CHAPTER EIGHT #3
I nodded, filing this information away into some area of my brain that I hoped existed for marriage ruse purposes. “With a business like Cross Developments behind him, I’m sure it’s easy to get a big head.”
“And his is so large he probably won’t be able to fit through the door tonight.”
We chatted for the rest of the ride to Lincoln Center. When our car pulled up to the entrance, I felt my nerves spike again. Photographers lined the walkway, their cameras flashing as elegantly dressed couples made their way inside.
"Stay close to me," Nash murmured as our driver opened the door. “Let’s hard launch this shit."
I giggled as he got out of the car and then offered his hand.
I took it, emerging from the back of the car as elegantly and demurely as possible.
All I could think about were the photographers.
Would they catch some hideous angle that haunted me for the rest of my life in the tabloids?
Everything inside me buzzed as I followed Nash along the carpet, smiling politely at the cameras snapping our picture as we entered.
Once we were inside, his hand found the small of my back: warm and possessive and somehow steadying.
“Hard launched,” he said into my ear.
I bit back a smile, surveying the enormous lobby. Sticking close to Nash wasn’t just the plan, it was my preference. His sturdy, broad frame next to me felt like a balm, and it wasn’t hard to cling to him as we wove through the enormous lobby.
I was overwhelmed by the sheer opulence.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a stunning panoramic view of Broadway and West 65th, and the room buzzed with the kind of conversation that shaped city policy.
I recognized faces from my old job at the planning department as well as a few council members and commissioners.
But the sea of fancy people was endless.
I wasn’t sure where to look or what to do other than stick to Nash’s side.
“Nash!”
A husky male voice broke through the din. A man who looked suspiciously similar to Nash approached us, accompanied by a beefy man with a lumberjack beard wearing a black button-up and black dress pants.
“There you are.” The newcomer clapped Nash on the back before his gaze settled on me. “About damn time I met the guest of honor.”
“Clara, meet my brother Archer, and our bodyguard Trojan.”
"The famous girlfriend," Archer said with a grin, kissing my hand theatrically. "Nash has told us almost nothing about you, which means you must be special."
I grinned up at Archer, who looked so similar to Nash it was almost confusing.
Their tuxes and hairstyles were different—Nash’s hair was trimmed shorter, whereas Archer’s was long enough to sweep back even on the sides.
But beyond that? I didn’t know enough about Nash yet to distinguish.
My gaze moved to Trojan as I wondered what sort of combat preparedness his job entailed.
Guns? Nunchucks? Throwing stars? This didn’t seem the place to ask such uncouth questions, so I merely said, "It's nice to finally meet you both. "
“Just promise me one thing,” Trojan said, seeming to grow even taller. “You won’t hurt our Nashy-Nash.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said with a laugh. “Especially when there’s a man named Trojan keeping an eye on things.”
“It was a military nickname that stuck,” he said softly.
“What’s your real name?” I asked.
“I’m not allowed to say.” His smile turned wicked. “And only my girlfriend Maddie uses it.”
“Maybe you’ll find out after a few more months at Nash’s side,” Archer promised with a wink. “It’s one of the inner circle perks.”
“I have to earn my way in,” I said, nodding. “I respect that.”
Nash’s hand touched my lower back again, guiding me to the left. “We’re going to make a lap. Archer, let me know if you spot him.”
Archer feigned a military salute, and he and Trojan disappeared into the crowd. Nash and I began to wander the lobbies, my pulse quickening as I overheard fragments of conversation about zoning changes and development permits.
It was hard to make it far before someone called out “Nash!” or grabbed his arm for a quick word.
Nash had made it seem like nobody gave a shit about him, but it looked like he had plenty of supporters from where I stood.
He introduced me to a few of the newer city commissioners, and we slid into easy conversation about the city: transit-oriented development, affordable housing initiatives, green building standards.
It was amazing being in a place where these were the low-hanging fruit when it came to conversation starters.
For the first time in years, I felt like a sparkling version of myself—not just a struggling single mom, but someone with knowledge and opinions.
