination suit, which I think you’re clever enough to file. So, I’d like you to quit.”
“Why?”
He tilts his head ever so slightly. “Spencer, come on. We’re not going to work well together.
Why do you need such a serious job, anyway?
I looked at your employment file—you’re twenty-three.
Still a baby. You’re in Las Vegas. Bartend at a cool club, or deal blackjack or something.
Party every night. You have plenty of time to grow up.
Office jobs aren’t going anywhere. Be a kid while you can, you know? ”
That word again. My heart is now racing for an entirely different reason. I snatch the sponge out of his hand in a dramatic show of rejecting his help. “You have a gift, Nathan.”
His deep blue-green eyes look dark and sleepy. Maybe from the travel, followed by a long night. Or, maybe it’s the booze. The smell of him—the one I crave—is currently overpowered by something sweet and sharp, like sugary gasoline.
“What do you mean, a gift?” he asks.
“Everything that comes out of your mouth is accidentally insulting.” Clamping my eyes closed, I shake my head. “You lie like it’s your native tongue. You’re a jerk without even trying. It’s impressive, really.”
A small smirk starts on his face but quickly dissipates when he sees I’m not joking. “I was only trying to say?—”
“You don’t know anything about me or my life, which is fine.
I don’t want to share a single part of me with you.
But I am a great assistant. I’m sorry you don’t want me here.
Too bad for you, I’m not going to roll over and die just because you asked me to.
” Oh no. I have to leave right now before the tears start.
They’re more out of frustration and fatigue than anything else, but Nathan can’t see me cry.
I yank off my apron and chuck it to the side of the counter, the movement causing me to brush against him. Just that little touch, and my clothes are on fire.
“I’m going to the restroom, then I’ll finish cleaning up the kitchen.” I pause to give him an opening to apologize, or maybe even just explain. I would happily settle for an explanation as to why this jackass is so put off by me.
But no. He stays quiet. There’s remorse on his face, but nothing else comes out of his mouth. His eyes tell a different story, dark with something that looks dangerously like desire swimming in his frustration. Maybe he’s as fed up with our situation as I am.
“Please don’t be here when I get back.”
I barrel through the doors, and my tears start to pour, my body still humming from the conflicting feelings. Every time this man seems in reach…
He slips away.