Chapter 19
Nathan
O ur eyes widen in tandem as the next voicemail plays on speaker.
I hope by eleven o’clock at night, Spencer’s young sister, Charlie, is fast asleep in her room, because the profanities are not only aggressive, but creative.
There’s a lot of background noise, things zipping and slamming, like someone is angrily packing bags.
But this message isn’t a tenant complaining.
The woman on the voicemail mistakenly dialed the number, evidently ignored the outgoing message, and proceeded to deliver a detailed, verbal dissertation on exactly how she’s going to dismember her cheating boyfriend.
Spencer clasps her hand over her mouth when the mystery lady gets to the part about dipping her—I’m assuming now ex -boyfriend’s penis in lye. “I feel like we should check on D’Anthony.”
“When was the message left?”
She squints one eye, as if doing quick calendar math. “About three weeks ago?”
“Oh, it’s way too late for D’Anthony. He’s gone now.” It’s a joke. The woman sounded far too drunk to be dangerous to anyone but herself. “But save that voice message, in case we get subpoenaed in a cold case.”
Spencer’s laugh dissolves into a wide yawn. She does her best to cover it, but her eyes are watering, her shoulders slumping. Poor girl is exhausted.
“You’re tired. I should go.”
“I’m okay. I’m down for a few more.” She nods toward the laptop where her clever spreadsheet is pulled up. “Mark that one down as profanity level ten.”
“I don’t think my legal team will need that message for anything.
” I nudge her shoulder with mine. She sways, then knocks right back into me.
Side by side, sitting on her stiff sofa that feels like hospital furniture, Spencer and I are glued together.
Ever since I crossed the line of tickle torture, we’ve made no apologies for touching each other—her hand on my leg, mine on her back.
She smoothed my eyebrow, and I answered by tucking her long, dark hair behind her ear.
The touches are innocent, and hesitant, like we’re trying to navigate this new intimacy between us.
When Spencer tries and fails to cover another giant yawn, I tap the tip of her nose. “Bedtime, miss.”
“Awfully forward of you, Mr. Hatcher. But okay.” She bats her eyelashes. I can’t tell if she’s teasing, or she actually wants me to take her into the bedroom and fold her like a lawn chair.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” I caution.
She answers by making a finger gun, holding the tip of her pointer finger to her lips, and blowing out the pretend smoke.
Fuck, why is that so sexy? Everything she’s done tonight has me fighting a hard-on.
The crazy part is she’s so completely unaware of the lure of her body, she’d probably believe me if I told her I wasn’t stealing glances at her full tits all night.
It’s not my fault. Her little spaghetti-strap, deep-V camisole is practically serving them up on a platter, begging me to partake.
So why haven’t I?
Because the minute Spencer showed me the spreadsheet in front of me, I realized she’s so fucking smart, and a rare Gen-Z unicorn who actually has a strong work ethic. I may want her help more than I want to get between her thighs. Though, at the moment, those are fiercely competing desires.
“Who are you calling?” Spencer glances warily between me and my phone.
“My driver. He’s been sitting in the parking lot for over three hours.”
Spencer drops her jaw in shock, but he’s fine. I ordered him food at Lucky Buddha. Knowing Byron, he’s fallen asleep in the driver’s seat with a full belly and an audiobook in the background. I pay this man generously to nap.
“You have a driver who follows you around and just waits on you wherever you go?”
“Yes.”
“When you come to work every day, he just hangs around until you need a ride?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s his whole job?”
I shrug. “Pretty much.”
She rubs her thumb against her bottom lip and smiles like a light bulb just went off in her head. “How much does that pay?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m thinking I should’ve applied for that job. It would’ve been much more straightforward and far less face time with you.”
“Did we not learn our lesson earlier when I tickled you so hard you were squealing like your guinea pig?” I make a claw and she curls herself up into the fetal position, anticipating more torture.
Instead, I hover over her, lingering a moment too long before I step past her.
Covering her eyes like the words are difficult to speak, she asks, “Why are you in such a hurry to leave? I’m having a good time.
Aren’t you?” There’s a twinge of nervousness in her voice.
I hate to admit it, but I like it. The way she averts her gaze when I look straight into her eyes.
How she flinches at my touch before relaxing.
I like the idea that she’s as affected by me as I am by her. I just have a better poker face.
