Chapter 3
Aubergine.
Nicola’s eyes lit up. “Abby.”
He stepped toward me as my mind started scrambling for excuses.
Did I go with the sick father angle? Nicky, please don’t kill me! My dad needs me!
Or maybe the pathetic female approach? I’m just a girl! I didn’t know!
Neither sounded convincing.
His smile faded just enough for concern to show. “Are you alright? You look pale.”
“Did...” I swallowed. My throat was so dry the words came out as a croak. “Did something happen?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” He smiled again, though his attention briefly drifted over my shoulder. “How’s it going?”
I turned. Banca was peering around her cubicle, openly ogling him. She looked around and then realized he was talking to her.
“Um, hi.” I could see her blush from where I stood.
Nicola wouldn’t kill me in front of Accounting.
...Would he?
Without another thought, I grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him into the stairwell.
The heavy door swung shut closed behind us with an ominous boom.
“What’s the matter?” Amusement danced in his voice as it echoed around the concrete walls. “Don’t want your coworkers meeting me?”
“They’ve got nothing to do with this.” I whispered urgently. “Just... just do it here.”
His hand disappeared into the black paper bag.
This was it.
Well... I think he would make it quick for me, at least. That gave me some comfort.
“I-I just have one request.” The words tumbled out. “Please look after my da—”
Something wrapped in bright blue paper appeared in front of my face.
I stared with my mouth still open, mid-sentence.
“...That’s-that's a sandwich.” I pointed at it.
“This is why you get paid the big bucks, Abby.” He gave it a little shake. “Take it.”
I looked from the sandwich. To Nicola.
Then back to the sandwich. Slowly, I accepted it with both hands.
Nicola descended and sat at the top of the steps. He patted the concrete encouragingly and I joined him.
Our shoulders brushed. I caught him giving me a once-over and the corner of his mouth tilted.
“I gotta say,” he mused. “This dress is a nice change from the hazmat suit. Kinda made you look like a refrigerator."
I started peeling back the wrapper. Turkey. Bacon. Extra avocado.
He nodded toward it.
“You always asked for extra avocado.”
I looked up. How the fuck did this man remember my sandwich order?
“Nicky?”
He rested his back against the wall, balancing his sandwich on one knee. “Yeah?”
“Why are you here?” I glanced around. We were very alone, but my voice still lowered into a whisper. “Did I do something wrong?”
His brow furrowed. “Wrong? No. What, I can’t bring my friend lunch? You turned down breakfast. Lunch was the next logical step.”
Friend.
That word was like a hug and a punch in the face at the same time. When I didn’t answer right away, something shifted across his face.
I realized it was concern. “We’re still... friends, aren’t we?”
He’s a fucking don, Abby. If he says you’re friends, you’re friends.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Hm.” He took another bite. “Don’t sound too enthusiastic.”
A laugh escaped me as my brain caught up. “That's because you just called me a refrigerator."
"You didn't let me finish," he said earnestly. "A cute fridge."
I was still smiling as I rolled my eyes. "It’s just… it’s been a while.”
“Yeah.” He bumped my knee lightly with his. “And whose fault is that?”
I took a big bite of the sandwich and glanced away.
“I’m not trying to fight," Nicola added when I didn’t answer. “I’m trying to make good, Abs. The last time we saw each—”
“You’ve gotta have a wife or girlfriend or something,” I interjected quickly, not wanting to go there.
And the man wore a million rings, it would be anyone’s guess if one of them was a wedding band. “I don’t think she’d appreciate... this.”
Nicola did not miss a beat. A slow grin spread across his face. “Good thing I don’t have either one of those.”
He took another bite of his sandwich and I squinted at him suspiciously. How was that possible?
Nicola Moretti always had a girl. Always.
I knew this because I was seethingly, achingly, ardently jealous of every single one of them. I watched for years as he flirted his way through most of Manhattan.
And I watched, envious of the way he would touch their hair, wrap his arm around their shoulders. Whisper things into their ears, making them blush.
Every single time, I’d imagine it was me.
“So... does your silence mean you’re seeing someone?” He leaned forward.
Instinctively, I leaned back before our faces could get too close. “I’m not seeing anyone.”
“Why not?”
I snorted. “Because I’m tired, Nicky.”
“Was it a bad divorce?”
I could feel my brows pinch together. “How do you know I’m divorced?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Your dad mentioned it a while back.”
