Chapter 10 – Nicole
Damn you, low-carb palates queen. I picked my way over the frozen sidewalk after stumbling out of the luxury rideshare my sister ordered. Maybe the spiked eggnog was not so great an idea. But I only guzzled the second glass after Miss Prim and Proper refused the high-fat, sugary divinity.
Amanda strode confidently to the front door, bouquet of flowers in hand. I thought my tray of cookies was a far more charming, thoughtful gift. Something we’d argued about all afternoon.
She sighed as she saw the tray I was balancing. “Sorry, I rode your ass about those.”
I saluted her with the cookies. “What the hell was the point of having an older sister if bickering isn’t part of the fun?”
Amanda smirked. “I’ve missed your tiny ass. So…no plans to return abroad?”
I hiccupped. Oh, shit.
Amanda arched a perfectly manicured brow at me, and I gave her a blistering smile. “I’m State-bound for now.”
“Because you have a new job lined up?” she hinted.
I lifted my gaze to the cloudy sky in supplication. The light pollution gloomily stared back at me. The last forty-eight hours had been one long, roundabout conversation during which my sister tried to fix me, and I avoided it all.
To make matters worse, there’d been no break-in on Friday night. Now that it was Saturday evening, I had little hope for a midnight tryst.
“Let’s just go inside and have a nice night, okay?” I pleaded.
“That’s the spirit.” Amanda pumped the air. “And here you didn’t wanna come.”
“Oh, I still don’t,” I muttered as the front door opened and Mrs. Jefferson squealed in delight.
I’m here to support my high-achieving sister.
On cue, Amanda plastered on her professional facade—not very different from her day-to-day look—and began tackling the room full of Boston’s elites.
She was on the hunt for executives to convince to become clients for her firm.
While she wasn’t even a partner, she hoped that bringing in even a few high-end clients would help set her apart from the other associates.
Always working.
I looked at the beautifully frosted sugar cookies. The ones that were painted with sugar, I did too. In my own way.
When the hell was the last time I touched a brush to canvas, though….
“Oh, what are those?” Mrs. Jefferson turned to me, faux-kissing my cheeks to hide her grimace.
“Cookies,” I deadpanned as if it wasn’t obvious.
“How nice.” Her teeth audibly clanked as she forced a smile.
“You baked,” Donny the Third chirped, coming up behind his mother.
For once, I was happy to see the glittering golden boy.
“I did.” I shoved them in his face. “I thought they were more thoughtful than flowers.”
Mrs. Jefferson sniffed and clutched the bouquet from my sister close to her chest.
“They are.” Donny sounded sincere. “I’ll have one of the staff take them around the party.”
Mrs. Jefferson looked as though she would faint, but a hard look from her son shut the old biddy’s trap.
I needed a drink.
Handing my coat to the maid, I trudged after my ambitious sister, who was already chatting up a group of men in expensive suits. Their conversation immediately bored me. Who cared about the stock numbers? That was worse than gambling in my humble opinion.
When a tuxedo walked by, I resisted the urge to holler at the penguin and instead trotted after him to snag a holiday cocktail. It was rimmed with colorful sugar and tasted like a Christmas tree.
Sucking down the iced liquid, I disappeared to the back of the room.
Back here, I could safely support my sister without getting in her way.
I knew these people. They were the same adults who’d sent their children to Thilton Preparatory School.
They had shining careers, and their children were in the process of succeeding them in those fields or other acceptable ventures.
Then there was me.
The unemployed artist.
I would be broke, singing for my supper, if it wasn’t for the trust fund paying my credit card bills. A long sigh whistled from between my lips. I almost wished I was penniless. That would give me the drive I needed to sell my art, instead of curating it for other people.
“Why the long face?” Donny gave me a pout as he invaded the corner of the room where I’d been hiding, partially concealed behind a potted plant.
“Is it that obvious?” I tipped back the drink, and the ice banged against my teeth. Empty. Shit. Where was the penguin with the booze?
“Well, I have something that will cheer you up.” Donny waggled his brows.
I hated when men did that. “If it’s not offering me something to eat or drink, I doubt it will help.”
“Here.” Donny handed me his amber-filled tumbler.
I grimaced. Was I tipsy enough to sip straight booze? No…. But fuck it, I was desperate.
