Chapter 13
TERRITORIAL MUCH? (NATE)
This was a bad idea. Ten minutes in, I know it.
I’m at the W Gramercy, nursing a whiskey, while Camille, the Helios Skincare brand liaison Jess saddled me with, explains the merits of gold-flecked avocado toast and a spa that puts crystals under your spine.
New-money buzz is everywhere. Low light, bass thumping, servers weaving through tables, phones held high. Everyone here wants to be seen. I’m here to let PR check a box and leave.
“So, do you travel much?” Camille asks, fingertips landing on my forearm.
“For work,” I say, already out of words.
“That doesn’t count.” She leans in. “You should take a real vacation. Somewhere you can just…let go.”
Sure, sweetheart. Because that’s exactly what hockey players do mid-season—pack up for margaritas on the beach.
I nod because that’s easier than explaining my life.
She asks about hobbies. I say film and lifts.
She laughs and tells me about a rooftop yoga class.
I try to be present and kind. But this isn’t working.
My brain keeps slipping to a woman with careful hands and a mouth I can’t stop imagining on mine.
I take a slow drink and scan for an exit. A flash of blonde at the far end of the lounge catches my eye. Hair caught in the backlight, the clean line of a jaw, the set of her shoulders. My pulse spikes. I blink and look away.
It’s not her. I’m inventing things now. I look back.
She turns, and the room drops out.
Eden. She’s across the bar, tucked into a velvet booth.
Her hair is down, loose waves catching the low light.
In the PT room, she yanks it back; here it spills, and my fingers itch to test the weight.
She laughs at something the man across from her says, and the sound cuts through the bass. My grip tightens on the glass.
Who the hell is that jackass? It’s not the same guy she was with at the hockey game. He’s annoyingly good-looking. Well built, tailored, posture that broadcasts boardroom. Teeth on a whitening schedule. Expensive confidence. And she’s laughing.
Of course she’d be on a date with an attractive guy. She’s a knockout. Tall, blonde, athletic build. My fucking fever dream.
And this isn’t any bar; it’s the W Gramercy. Cover charge, forty-dollar cocktails, curated shadows. A hotel. Rooms upstairs. Beds.
Rage spikes so fast, it’s blinding. I should let it be. Let her live her life, make her choices, find whatever she’s looking for with Mr. Perfect over there. But watching another man make her laugh, watching him lean into her space, yanks a primal, possessive growl out of my chest.
“Friend of yours?” Camille asks, following my glare. She knows she’s about to lose my attention.
“Not exactly,” I grit out.
Every little thing this guy does infuriates me. He’s got a polished, practiced spiel going, making her giggle in that unguarded way I haven’t seen in years. He lifts his glass, tells some story I can’t hear, and she leans in, fingers brushing his sleeve.
How many of these morons does she have lined up? The dude at the game. Now this refined fucker who probably speaks four languages and listens to classical music.
Before I even know what I’m doing, I’m on my feet. My chair scrapes back loud, and people turn to look.
“Nate? Where are you going?” Camille blinks up at me, confused.
“Come with me,” I say, already moving. If I ditch the sponsor host, Jess will skin me. My voice is tight, and I don’t elaborate—how do you explain you’re about to crash another woman’s date when you’ve clearly lost your damn mind?
She hesitates, then grabs her clutch and follows, heels clicking as I weave through tables. My pulse is hammering, whiskey roaring in my blood. I don’t have a plan exactly. All I know is I can’t sit here and watch Eden with that man for one more second.
I reach their booth. Eden looks up. Her laugh dies instantly, her face snapping into an icy mask. Her date—Mr. Perfect—leans back with a practiced, unfazed smirk.
“Well,” I say, sarcasm dripping from every word, “what a surprise, Eden. How odd to run into you here.”
She tilts her head, smile razor sharp, eyebrow lifting.
“This is my friend Daniel,” she says, syrupy sweet. Then her eyes slide to Camille, and back to me. “And you, Magic Man? Here with company, or crashing other people’s dates for sport?”
The nickname slices clean through me. “Mind if we join you?” I don’t wait for an answer, already dragging two chairs over. Camille hesitates, then sits, bewildered. I don’t look at her. I’m locked on Eden. Bleeding and furious.
What I have to be angry about evades me. You stupid fucker. The thought barrels through and dissipates fast, drowned by misplaced wrath.
Eden crosses her arms, eyes blazing. “Nate, what are you doing?”
I flash a grin that’s all teeth. “Catching up. Hope we’re not interrupting anything?”
Daniel smiles, smooth as hell. “Not at all. The more, the merrier.”