I chewed much longer than necessary then pointed at the sandwich. “Where’s this from? It’s really good.”
“Tony’s.” He said then jut his chin at me. “How bad was it?”
He didn’t let me dodge the question. I sighed.
“Look, you just showed up at my office and scared the absolute shit out of me. I’m still not convinced you aren’t going to kill me. So the last thing I want to do right now is talk about my piece-of-shit ex-husband.”
Nicola stopped chewing and his back straightened.
“...You thought I would hurt you?”
I didn’t answer.
His hand moved forward and immediately settled gently around my forearm, warm and steady.
“Hey.” His voice had gone quiet as he leaned into my personal space. “Look at me.”
Slowly, I lifted my gaze. Jesus Christ, those eyes. The unfairly thick and long eyelashes. The man could convince me to walk straight off a bridge with them alone.
“I would never hurt you.” There wasn’t a trace of humor left in his expression. “Do you understand?”
He spoke with so much sincerity... I wondered if I had ever heard my ex-husband say anything with conviction like that.
“The guy back at the warehouse knew what he signed up for.” His head bobbed side to side as he thought it over. “And I don’t love you had to see that. But let me make this clear, Aubergine.”
His hand gently squeezed my arm. “I would never, ever fucking hurt you. Or your dad. You’re family.”
Family.
The sentiment was sweet.
Protective and entirely genuine. I believed him enough that my walls came down just a bit.
My sandwich slowly lowered into my lap and I focused on it so I wouldn’t have to look at him. His hand retracted and he gave me space again.
“The divorce was bad. We invested everything into this new venture idea he had.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “But it failed because he was too busy secretly snorting coke in his office and sleeping with his secretary. He lost his job. He had nothing left by the time we split up."
I fiddled with the paper, folding it back a little to reveal the sandwich more. I took a slow bite.
“My father-in-law hired a big-time lawyer. When all was said and done, I ended up having to pay alimony.”
Nicola’s prolonged silence made me uncomfortable. I had to look up again just to make sure he heard me.
He set the sandwich back into the black bag and wiped his hands clean. He pointed a finger at me. "Let me see if I got this straight."
"He cheats on you. He blows all your money.” His brow furrowed. “And you’re stuck paying him?”
“Like I said, he had a really good lawyer. He painted me as this cold-hearted bitch who pushed him over the edge.”
With a helpless shrug, I smiled weakly. “My mom had just died. I wasn’t exactly the picture of emotional stability.”
Nicola was the one to look away for the first time since we had sat down together.
I took another bite and watched him, fascinated.
“Why didn’t you call me, Abby?” His voice was achingly soft, almost... hurt?
“What was I supposed to say?” I asked around my food and then swallowed. ”‘Hey, remember when we used to talk years ago? Can you help me with my divorce?’ Who does that?”
“Family does,” he shot back. “My lawyers are expensive. And very persuasive. You should’ve called me.”
I discreetly rubbed moisture away from the corner of my eye and fixed my hair. “I appreciate you saying that. But we aren’t actually family. And what’s why we lost touch. You became a made man. I went to college.”
His tongue pressed against the inside of his mouth, like he was trying to hold back something.
“Well... that’s not how I remember it.”
Mister Perfect Memory suddenly lost his superpower? Please.
“Hey, I’ve gotta go to a gala tonight." Nicola perked up. "Come with me.”
“I have plans.”
His face fell. “What kind of plans?”
Painting my nails. Watching Moonstruck for the millionth time.
“Important ones," I said.
“Okay, and afterward? I could take you to my club.” Nicola flapped a hand. “It’s–uh, it's not a strip club. It’s actually a nice place. The VIP—”
“No, thanks.” I folded up the sandwich wrapper. “The sandwich was really good.”
I rose and smiled down at him. “It was nice seeing you again, Nicky.”
“Hey.”
I had almost made it to the door, and looked over my shoulder.
His head rested against the wall, looking up at me. More of those pretty black locks fell over his cheek. “You really do look nice in that dress.”
“Thanks," I said stiffly and tried to hide my surprise. “You’re pretty in a suit. But I think you already know that.”
His laugh followed me as I pushed open the stairwell door. Warm and soft. Like poured honey.
The door clicked shut behind me.
I leaned back against it and closed my eyes.
My heart refused to slow down. My entire body was flushed.
I was in trouble.
Fuck. Fuuuuuuuck.
I was still in love with Nicola Moretti.