The smoky liquid burned as it slid down my throat. A warm buzz settled in my chest, and I sighed contentedly. I swirled the rest in the bottom of the glass.
“What were you saying, Donald?” I turned my attention to the crisp gentleman—and nearly choked on my tongue.
Standing in a black dress shirt without a suit jacket or tie, tattoos peeking out from the rolled up sleeves and neckline, was someone who did not belong to this scene.
The muscles strained against the material, and my panties were instantly warm as I resisted the urge to run my fingers over the shirt.
I knew that body. The other night I’d tied it up and rubbed against it.
“I wanted you to meet the champion from the other night.” Donny beamed. “This is Cristiano Messina.”
“What are you doing here?” I blurted out.
Double shit. I needed to stop drinking before my filter became non-existent.
The laughter in those dark chocolate eyes told me the monster knew exactly what I was feeling, and he was probably having a good laugh at my expense.
“I mean….” I gulped. “Your mother approved?”
I rounded on Donny, tearing my gaze from those bottomless dark pools.
“Oh, that’s the best part. She doesn’t know.” Donny laughed, clueing me in like it was some joke. “And when she flips, I’ll point out that as an investor, it’s my job to make sure Messina makes a splash when he turns pro.”
“You’re turning pro.” I spun back around, staring hard at the specter in black.
His voice was smoke and midnight. “I am. Happy for me, Nicky?”
That was his dream. As a kid, he obsessed about boxers, always playing clips on the VHS when he wasn’t hitting the bag in his garage.
It was part of why I loved fighting, back in the days before the UFC was mainstream.
Now, while I watched traditional boxing, I preferred mixed martial arts.
Since Cristiano fought that style, I assumed he had also made the genre switch.
I suddenly wished we were alone. I wanted to pepper him with questions. Fill in the blank space that the years apart had created.
Without meaning to, I stepped closer to him.
“Is that for me?” The fighter tipped his chin down to my glass.
The one I was stupidly holding in front of me like a weapon. Or a shield. Probably both.
“If you want it,” I said lamely.
That mouth that had worshiped my body twitched in the smallest of smirks.
Cristiano took the scotch from my fingers.
The slight brush sent a zap of electricity straight through my veins.
I dropped my hand, wiping it against my too-tight skirt.
Lifting the tumbler, the monster twisted it to the part that had a dark red smudge, drinking from where I drank. My burgundy lipstick stained his lips.
My inhale caught in my throat.
Shaking myself, I took a healthy step backward, praying Donny hadn’t sensed whatever that weird chemical explosion was.
“Pretty boy’s over there,” Cristiano growled.
Heat flamed over my cheeks. “Good. He’s obnoxious.”
Throwing back his head, the monster let out a booming laugh. “You haven’t changed a bit, Nicky.”
I scrubbed my hands through my hair. “I don’t know whether that’s a compliment or a slap.”
Cristiano reached out and ran his knuckles down the lace of my sleeve. “We discussed my career goals. What about you?”
The term angel felt implied, I waited breathlessly for it, but it never came.
Doubt trickled through me. Maybe our connection was only physical. He didn’t want to admit he was my midnight monster, so that he wasn’t committed to anything more than the physical, carnal desire.
Or maybe he doesn’t want to admit it, so we can keep playing this game.
I wished I could read his mind.
I shrugged. “I’m looking for work.”
“You decorated the cookies.”
I pinned the monster with a look, to which he added nonchalantly, “Donald showed me in the kitchen as the waiter loaded them on a tray. Very proud of your baking, that one is.”
Oh, so he was pretending he didn’t know firsthand how they tasted.
“Did you try them?” I countered.
That sinful smirk played on his lips. “Delicious. Compliments to the chef.”
“I’m not a chef.” I huffed a laugh. “But painting them was a creative outlet.”
Donny chose that moment to reappear with another round of drinks. “I tried to snag some of your cookies, but they’re gone! The waiter said there were multiple guests asking who the baker was. I think you’re a hit, Nicole.”
My fingers shook as I took the cocktail. “Thanks.”
That was unexpected praise. I could only imagine what my father and sister would say if I opened a bakery. It didn’t matter how bougie or high-end it was, that kind of work would be associated with blue-collar labor.
It was suddenly hard to breathe. The overwhelming sense of failure pushed through me.
Eggnog, cocktails, and…crap, I hadn’t really eaten lunch.
