Chapter 24
Spencer
O h shit. I look around Nathan’s office, filled with regret. The bubblegum-pink wallpaper is so bright, it’s giving me a slight headache.
I arrived at the office this morning to examine the remodel.
Nathan said there was no budget, so I hired one of Vegas’s most prominent interior designers and offered her a rush fee.
I told Lynette I wanted Nathan’s office to look like Barbie and Tinkerbell had a baby girl and this was her nursery if they had the budget of a Kardashian.
I thought she’d realize it was a joke. Or maybe, I’ve been so angry…
Was I hoping my retaliatory prank would make a big impression?
Either way, looking at it now, I fear I went too far.
The entire office looks like a replica of the Flamingo Las Vegas, and much to my dismay, I’m counting at least six different shades of pink.
Charlie would love this space. This is a dream office for an eleven-year-old girl who still secretly watches reruns of Hannah Montana , even though she swears she’s too cool now.
She has no idea I can see her YouTube watch history through parental controls.
But while this is a perfect office for a preteen, it’s wildly inappropriate for a grown man and real estate professional running a billion-dollar business.
Oh my God. I tent my hands over my mouth and nose as the panic sets in.
He’s going to kill me. This is borderline gross misconduct.
This could be seen as a waste of financial resources, intentional insubordination… even vandalism.
My advance just hit my bank account this morning.
The trial period is over and I was supposed to walk into work today finally able to breathe easy.
Why would I risk this? Nathan’s so unpredictable, there’s a good chance he’ll get rid of me over this.
I’m easily replaceable. All he’d have to do is put up an Indeed listing: Unbelievably sexy, broody, billionaire boss seeking a docile assistant that causes him no stress and doesn’t throw adult temper tantrums when he admits he doesn’t want to date her.
If he posted it now, that position would be filled by lunchtime.
I really, really fucked up. Maybe there’s still time to fix it, though.
The new pink, crushed-velvet furniture can easily be replaced by the plain black leather sofas.
The sheer pink curtains can come down. There’s nothing I can do about the wallpaper, but I can at least take this faux-fur pink rug out of here before Nathan arrives?—
“ What the fuck ?”
Oh, no. Too late. I don’t even have to spin around to gauge my boss’s response. His words lash out like a whip, tension-ridden and full of anger. I can already see his furrowed brows, burning glare, and balled-up fists before I turn around.
“Um, what do you think?” I ask, shriveling in place.
I wore my best office dress this morning, the black one with cap sleeves, a sharp collar, and the waist belt with a golden buckle.
I even paired it with my black, closed-toe Jimmie Joos—the most expensive knock-off brand I can afford.
I wanted to feel powerful and confident this Monday morning, but lo and behold, I’ve never felt more defenseless, like I just entered a lion’s cage naked, with two thick ribeyes strapped to my stomach.
“You did this?” When I finally spin to face him, his expression is somewhat unreadable. He’s not happy—clearly. But I’m not finding any signs of an impending explosion.
“Well, in a way. I did say feminine-forward, but this is more pink than I could’ve ever imagined. There are some tweaks we can make. I’ll call the designer right now and?—”
“It’s fine, Spencer. It’s…colorful.” Nathan takes a few more steps into his office, observing all the intricate details, like the pink flamingo statue by the sitting area, his new blush-colored executive chair, and the fuzzy magenta throw pillows sitting on the sofa.
“You’re not mad?” Now pure confusion is my dominating emotion. Why isn’t he yelling?
“No.” He looks like he’s about to choke on his clipped, one-word answers.
Assuaged by his obvious effort to maintain calm in a disastrous situation, I actually feel bad about my behavior. “I can make any changes you like,” I say. “I think the rug is a little too much.”
Nathan nods. “Let me stew on it.”
“So you’re going to work here today?” I still can’t hide the surprise painted all over my face.
He presses his lips together so hard they lose color. They smack when he opens them again. “This is my office,” he answers. “Also, Spike rolled himself to the elevator bay. You should grab him before he accidentally ends up in the lobby.”