After we’d grabbed some canapés and downed a glass of chardonnay, Nash’s attention shifted across the room.
I followed his gaze to where Sebastian Cross stood in animated conversation with a distinguished older man in a navy suit.
"He’s talking to commissioner Torres," Nash said quietly. "He works with the Department of City Planning. Lots of influence with the development happening in Queens."
"Has Cross been buying property in Queens?"
"He has." Nash's jaw tightened as we watched the other man gesturing emphatically, clearly making some kind of pitch. "And so have I."
I could practically see Nash's mind working, calculating his next move.
"I know Torres," Nash went on. "We've worked together on two previous developments, years ago. But Cross doesn't know that."
"What are you thinking?"
Nash straightened his shoulders, that confident smile I was beginning to recognize sliding into place. "I'm thinking it's time to remind Commissioner Torres about the community impact study we discussed last month."
Before I could ask what he meant, Nash was guiding me across the room with purpose. As we approached, I could hear fragments of the conversation we were about to join—something about "streamlined approval processes" and "maximizing economic impact."
"Commissioner Torres!" Nash called out warmly as we reached them. "I was hoping I'd see you tonight."
The older man's face lit up with genuine pleasure. "Nash! How wonderful to see you." He turned to Sebastian with a polite but notably cooler expression. "Sebastian, I believe you know Nash Nightingale?"
Sebastian's smile tightened almost imperceptibly. "Of course. We've met."
“I’d like for you all to meet Clara, my better half,” Nash said smoothly, smiling down at me. God, this felt good.
“I didn’t realize you’d tied the knot,” Commissioner Torres said.
“Oh, we haven’t. Yet.” Nash winked at him. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
"We were just discussing some of the exciting development opportunities emerging in my borough," Torres said. "Sebastian was sharing his perspective on community engagement strategies."
"Community engagement," Nash repeated thoughtfully. "That's actually perfect timing, Commissioner. I've been meaning to follow up with you about the resident feedback sessions we discussed last month."
"Ah yes, the community forums," Torres nodded. "I thought that was a brilliant approach, Nash. Really putting residents at the center of the planning process."
"It's the only way to do responsible development," Nash said easily.
I was fully invested in this conversation, to the point where I blurted, “Isn’t that the goal, after all? To make sure existing residents benefit from new investment rather than being displaced by it?"
All eyes turned to me, and for a moment I felt that familiar panic. But then I remembered the conversations we'd been having all evening, the passion I'd felt when discussing these issues. If there was anywhere to wax poetic about this stuff, it was here.
“One hundred percent,” Nash said, his grin widening. “Displacement is never the goal.”
"Communities aren’t blank slates, right?" I was surprised by the steadiness in my own voice. "When developers treat neighborhoods like they have no existing value, they miss opportunities to create something that actually serves the people who already call that place home."
Commissioner Torres nodded approvingly. "Exactly right. Too often we see development that creates economic value on paper but destroys social capital in practice."
Cross’s smile had become increasingly strained. He almost looked bored. "Of course community input is valuable. But we have to balance those concerns against economic realities and market demands."
"That makes sense," I continued, feeling more confident.
"But when you ignore or remove existing community assets, you're actually ignoring or removing economic value.
The corner bodega that's been there for twenty years isn't just a business—it's infrastructure.
The informal childcare networks, the seniors who know everyone on the block…
that's all social infrastructure that has real economic worth. "
Commissioner Torres nodded vehemently. “Absolutely.”
Sebastian tilted his head toward me, and I could feel his attention zero in like a laser beam. “So true. Where did you study urban planning, Clara?”
The question hung in the air like a trap. I felt Nash tense beside me.
“NYU,” I said with a big smile. “What about you?”
Nash turned toward me but used a voice loud enough for all to hear. “The Cross family doesn’t believe in higher education when it comes to their industry.”
Sebastian’s cold smile never faltered. “Our combined two hundred years of experience ensures that we are the foremost experts at what we do.”
Nash turned up the amperage on his smile, offering a hand to Commissioner Torres.
