Chapter 4
KATE
The driver dropped me off beneath the awning of the swanky high-rise Alex had rented for my stay.
I tipped him and walked into the polished marble lobby with only my computer bag slung over my shoulder, the rest of my things having been brought here after I’d been dropped off at the Westwood and Sons HQ this morning.
Two weeks to a month. Depending on how quickly a bid could be put together, that was how long I’d be here. Personally, I was pushing for the less time. Every instinct in my body wanted this wrapped up as fast as I could so I could get as far away from Nate Westwood as possible.
I had to admit though, if I had to be working with someone like him, at least the digs made it worth it. This place was nice. The concierge even seemed to know exactly who I was despite having never met me before.
“Ms. Vanderhaul,” he said, handing me a sleek key card and directing me to the private elevator bank on the left. “Welcome to the St. Regis. You’re on the seventieth floor. Please let us know if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” I said, loving the guy already.
A fancy, mirrored elevator was already waiting on the first floor. The doors slid shut with a soft, expensive whisper once I pressed the button for my floor. The ride up took less time than I expected. The doors opened onto a hushed, carpeted hallway that smelled faintly of wood polish and money.
I followed the discreet signage to the apartment number Alex had texted earlier. It took a few turns, but finally, I found the correct door and touched the keycard to the square sensor by the lock, reaching for the handle.
Already thinking about kicking off my heels and ordering something sinful and carb heavy for dinner, I wasn’t paying much attention until I heard a lock snick somewhere behind me.
Another door opened, the one directly across the hall, and Nate freaking Westwood stepped out of the apartment it belonged to.
The air between us went sharp and electric as our gazes locked, neither of us moving for a moment as a silence stretched between us, so taut it felt like it might snap. He was dressed for a run in a tight shirt that clung to a broad, fiercely athletic figure I was entirely unprepared for.
The gray sweats showed off… well, something else. Something I was even more unprepared for, but refused to be impressed by or even acknowledge beyond the brief, traitorous flick of my eyes before I snapped my attention back to his face. His expression hardened as recognition set in.
“God, I can’t rid of you, can I?” he said under his breath, more to himself than to me.
Heat flared in my chest, irritation and that other, much less convenient thing tightening my insides. “Trust me, the feeling is mutual.”
His gaze dragged over me slowly, deliberately, like he was cataloging every detail for future ammunition. It made my skin prickle, but then, without another word, he reached up and slid his headphones over his ears.
“Welcome to the neighborhood,” he said as he adjusted them, but the tone of his voice suggested I wasn’t welcome here at all.
I stiffened. “I didn’t choose this place.”
He’d already turned away, but he paused to glance back at me over his shoulder. Something about the look in his extremely blue eyes made my stomach dip despite myself. “Don’t bother me when we’re outside the office, okay?”
I scowled at him. “I’ll bother you whenever the hell I want.”
He didn’t say anything else, just walking away with his broad shoulders rolling with loose, predatory confidence, like he owned every inch of the hallway and the air inside it. Despite trying not to, my eyes followed him as he headed toward the stairwell.
“I’m just here to do my job,” I called after him.
He didn’t turn around but responded just loud enough for me to hear before he disappeared. “Sure, you are.”
The door slammed behind him, the echo ricocheting down the pristine corridor and settling somewhere deep in my chest. I stood there for another long moment, my thoughts tangling into a frustrated knot.
Of all the buildings in this city. Of all the floors and all the apartments. Nate fucking Westwood is directly across the hall.
“Perfect,” I muttered.
Someone at Westwood had done this on purpose, probably because they figured it would be convenient.
If we needed to discuss anything or work late, we were right next to each other.
With any other colleague, the proximity would have been helpful.
But since Nate got under my skin something fierce, putting me right across the hall from him felt like torture.
With a sigh, I pushed my door open and stepped inside.
The apartment distracted me immediately from the inconvenience of having a dick with a big dick as a neighbor.
The space was absolutely breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows spilled golden light across sleek furniture and glossy surfaces, the skyline stretching endlessly beyond the glass.
But even then, as beautiful as it was, it didn’t distract me for long. Approximately thirty seconds later, I was back to thinking about the man running down the stairs, apparently convinced I was out to destroy his life.
My luggage had already been brought up, stacked neatly inside the entryway. I exhaled slowly, pressing my palm to my sternum as if I could steady the strange, restless flutter in my chest.
It’s just Nate. Just a man who clearly despises me. Just a guy whose body I have absolutely no business noticing.
As soon as I realized what I was thinking about, I shoved the thought away and grabbed my vanity bag, heading straight for the bathroom.
I couldn’t be noticing that kind of thing about Nate, of all people, but it had probably only happened because it’d been a long, difficult day.
That’s all. Nothing to worry about here.
I would feel better after a shower, so I turned on the faucet. The water came out in a cascade of perfect pressure and heat. Steam was curling around the marble and glass, fogging the mirrors by the time I got back with my comfy pajamas and clean underwear in my hands.
Setting it all down on the counter, I sorted through my things for my toiletries, taking what I needed into the shower with me.
When I stepped under the spray, I tipped my head back, trying to wash away the image burned into my brain of gray sweatpants sitting low on narrow hips and the dark, knowing edge in his voice.
It didn’t work. If anything, the warmth only sharpened the memory, dragging it through my mind in slow, traitorous detail. Eventually, I washed much faster than I’d planned and shut the water off before I could spiral any further.
After drying off just as quickly, I put on my underwear and slipped into soft cotton shorts and an oversized T-shirt, feeling marginally more like myself. I ordered dinner through a delivery app. Pasta, garlic bread, and a bottle of wine.