It was all churning in my stomach. While I was prepared to play the part to support my sister tonight, running into the object of my fantasy was throwing me off my game.
“You feeling okay?” Donny asked, stepping into my space.
The cocktail was plucked from my fingers. Cristiano shoved it in Donny’s face as he barked, “I’ll take her out back for some fresh air.”
Without a word of protest, a hard hand was splayed over my back, and I was guided through the crowded reception. The kitchen was equally cloying, but the moment we stepped into the brisk, winter air, I inhaled deeply.
“Thanks,” I gasped, sagging against the patio railing.
The door clanged shut. “Don’t mention it.”
Staring into the heavens, I let deep lungfuls of winter fill my chest. “I just feel so…aimless.”
The monster leaned against the railing beside me, crossed his arms, and watched me. “The Nicky I remember had dreams as big as the sky.”
“Yeah, well.” I lifted my arms and dropped them. “Some of us aren’t meant to soar.”
A low, rich growl vibrated his chest. “Maybe you just forgot how to use your wings.”
Angel. Say angel.
He didn’t.
We were just two strangers, passing in the night. It…hurt.
Sighing, I hugged my arms and turned slightly to face him. “Look at you, though. Local boy turned fighting legend.”
Cristiano snorted. “I have to win a title fight and then defend it to be called a legend.”
“You’ll do it, I know you will,” I insisted.
He held my gaze. Something hard, something raw, passed through those black eyes. “You always believed in me.”
I nodded. “I still do.”
“Well….” He reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. Bending, he murmured, “I believe in you.”
Angel. It was right there on the tip of his tongue. My heart fluttered with hope.
The back door banged open. “I have your coat and a water,” Donny called out.
Cristiano straightened.
“Thanks.” I swallowed hard. “I think I’m going to call a cab. I’m not feeling well.”
Ever the knight in shining armor, Donny rose to the occasion. “I’ll take you home.”
I snatched my coat, but I was too warm to wear it. “Thanks, but it’s your party. You can’t leave.”
“I’ll take her.” Cristiano’s voice brooked no argument.
Donny slid a glance between us. It was as if he were seeing us for the first time.
“No, you have sponsors to schmooze.” And I needed some peace and quiet to grapple with reality. “I’ll go. You two stay.”
At their combined protest, I lifted my hand. “Shoo, both of you.”
The golden boy cowed to my request.
The monster? His look promised that my dismissal would come with a heavy fine. For the first time since stepping outside, a shiver rattled through me. He hadn’t come last night, and I wondered if tonight was the night he’d break into my bedroom and make good on the promises he kept giving.
I followed them inside, slipping down the hall, and waiting by the front door for the rideshare. When the Tesla pulled up, I fled into the dark and gratefully slid into the warm interior.
“It is you, Miss!” the driver said merrily.
I blinked. “Eduardo! Oh, am I glad to see you.”
He frowned. “You didn’t see me on the app?”
I shook my head. “It’s been a night. I’m sorry. I didn’t notice. How have you been?”
“Oh, just fine, Miss,” he launched into a description of the toys he’d bought his grandchildren, thanking me profusely for the generous tip. “The stand mixer is wrapped and waiting for my wife!”
His joy was infectious. It felt good to know I was part of it.
That.
That was what I should be doing. Things that made me feel good. Nothing about tonight—with the exception of spending a few stolen moments with my monster—made me feel that way.
What did bring me happiness was knowing that my cookies were a hit. That each had been crafted with hard work, and then decorated with every ounce of creativity I possessed. It might not be canvas, but artists were nothing if not adaptable to new mediums.
I could do this. What had Cristiano said? Spread my wings and soar? I was his angel, after all.
And it was time to fly.
The storm clouds from being amongst successful, wealthy individuals parted, and by the time I pulled up at my father’s brownstone, I felt loads better.
“Thank you for the ride, Eduardo.” I gave him a hug. “I needed this.”
The driver looked at me as if I’d grown a second head. “Everything alright, Miss?”
“It will be,” I promised. “All I want for Christmas is a new dream, and I’ll be damned if I don’t make it happen.”
He nodded. “Go get ‘em.”
Chuckling, I left the vehicle and skipped up the steps. Once inside, I tapped on the screen and left another generous tip. This time, I added a note.
Angels do exist.