Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
NATE
This office is as suffocating as it is tiny, not allowing a guy to take a single breath without feeling like he’s choking on the surrounding air. When I put my gray t-shirt on this morning, it didn’t feel quite as tight around my neck as it does now, threatening to strangle the life out of me. And is it hot in here? It feels like I’ve run into a burning building without any gear for protection.
As a firefighter, temperatures soaring into the hundreds don’t usually faze me. I know how to deal with them—drop to the floor where the heat is less dangerous, and crawl your way to safety. Easy. Adrenaline is constant, but it fuels me, pushes me forward, keeps me and my men safe. Fear comes and goes, but dealing with fire and extreme heat has become second nature to me. As a fire lieutenant for the Santa Rosé fire department, I’m expected to handle these things.
I am not equipped to handle the problem before me.
“Did you hear me, Nate?” Larry, my accountant, asks grimly.
Swallowing around the lump that’s formed in my throat, I force myself to give the older, balding man a nod. I hear him, I just don’t know what I’m going to do about it.
“Everything on that list has to be in my office in the next two weeks,” he reiterates what he’s already told me, like I didn’t hear him the first time. “Invoices, receipts, loans, assets—”
“Income statements, expense records, payroll information,” I interrupt, finally finding my voice. “Yeah man, I’ve got the list.” I hold up the piece of paper he shoved in my direction no more than two minutes ago. “I’ll get it all together.”
“If you need my help…” he starts, trailing off when I raise a hand to silence him.
“I know what you charge an hour, Larry. I’ll figure it out.” I have no idea how, but I don’t have much of a choice.
A week ago, I found out the bar that my sister, Jordan, and I inherited from my uncle on my mom’s side, was in trouble with the government. Turns out, Uncle Pete decided not dealing with “Uncle Sam” and the taxes properly wouldn’t have any consequences. I didn’t truly know how bad it was until twenty minutes ago, when Larry laid it out in no uncertain terms that if I didn’t get everything he needed, we would probably be faced with closing the doors.
There’s no way I can let that happen.
As bad as Uncle Pete has made this for me—us, since Jordan is technically half owner—I can’t lose the one thing that brought my uncle happiness in the last two decades of his life. After he retired from firefighting, 10-42—which means off duty, or ending tour of duty—was his pride and joy, and he turned it into mine.
I’ve worked in the bar for my uncle since I was sixteen, starting as a dishwasher, and working my way through the ranks. It was what I did before I joined the academy to become a firefighter, it’s what I did during my training, and it’s what I’ve done on my days off since.
For the last five years, I’ve been helping him manage the bar.
At least I thought I had been.
Turns out, I knew nothing about what it really took to make the bar run smoothly. He never taught me how to do much of the paperwork besides orders. Paying employees? Vendors? Utilities? I had to figure that out on my own after he passed.
It’s been a stressful six months, but I felt like we’d finally found our footing. Then we discovered the tax situation.
It’s beginning to look like Uncle Pete didn’t know as much as he let on either.
“Call me if you need me,” Larry offers, pushing up from his chair to walk me out.
On my way down to the parking garage, I shove my hand through my brown hair, and sigh as I glance down at the list Larry gave me. Not only is it long, but I need four years’ worth of this shit. I think that’s the most worrying part of it all. The amount of time I have to go back in history is staggering.
The headache that’s starting in the back of my skull tells me the amount of stress I’m feeling right now is in the extreme realm, considering I face stressful situations every day of the week.
Leaning back against the wall of the elevator, I pull my phone out to send a quick text to my sister. Jordan would help more if I let her, but the bar was never her thing. She waitressed when she was younger and in school, but now she’s a full-time ER nurse. I know that’s demanding on her, so I try to shoulder the load of the bar.
Me: Got a list of things to do from Larry. I’ll get to work on it tonight.
I’m headed to the bar now, but I’ve got a full day of bartending before I can start to look at the stuff for Larry. When my head bartender gets in at six, I’ll spend four or five hours dealing with the accounting before heading home for a short night of sleep. I’ve got to be at the firehouse for an early morning shift tomorrow.
I love our bar. I have a million good memories from it over the years. The thought of losing it makes my chest ache and my throat clog. It will forever be the thing that brought my uncle and me together, the thing that bonded us. He’s the reason I became a firefighter in the first place. He was an integral part of me becoming the man I am today. I owe it to the bar, to my uncle, and to myself, to make sure I get this worked out, because I can’t imagine not having this place in my life. Not when I can credit it for so much that I have now.
The elevator slows, threatening to bottom out my stomach. I glance up at the number above the door, realizing it’s not stopping because we’re in the underground parking, but because we’re picking up another occupant. The doors open just as my phone vibrates in my hand, pulling my attention to the device.
Jordan: I’m off today, but I’ve got some stuff to do. I can help after.
“Shit,” a soft, feminine voice curses, causing my eyes to shoot up.
The woman standing outside the elevator is breathtakingly gorgeous. Our eyes connect for the briefest of moments before I’m drawn to a box in her arms, which she shifts uncomfortably while her feet stay rooted in place. I’m trying to hide my appreciation for how striking she is when my eyes meet hers again, lingering for a moment.
Beautiful almond-shaped blue eyes are accentuated by high cheekbones in a heart-shaped face. Long, blonde hair falls in waves, curling over her shoulders to sit atop the swell of her breasts—the only part of them I can see thanks to the box in her hands. If I were a betting man, I’d guess they were the perfect size to fit in my palm. Not too big, not too small, just the way I like them.
The doors to the elevator start to close, and instinctively, I throw an arm out to catch them before they shut entirely.
“You getting on?” I ask, watching as her posture shifts to stand taller.