“I’m enjoying your company a lot, which is why I have to go. Any longer and I’m going to tear those silk pajamas right off your body, throw you on the bed, and fuck you in every position imaginable. So, it’s best I go now.”
“Okay,” she answers softly. Her voice is steady, but her eyes betray her. They are the size of saucers at my admission of attraction. It baffles me that she’s surprised I want her. Can’t she see I’m constantly on the brink of losing control almost every time I’m around her?
A little horrified at my confession, I suck in my lips and head toward the door, but Spencer stops me. Arm like a whip, she grabs my hand before I’m out of reach. “No, I meant okay to the…positions and such.”
I squeeze her fingers twice before dropping her hand.
“Spencer, if you want me that bad, I don’t get it.
Why’d you run out on me the night we met?
What changed? Considering you call me bosshole, getting to know me surely didn’t help the matter.
” I was getting close to crossing that line with her when we met.
There was a part of me that was angry when she so quickly pulled me out of the shell I’d been hiding in for years, only to abandon me.
She points over my shoulder to the door, indicating I should leave.
“All right, I’ll go,” I say with a defeated shrug. This conversation is giving me whiplash.
“No, I’m pointing down the hallway.” She angles her finger more so she’s clearly pointing at the middle of a bedroom door. “ My sister is why I left that night.”
“What?”
“Remember the singer on stage when I left?”
“The little girl with pipes like Céline Dion?”
Spencer juts her outstretched finger toward the door again. “That’s Charlie.”
“Sister?” I hold out my hand at hip level. “The little blonde singer, yay high.”
“I don’t like using the term half sisters,” Spencer explains. “When Charlie was little and people would say that, she thought it meant I only loved her half as much as a normal sister. So, we don’t say that. But to clarify, we have different dads, and we’re twelve years apart.”
“You’re raising her by yourself?” I’m shocked I didn’t know all this, but then again, she never offered and I never asked.
Spencer nods sullenly. “I’m trying.”
“What does that mean?” I grab the knit blanket thrown over the sofa chair and drape it over Spencer before sitting back down next to her.
“I’ve had Charlie on my own since I was eighteen. Most days it feels like a blind-leading-the-blind type situation.” She cuddles deeper under the blanket, exhaustion sweeping over her.
“Just the two of you guys, huh?”
“Well, there was Jesse for a couple years. Charlie’s still angry at me for that one.” She covers her mouth, shielding yet another huge yawn.
I scoot over to the far side of the couch and hold my knees together to create space for Spencer to use me as a pillow. Pulling on her shoulder, I guide her to rest her head in my lap. She lets out a low hum of satisfaction when I stroke her hair. “Who is Jesse?”
“My ex-fiancé.”
“Engaged so young?” I pull up the blanket to cover her bare shoulder, then go back to playing with her thick hair that sends a burst of sweet strawberries into the air every time she shifts positions.
“I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I was going to marry that man and I’m still not sure if I really loved him. I mean, I cared about him a lot and we had plenty of good times together. In hindsight, I think I wanted to marry Jesse more for Charlie than myself.”
“They got along well?”
“I think he just accepted us for what we were. Most guys my age were put off by the idea of staying in on Friday nights and playing board games. Or the fact I don’t drink much because I have to keep a clear head for emergencies.
They didn’t like that I always had this little shadow with me wherever I went.
But Jesse was older. He understood the life I was living. ”
“How much older?” I rarely consider the age difference between Spencer and me because she’s so grounded and well-spoken. But the truth is, I own bottles of scotch that are older than she is.
“Quite a bit older. I met him when I was twenty. He was twenty-six.”
Six years? Our age difference is almost twice that. “Why did it end?”
“My goodness. What’s with the third degree?”
“You said at the restaurant last week that I didn’t know anything about you or your life. I’m trying to remedy that.” It bothered me to my core when Spencer told me off. Because it was damn true. I’d made so many assumptions about her and they’ve all turned out to be wrong.
“Oh my God, Nathan,” Spencer says so loudly, she’s practically shouting. She sits up, the blanket falling into her lap. “I can’t believe you’re taking me and Charlie to Disney World tomorrow on the private jet!”
I look at her like she’s lost her marbles. I mean, I guess I could do that, but that was a very un-Spencer-like way to ask. “Um, I?—”