Even more curious. He called Spike by his name, and not “gross rat” or “chubby rodent.” He seems to do better when Spike is in his gerbil ball. Perhaps he feels safer with the sphere of plastic protection.
“Right. Well, I’ll go get him, then.”
“Fine.”
I waltz right past him, but his footsteps thud behind me.
As soon as I reach the exit, he grabs my wrist and pulls me to the right of the see-through glass doors, out of view of passersby.
Suddenly my back is against the wall as Nathan makes a barrier with his hands planted on each side of my head.
I’d have to duck under his muscular arms to flee.
“Do you feel better?” He leans closer, a dangerous look in his eyes. “Is this what it takes?”
I’m suddenly breathing in gasps. My head goes fuzzy with his lips this close and his tantalizing smell surrounding us. “What?”
“Are we even now?”
“I don’t understand.”
“If you’re pulling a stunt like this, it’s because you’re angry. Go ahead and take it out on me, Spencer. I can handle it. But I need to know at the end of this, when you’re done acting out, you’ll come back to me.”
His words break the haze and only infuriate me further.
I push against his hard chest, savoring the split second where my hands were on his body.
Where they should be. Where we could’ve been had he not tossed me aside like a dirty dish rag.
I don’t push him hard enough to move him, but he backpedals, understanding my request for space.
“You can’t go back to something you never had. Quite frankly, Nathan, I’m sick of being played hot and cold. I don’t know what you want, I just know it’s not me. Leave me alone and let me do my job in peace.”
“Then why are you still here? If you’re so done with me, why haven’t you quit?”
“Quit the job that gave me a car, home, health and dental insurance, and a year’s salary up front? Use your common sense. Not all of us have a bank vault like Scrooge McDuck’s. If you think I’m still here to get your attention, your ego is steering you wrong.”
There’s unmistakable hurt in his eyes. “Spencer, I’m really sorry.” He folds his arms over his chest, but it doesn’t look authoritative like it normally does. It looks more defensive than anything. “I meant what I said. I wanted to take you out but…”
“But what?” I’ve been craving this answer for over a week now.
Nathan obliterated my feelings when he went cold and put an end to our brief entanglement.
All I can think of is he spent the night, held me, touched me—even if it were only PG.
Then the next day he wanted nothing to do with me.
He got a taste, and realized he didn’t want me after all. There’s no other plausible explanation.
“I’m sorting out some stuff. Can you give me some time?”
Is this because of Elise? I want to believe him.
I really do. The way his eyes look soft and light today, more blue than green.
There’s heavy drops of sadness in them, and I’m dying to know why.
But I also know how this ends. I’m tired of trying to see past his concrete-hard exterior. I don’t have time for these games.
“You can have all the time you need, because whatever you’re sorting out has nothing to do with me.
Let’s keep it professional, like you requested.
” Shaking my head and forcing out a sharp exhale, I fight off the glimmer of hope.
I’m sure whatever excuses Nathan has in his arsenal would probably have me weak-kneed and ready to forgive him.
Which is exactly why I don’t want to hear them.
“Fine,” he murmurs.
“Fine,” I parrot back.
I walk purposefully to the elevator to retrieve my lost guinea pig. I find him ramming himself into the elevator doors over and over, like a Roomba that’s malfunctioning.
“Spike, you goofball,” I say, scooping him up. I look into his little black eyes and he settles down, finding my gaze. “You do recognize your name, don’t you? You’re smarter than most people think.”
He sniffs the air, lifting his head and showing me a peek of his overbite and his pouty bottom lip. “So what’s your opinion?” I ask quietly as we make our way back to my desk. “Was I too hard on him?”
Arms secured around the plastic ball, I clamp my lids shut briefly, trying to shake off my feelings of guilt. It’s not my fault. I didn’t start all this. So how come when I close my eyes, all I can see is the cloudy look of sorrow on Nathan’s face?
And why do I feel responsible?