Christ. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as beautiful as the way her cheeks turn rosy under my gaze. I hear her teeth audibly come together, steeling herself as she walks onto the elevator with her head held high, looking as though she’d rather be anywhere other than stuck in a tiny space with me.
Dropping my hand from the door, I step back, my eyes doing another sweep of her. If the box wasn’t a dead giveaway, the air surrounding this woman would tell me that her day may beat mine in the shitty department. It’s thick with the type of friction that makes you want to tuck tail and run, but it doesn’t scare me. I deal with this type of tension all the time.
“I didn’t get fired, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she snaps with irritation, nostrils flaring, before I have a chance to say anything.
My eyebrows raise, and I can’t help the upward tilt at the corner of my lips. “Not what I was thinking,” I tell her, marginally amused at her presumption. “I was—”
“Good!” she says with disdain, cutting me off. “Because I’ll have you know that I quit. I quit because men are disgusting, filthy pigs, so don’t even think about hitting on me while we’re in this elevator. I will not take kindly to it.”
I let her words hang in the air between us for a moment. It feels hazardous to my health to breathe, let alone speak at this point, but there’s a pressing question that needs to be answered.
“Is asking what floor you need considered hitting on you?” I hedge, biting back a chuckle for my own safety. “Cause that’s all I was thinking about.”
Wide, horrified eyes, that I note are more gray than blue, turn to me, and I fight to keep a full-fledged grin from forming. It’s obvious this woman has had a rough morning. Normally I’d be sympathetic towards someone walking into an elevator with a box full of their things, but right now, I’m amused.
That might have to do with the fact her face is turning multiple shades of red while she lets my words sink in. Or perhaps it’s because I’ve had my own shitty morning, and this stunning woman is providing a much needed distraction. Either way, I’m having a hard time keeping the enjoyment off my face as I gaze expectantly at the woman gawking at me.
“Oh.” Her voice is nothing more than a squeak colored with embarrassment. I have to fight harder to keep from grinning, a battle I’m losing. She glances at the buttons on the wall as she clears her throat. “Same place as you.”
“Great,” I tell her, taking one last look at her inflamed cheeks before turning to face the door of the elevator.
I’m not the type of guy that would hit on a woman in an elevator in the first place—I leave shit like that up to my best friend, Liam—but if I were, I think I’d pick a woman like this. While she isn’t leggy, standing a good five inches shorter than me even in heels, she has nice, toned calves that are shown off in the black skirt that clings to hips that scream she’s all woman.
She smells intoxicating. If I could bottle the scent of a woman and take it everywhere with me, it would be whatever this woman is wearing. It’s filling the elevator and making my mouth water. It’s fruity and sweet, reminding me of a warm summer evening in the backyard, with good friends and great beer. I don’t stop myself from taking a deep breath, letting it fill my senses.
When it comes to how a woman smells, it’s an aphrodisiac for me. I’ve always attributed that to spending a lot of time smelling smoke from fires, blood from crash scenes, and cleaners from the firehouse. Being a firefighter for the last twelve years, working my way up from a volunteer to a lieutenant, I’ve seen a lot, and smelled more. I thoroughly enjoy a nice smelling woman.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice softer than before, but no less embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have assumed anything.”
“Rough morning?” I ask with a raise of my brow.
I can feel her look at me from the side of her eye, and in my peripheral vision see her nod. “Yep.”
The elevator dings a second later. When the doors open, I stick my hand out to keep it held, gesturing for her to precede me. I’m trying to be a chivalrous gentleman on a bad day for this woman. When I glance at her, however, I’m met with a wary gaze, and I feel my eyebrows shoot up in surprise, given that she just apologized to me.
“Ladies first,” I explain tentatively, still holding the doors.
“All due respect,” she says with a tight smile, the ire from earlier diminished, “If I get off the elevator before you, I know you’re just going to look at my ass and watch me as I walk away, which is the last thing I need right now.”
While she’s not wrong, I’m not about to tell her that. Any red-blooded male would look—those are just facts—and she’s calling me out on them. I must admit, I’m a little disappointed that I’m not going to get a good look at what I’m guessing is a shapely ass, but she isn’t moving an inch on this, and I won’t be stuck in an elevator with this woman just so I can get an eyeful.
“Suit yourself,” I say, shrugging. “But that works both ways. If I can’t stare at your ass, you better not be ogling mine.”
With a smirk to myself when I hear a gasp of surprise followed by a snort of laughter, I step out of the elevator into the parking garage and start towards my truck. I can hear the woman’s heels clicking on the ground behind me, indicating she’s walking in the same direction I am.
I can’t help it when I give my ass a little shake. Hoping to get another chuckle out of her, I call over my shoulder, “Stop objectifying me. I can feel you checking me out, just like when you got on the elevator.”
Laughter from behind has warmth spreading through me. The grin I’ve been trying to hold back this entire time is now in full-blown breakout mode. When I glance over my shoulder this time, I catch her eyes, amusement dancing in my own. “It’s okay. I know I’ve got a nice ass. It’s hard not to stare, but you should really try to refrain.”
I’m met with a huff big enough that the box in her arms bounces awkwardly, and though she’s trying to keep a straight face, her eyes are livelier than when she got on the elevator.
Turning around to walk backwards the last few feet to my truck, I hear the words coming out of my mouth before I can stop them, “I suppose it’s better for you to stare at my ass than my crotch, isn’t it?”
My words have the desired effect I wanted. I’m delighted when I see her eyes dart below my waist because she can’t help herself. Just as quickly she’s looking back up, embarrassment flashing in her beautiful eyes.
“Disgusting. Filthy. Pigs!” she calls out, trying to infuse anger in her tone, but I catch the smile spreading across her lips before she disappears between two cars.
And just like that, my mood has lifted. There’s still a cloud hanging over me, but instead of threatening rain, the sun came out to shine.