Before the food arrived, I unpacked the essentials and claimed the sprawling sectional facing the skyline as my temporary command center. I set my laptop on the coffee table and opened it, ready to dive into the records I had of Hinds’ company so I could get the ball rolling.
As soon as I was connected to the apartment’s WiFi, using the password I found on the router, a new email popped up. I smiled, a familiar thrill sparking through me, but I didn’t get a chance to read it. My phone lit up with an incoming call from Will Westwood.
He’d programmed all their numbers into my phone before I’d left the office, insisting that I let them know if I needed anything, but I hadn’t realized this trip would come with a chaperone. I answered, even though I was all Westwooded out for the day.
“Hey, Will,” I said. “What’s up?”
“How’s the apartment?” he asked warmly, his voice carrying that effortless charm I’d quickly learned was genuine with him. “Everything okay? Did you figure out the WiFi?”
“Yes, and the apartment is incredible. Tell Alex thank you for me. I might refuse to leave.” If not for my next-door neighbor.
He laughed. “We’ll have to make sure the bid doesn’t take too long, then. Can’t have you getting too comfortable. I’m pretty sure he won’t be able to afford keeping you there once he has to put up the cash for this deal.”
Surprise flickered through me. My mom had mentioned that they were modest, but I hadn’t expected to hear anything like that from any of them. I knew it absolutely was not true, but it was cute he thought I might buy it.
“I’ll do my best to save him as much money as I can,” I said instead of getting snippy and telling him that I could afford the place myself and hadn’t needed Alex to pay for it in the first place. “What can I do for you?”
“I was calling to see if you’re available on Friday night. We’re having a private dinner with the family and we’d love if you would join us.”
I stared out at the city beyond the glass. “Of course. I’d like that.”
What else am I supposed to do in this city where I have no connections?
“Perfect. I’ll send you the details,” he said. “We’re looking forward to getting to know you better. Have a good night, Kate. Remember to let us know if you need anything. And Nate’s just across the hall.”
Don’t remind me.
With that, he said goodbye and I dropped my phone on the couch, tapping my fingers lightly across the cushion. Everyone knew the Westwoods were close knit and family oriented, but that was about the extent of my knowledge about them.
Other than that, to me, they were just rich old money. Still, I was curious. Shockingly, I was mostly curious about Nate.
I told myself it was professional, just a risk assessment that would help me understand the personalities tied to a major financial decision, but deep down, I knew that didn’t explain the way his voice had dipped when he’d talked to me or how easily he’d filled the hallway with his presence.
But I still opened a new browser tab and typed in his name. Search results populated instantly, business news articles, charity mentions, and scattered photographs from formal events, but when I dug deeper, looking for anything personal, there was nothing.
No Instagram. No other socials. No tagged party photos. No digital footprint beyond those carefully curated professional appearances. Social media held no trace of him at all. Talk about control.
When my food arrived, it was brought directly to my door by the concierge. He balanced the bag and bottle of wine, smiling as he held them out to me.
“For you, Ms. Vanderhaul.”
“Thanks.” I accepted my dinner and was halfway through closing the door when movement across the hall caught my eye.
Nate was just getting back, all sweaty and flushed like the run had stripped him down to a more real, less controlled version of himself. His shirt was darkened along his spine and chest, outlining muscles that rippled with each step.
His blond hair was darker too, damp with strands sticking to his forehead in a way that made him look careless and distracting. I hated my body’s reaction to seeing him undone like this, but I couldn’t deny that my lungs had given up or that things were waking up down south.
He’s nice to look at, but so are a lot of men. Get over it.
Honestly, it didn’t matter how badly the guy needed a personality transplant. He was still incredibly easy on the eyes. Dark blond hair, those famous Westwood blues, and a jawline that probably had fan fiction written about it.
His mouth pressed into a line when he spotted me, his gaze sliding over the food bag, the wine bottle, then back to my face like he was gathering evidence. Just when I thought he might say something and prove himself an actual human, he rolled his eyes at me and walked into his apartment.
The door shut behind him with quiet finality, and the tension he left behind felt ridiculous, considering we’d exchanged exactly zero words. Shaking my head at both myself and the asshole, I thanked the concierge and went back inside, doing my best to ignore the awareness crawling across my skin.
Instead of thinking about Nate all sweaty and hot, I poured the pasta into a bowl and rummaged around for a wineglass, already looking forward to the liquid that promised a renewed sense of calm and patience.
Hopefully, it would also bring with it significantly better decision-making.
Alcohol is famously good at that, right?
When I twisted the cap, however, nothing happened. I frowned and tried again, but as I narrowed my eyes at the bottle, I realized it wasn’t a twist-off.
Sighing as I went back to the drawers, I dug through them, finding sleek cutlery and designer coasters, but no corkscrew. Oh, fuck my life.
I was sure this place cost enough per night to fund a small nation for a month, though. Which meant it had to have something as simple as a corkscrew, but after checking a few more drawers, I still didn’t have any luck.
A less desperate woman probably would’ve let it go at that point, but not me.
If I was going to survive this scheme, I was going to have a glass of wine whenever I wanted.
Preferably before Nate Westwood made me consider throwing myself out one of these panoramic windows just to avoid living across from him for at least three weeks.
The last thing I wanted to do was knock on his door, but I still grabbed the bottle, squared my shoulders, and headed out anyway. I was having a freaking glass of wine tonight—even if it meant facing down Mr. I-was-born-already-judging-you next door.