He chuckled before leaning in to whisper in my ear. “I am going home.”
His statement hit my brain at the same time his scent did, and I staggered back. The man was the most powerful walking aphrodisiac.
His hand shot out to grab my arm, steadying me. I gasped at the contact; electric tingles coursed through, where his hand was and turned to fire between my legs when his grip tightened. I groaned to cover up my slip, but it might have come out as a moan instead.
“Do you really live here?” I whined, pleading to God that it wouldn’t be true.
“Fourteenth floor.”
The floor just below the top penthouse held not two, like most floors, but one large condo. Four bedrooms, four baths, much larger wrap around veranda, and way out of my price range.
“You’re telling me I can never get away from you?”
“What, you think because we live in the same building I’m going to come find you? Dream on, Palmer, you’re not that pretty.”
I flinched at his words, an involuntary reaction I’d never gotten over. I tried to keep the words from repeating, from drawing up others like it, but it was futile.
“I know that, asshole.”
He chuckled, and then stopped once the words processed; his eyes wide. “Wait… What? You’re agreeing with me?”
“Of course I am. I’m not stupid,” I said, the words screaming in my mind. “I know I’m plain, boring and a workaholic…useless.”
I slapped my hand over my mouth. My drunken brain was revealing things I never wanted anyone to know, least of all him.
But the words remained. Repeating over and over like a broken record, until it was taking everything I had to keep them down. I was stronger than them.
“Lila?” he questioned.
I wasn’t so drunk that I didn’t notice the use of my nickname.
“Sorry, I’m a depressed drunk.” I plastered a fake smile on my face. The elevator pinged, alerting me we’d arrived on the eleventh floor. “Have a good weekend.”
I waved, but didn’t give him time to respond or talk about my rant. I made my way down the hall and into my condo, flicking lights on as I moved through to my bedroom and to the bathroom. Standing at the mirror, I stared into a copy of the unique grey-green eyes that haunted me, and repeated my mantra, the one that always brought me back. It calmed me, but the memories started trickling through the cracks Nathan had unknowingly created.
I sank down to my knees, my fingers gripping the sink as I tried to glue the fissures back in place.
It was apparent Nathan could be my undoing.
It was midway through the next week, and it had been a long day. I was exhausted since I hadn’t slept much the last few nights, and we were still in the office working, even though it was almost ten in the evening. I struggled to keep hold of my verbal filter since my patience was almost non-existent at that point.
My eyes shifted over to him, and he was still reading the same document he’d been studying for the last half hour. My blood boiled, pumping through my body like a freight train.
“Jesus-fucking-Christ, Nathan!” I yelled in frustration at his slowed pace. “I would like to leave some time this century.”
His gaze snapped up and met mine, his eyes in slits. “Well, I do believe this is your fucking fault for telling Jack we could have all of these contracts done by Friday morning!”
“Yes, well, it wasn’t a fucking problem until you told Jennifer we would have her contracts for the Sampson takeover ready by Thursday!”
Jennifer Akins, aka Boob-Squad member number one, was president of the Nathan Thorne fan club. She came around flaunting her chest in front of him every single day, at any opportunity she could find. There were now twelve official members of his fan club, so Jennifer wasn’t the only distraction during the day, as each one of them filed in at some point.
“If you had informed me of your agreement with Jack, we wouldn’t still be here.”