“I won’t take up any more of your time. I know you have plenty of elbows to rub tonight.
It was great seeing you, and I’ll be reaching out with the results of my latest community impact study.
I’ve got a new one planned for a project I’m working on, and I’d love your feedback. ”
“I’d be delighted,” Commissioner Torres said before bidding us all a good evening.
Nash’s arm slid around my waist, coating me in the reassurance that I’d too-quickly come to expect from being at his side.
I assumed Cross was going to drift away as well, but he stepped closer to Nash, too close for comfort.
Nash didn’t shrink, even though the other man had at least an inch of height on him.
“Interesting timing on the purchases in Queens yesterday.” His voice lacked any of the warmth he’d used when talking to Commissioner Torres. “I heard you paid thirty percent over asking price. You’re either very generous or very dumb.”
“And?” Nash challenged.
“What are you doing over there?” Cross asked.
“Nothing,” Nash replied with a cool smile at the same time his grip around my waist tightened.
Sebastian stared at Nash for so long that I grew nervous. But Nash never broke.
Finally, Cross sniffed and wandered off, being sure to hit Nash’s shoulder with his as he left. Once he’d been swallowed into the crowd, I grabbed Nash’s arm.
“Was that a silent threat?” I asked quietly.
Nash rolled his eyes. “A pathetic one if it was. But we need to find Archer. And possibly get drunk.” Nash searched the crowd, pulling me into him absentmindedly. I giggled into his chest.
“Time to convince the crowd?”
Nash looked down at me, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “We should, shouldn’t we?” He cupped the side of my face with a rough hand, his gaze skating back and forth across my face.
“I think we’re doing a good job so far,” I murmured, the rest of the gala shrinking away from us, fading into forgettable background noise. All I could see or hear right now was Nash.
“You killed it with Commissioner Torres,” he said, his thumb swiping along my jawline. “Thanks for that, by the way.”
“Pulled out the last few things I remember from my degree,” I said with a laugh.
“Do you want to get back into city planning?” Nash’s gaze searched mine. I never wanted to leave this spot, pressed up against the solid heat of him, getting lost in that icy blue abyss that held so much promise and warmth.
“I would like to,” I said, clasping my hands behind his back. It felt natural to wrap my arms around him. His other hand settled on my hip and tightened its grip, his fingers sinking into the softness there.
“You ever thought about green space planning?” His face drifted a little closer to mine.
“Uh…actually yeah.” I laughed. “How did you know?”
“Your apartment.” His grin turned boyish, and the weight of his observation hit me full force.
He’d seen my plants and immediately connected the dots.
There was a lot to unpack there and now wasn’t the time.
I drew a deep breath of his masculine scent, a heady mix of cedar and bergamot and something undefinably him.
“I think we’re looking pretty convincing,” I said, propping my chin on his chest.
“Mmm.” Nash wore a lazy smile. Did it feel as good for him as it did for me?
“Wow. Do you two need to get a room already?” Archer’s voice interrupted our reverie. Nash stiffened, pulling away, and cold air whooshed between our bodies.
“We were just discussing some important things,” Nash said.
“Oh, I’m sure.” Archer didn’t sound convinced. “Listen, they’re rolling out the next round of small plates. Let’s get some food and get out of here.”
Nash cleared his throat, and I could feel whatever cozy intimacy we’d created fall away completely. It didn’t make sense, but something inside me began to despair.
I’d fallen in love with Nash Nightingale after just one night…and he was damn near close to making me fall again after one attempt to convince everyone we were a couple.
My head was spinning.
I was dressed up, had a voice in a respected space of policy change and thought leaders, and stood smiling up at a man who acted like he cared and noticed things about me.
And that didn’t even take into account that I still used the memory of our one night together when I wanted to climax in a hurry.
“Come on.” Nash reached for my hand, inviting me to follow Archer alongside him. I grabbed his big, rough hand, trying my best to silence all those anxieties that had sprung to life.
I hadn’t realized before signing the contract how dangerous this could be.
Because here I was, with everything I’d ever wanted.
And next year, I’d have to walk away from it all.