His voice makes my hands itch. My pulse hammers, irrational and loud, and I don’t even know what my endgame is. I just know one thing: there’s no way I’m letting this guy put his hands on my girl.
You’re a madman, I catch my crazy thoughts. Still, I carry on undeterred.
“So,” I say, picking up a menu I have no intention of reading. “Nice place you picked.”
Daniel nods. “Great cocktails.”
“I bet you’d know all the best spots.” The words are a scrape.
Eden stiffens. “Nate, don’t.”
“What? I’m making conversation.” I turn back to Daniel, forcing a smile. “So, what do you do? You look like you have a very...lucrative job.”
He chuckles. “I work in hospitality, actually. It pays well. And you?”
“Hospitality,” I repeat, ignoring his question and tapping the table. “Fancy. Hotels? Travel? Luxury experiences?”
“You could say that.”
Camille nudges my leg under the table. “You’re being weird.”
“Just curious.” I press on, unable to stop. “You from around here, or do you just...pop into places?”
“It depends where I’m needed.”
That’s when I see it—a sleek W hotel key card on the table, half-covered by the drink menu. Daniel casually slides his hand over it. But it’s too late. My jaw tightens, heat pounding in my ears.
“Needed,” I repeat, voice dropping. “Like...here? Tonight?”
Eden’s had enough. “Nate. Cut it out.” She’s leaning forward now, blue fire blazing in her eyes. “This isn’t your business.”
“Not my business?” I bark out a laugh that sounds more like a growl. “I’m just wondering what the plan is. Drinks first? Then what?” I nod toward his hand still covering the card. “Elevator ride? Room service upstairs?”
Camille groans, covering her face. “Oh my God, Nate.”
Daniel laughs softly, maddeningly calm. “Wow. You really come in hot.”
“Oh, I’ve got more,” I shoot back. “How long have you known Eden, Danny? Where’d you meet? You always take dates to hotel bars, or just the ones you’re planning to—”
“Nate!” Eden snaps, her voice knifing through the bar noise.
Daniel holds up a hand, still finding this entertaining. “Look, man, I get it. Jealous ex, very protective, and all that. But let’s not make this awkward for the ladies.”
Camille grabs her bag. “Too late for that. I’m leaving.” She storms off, heels clicking behind her, then turns around and hisses at me. “Don’t bother calling to apologize.”
Daniel follows Camille’s exit with his gaze and shakes his head, half laughing. “Look, I was called here to do a job. I’m not here to fight some guy over a woman who clearly doesn’t want him anymore.”
My head snaps toward him. “What the hell does that mean, ’called here to do a job?’”
Eden’s face drains of color. “Daniel, don’t—”
But he only shrugs, revealing the hotel key card completely. “Relax, man. I’m an escort. She booked me for my time. What happens during that time is between consenting adults—and totally legal.”
The words are a bucket of ice water over my head. The bar noise fades to a dull roar. Daniel’s gaze cuts to mine, amused. “You want to keep glaring at me, or should I give you two a minute?”
“Your time’s up tonight,” I snarl, voice low and deadly.
He smirks, sliding a business card onto the table next to the key. “That so? Guess I’ll wait for the client to confirm.” He looks at her for a beat, and when Eden stays silent, he nods. “Call me to reschedule, beautiful.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me sitting there with fists clenched. She spins on me the second Daniel disappears, cheeks flushed with fury.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she hisses. “Do you get off on embarrassing people?”
I’m still buzzing—jealous, unhinged, adrenaline screaming in my veins. I hate myself for the caveman act, but there’s no turning back now.
“You were with a fucking prostitute, Eden. Were you planning to let him—”
“And that’s your business because...?” Her arms snap across her chest, chin tilted, eyes alight, a fierce cobalt blaze.
“Because—” My voice cracks with frustration. “Because what the hell are you doing? You just hire someone to show you a good time?”
She laughs, bitter and humorless. “And what if I do? Maybe I want the professional experience—someone who knows what he’s doing and doesn’t come with a truckload of drama.
” She leans in, words slicing the air. “You do it all the time. You were planning the exact same thing with your friend Camille. The only difference is I have the decency to pay the man for his time.”
My jaw locks so hard it hurts. “Camille’s a sponsor liaison.”
“She looked ready to clock overtime.” Her glare dares me to keep pushing. “And I don’t buy this for a second. It’s exactly the same. You’re here to blow off steam. I’m here to—” She stops herself, teeth sinking into her lip.
“To what?” I growl, sliding into the booth beside her. The move pins her in, my arm draped along the backrest, my body crowding hers.
Her chin lifts, defiance flashing in her eyes. “I pay him, Nate. Which means I get to ask for what I want. No judgment. No strings. No messy aftermath. End of story.”