“What do you mean, you’re both?”
“I mean that I write books,” he said, gathering up the screws. “Futuristic thrillers, mostly.”
She was staring at him, lips parted. “When? How can you be a bartender, a journalist, and an author, and still find all that time to drive me crazy?”
He laughed. “Let’s just say I’ve made a part-time career out of a lot of different things.”
“Are you published?”
Nick shrugged. He hated talking about this because people made way too big a deal out of it. Hell, hardly anyone outside his family knew, and he wasn’t entirely sure why he was telling her, of all people.
Taylor threw a screw at him, hitting him squarely in the chest. “How many books have you published? Do you write under a pen name? I want to read them.”
“Why, so you can critique them?”
“Um, obviously.” But there was a smile in her voice, and he realized that despite the oddness of their current situation, it was perhaps the easiest they’d ever been in each other’s company.
“I write under a different name. They’re not bestsellers by any stretch of the imagination,” he said. “Also, do I even want to know why you had a hammer in your hand earlier? It’s not required for assembly.”
“No, but it will be required for something else if you don’t tell me how to find your books.”
He grimaced but didn’t respond.
What he’d said was true—his books did well, but he was hardly a household name. But what he didn’t tell her—didn’t tell anyone—was that there was good money to be made. Nick released two to three e-books a year, on his own schedule, in his own way, and had developed a loyal following.
He wasn’t a megamillionaire, but he made enough to pay for his half of the rent. Made enough to quit both Oxford and the bar if he wanted to, which he didn’t.
Nick loved writing fiction, but he wouldn’t do it half as well if he didn’t live his life to the fullest when he wasn’t behind the computer. The time he spent at Oxford and behind the bar, not to mention his love of travel, kept his imagination fueled.
“I will find your books,” Taylor said, her voice confident, even with his refusal to give her details.
“I don’t doubt it,” he muttered. “What Taylor wants, Taylor gets, right?”
Her smile slipped, and she made a quiet, derisive sound. “Not always, apparently.”
Nick handed her his wineglass as he shifted to gather up the pieces he needed for step one of the bookshelf assembly. “No luck winning back the love of your life?”
She swirled her wine, then took a sip. “Seems I’ve been replaced.”
Nick’s fingers tightened around a board, already suspecting what was coming, but he kept his voice casual. “Oh yeah?”
Taylor was quiet for a long minute. “Do you know Jessica Hayes? Copywriter from Oxford?”
Shit.
“I do. She and Calloway are back together?”
“Back together? You knew that he was seeing her?” she accused. “Am I the only one not privy to that little secret?”
“It’s not common knowledge. She was the one who referred him to Oxford in the first place. Not many people knew.”
“But you knew.”
Nick threaded a screw through two aligning holes and began tightening. “Jess and I are friends. I hire her to proofread all my books.”
Taylor’s mouth dropped open, then she laughed, although there was no joy in it. “Awesome. Just awesome. Suddenly that girl is freaking everywhere.”
Nick finished tightening the screw, then reached for his wine, which she handed over. He took a slow drink and studied her, trying to figure out if it was her pride that was hurting or her heart.
It was hard to believe that a woman with so much fire could truly care for a spineless worm like Calloway. But then, the guy must have something that only women could see, because Jess was a great girl and she too had fallen under Calloway’s spell.
Twice, apparently.
“How long were they together?” she asked.
“I’m pretty sure there’s some law against having girl talk while putting together furniture,” he muttered.
“Nick.”
His gaze flew to hers. Had she ever used his first name before? He didn’t think so. And if she had, it would have been as an epithet, not the soft plea he heard now.
“I’m not sure,” he said gruffly. “A year, maybe.”
“When’d they break up?”
He glanced up and held her gaze. Let her figure it out on her own.
It didn’t take her long. Remorse flickered across her face. “When he started at Oxford?”
“If you’re wondering if he dumped Jess for you, you’d have to ask him,” Nick said, turning his attention back to the shelf. “But from the outside, the timing seemed…close.”
She started to take another sip of wine, then stopped, staring miserably down at the glass instead.
He felt something tighten inside him. There it was again. That sneaking suspicion that Taylor Carr had more of a conscience than she’d ever let on.
“I didn’t know,” she said. “I had no idea he was seeing anybody when we met.”
“Would it have made a difference?” he asked.
Her eyes snapped up, gray and furious. He was glad for it. The soft, kind Taylor put him off balance, but her fire he could deal with.
Mostly.
“I don’t steal other women’s men.”
“So now that Calloway’s back with Jess, you’ll move on?”
Nick didn’t know why he cared about her answer so much, but he watched her carefully.
And was disappointed when her eyes cut away from his.
“He loves me,” she said quietly. “I know he does.”
Nick refused to hear the quiet vulnerability in her voice. “Looks like he decided he loves her more.”
Her soft cry was half pain, half fury, and he wasn’t the least bit surprised when she thrust her wineglass back at him and made a grab at the beginnings of the bookshelf in his hands. “Get out.”
“Taylor—”
“Out,” she hissed. “I don’t want you in here. I have to share my apartment with you, but my bedroom’s off-limits. Got it?”
“Yeah. I got it,” he snapped, climbing to his feet. “My bad for offering to help build your precious bookshelf.”
He meant to storm out of the bedroom, but at the last minute he crouched in front of her, caught her stubborn little chin, and forced her furious gaze up to his. “Jess is a good person, Taylor. She deserves to be happy.”
Taylor’s gaze clouded with hurt before returning to anger.
Damn, but she really was beautiful.
“And I don’t get to be happy?” she said. “Bitchy Taylor deserves to be miserable, is that it?”
“Nah,” he said quietly, studying her. “I’m just not sure you’d recognize actual happiness if it bit you in your perfectly shaped ass.”
She slapped his hand away from her face. “Get. Out.”
He did.
Not because she’d told him to. But because for one idiotic moment, Nick had wanted nothing more than to kiss all that pouty anger right off Taylor Carr’s saucy mouth.
Chapter 9