Page 1 of Nathan

Chapter 1

Dex

The ping from the elevator reaches me, and I hold my breath. My leg is bouncing so violently I bang my knee against the underside of my desk. Cursing, I rub it, but not even a bruised knee can take away my excitement. Every second Thursday—i.e. today—is my favorite day of the week, and I make sure to take extra care with my hair and makeup, as well as wearing a nice dress and high heels, just in case.

Not that he ever notices.

It has to be him, although he’s early today, and unusually so. Punctuality isn’t Nate O’Reilly’s forte—a characteristic that irritates the hell out of my boss, obnoxious Hollywood agent extraordinaire, Bernard Sullivan.

Nate doesn’t care, though, and Bernard can’t do a damn thing about it because Nate is hot property. Every agent in town would love to sign him. Dollar signs flash in front of their eyes at the mere thought of the potential Nate brings for huge paydays, adding to their already overflowing coffers.

Four years ago, Nate hit the jackpot, landing the lead part in a new television show. It’s already on season four, with at least two more seasons commissioned. Think Walking Dead or Friends. Not that those two shows have anything in common with the one Nate headlines. Their similarity lies in the huge success both achieved. The agents of those stars are still buying holiday homes in Barbados from the residuals that continue to flood in from the shows’ global distribution rights, which is why Bernard accepts Nate’s tardiness far more than he would from many other actors on his books.

The elevator doors open, and Nate strides out. Unleashed desire shoots through my body, and my pulse stutters, same as always when Nate fixes his piercing blue eyes on me. The man is fine. Fiiiine. Sheer perfection from the jut of his jaw to the soles of his feet. I could stare at him all day and never get bored.

When he reaches me, I catch a hint of his cologne, and a delicious tingle creeps up my spine. What I wouldn’t give to bury my nose in his neck and get my fill. To Nate, though, I may as well be part of the furniture for all the notice he takes of me whenever he comes to see Bernard. His disinterest isn’t a surprise. Someone like Nate, on a steep upward trajectory to superstardom, only has starlets on his arm. Girls who know how to keep their mouths firmly shut on the red carpet, and wide open in the bedroom.

Normally, Nate gives a curt nod in my direction, then enters Bernard’s office without knocking and, star struck, I mumble a pointless, “Go right in, Mr. O’Reilly,” while blushing profusely. Except today, Bernard has given me strict instructions to not be disturbed by anyone, and Bernard isn’t the kind of man who takes kindly to being ignored.

I’ve survived his vicious temper for six months, which is more than most of my predecessors. Bernard has sacked four assistants in the last year alone, and at twenty-two, I’m by far the youngest, yet I’ve outlasted them all. I managed this amazing feat by being polite and non-combative, in stark contrast to my true self. The thing is, I need this job. I do not need to make it easy for Bernard to make me unlucky number five.

I scramble from my desk and leap in front of the door. “He’s got someone with him right now, Mr. O’Reilly. If you’d like to take a seat.” I haplessly wave my arm at the row of luxurious cream leather chairs to my right. No faux crap for Bernard. His clients expect nothing less. “Can I get you a c-coffee?”

My face heats. It’s the most I’ve ever said to Nate.

He turns his attention on me, and a delicious flutter explodes in my abdomen. Stunning doesn’t describe someone as perfect as Nate. For one brief moment, I allow myself to imagine what those full lips would feel like slanted across my own, how protected I’d feel wrapped in Nate’s muscular arms. How certain I am that he knows exactly how to wring multiple orgasms from a woman.

His eyes narrow. “No.” He reaches around me to grab the doorknob.

I shift to block him, my heartbeat thrumming in my ears. Conflict isn’t something I enjoy at the best of times—although, when necessary, I don’t shy away—but going up against the object of my obsession? I feel sick.

“I’m sorry, Mr. O’Reilly, but I can’t let you go in there. Mr. Sullivan won’t be long.”

Those captivating eyes narrow farther. Ignoring my instruction, he makes another move to get around me, but I dodge again, blocking him for the second time, my face burning. Nate moves closer, his body near enough for me to feel the heat pouring off him. My attention drops to his chest: lean, hard, a black T-shirt clinging to his skin, not an inch of material wasted. Like most actors, Nate’s body is as important to his career as a computer or pen would be to a writer. A key tool of the job. The industry expects—no, demands—their leading men and women to take fitness seriously. There are exceptions, of course, like with anything in life, but they are few and far between.

“Is that an order?” he asks softly, dipping his head, and bringing those lips so close to mine. His tone holds a hint of amusement, but one look in those eyes tells me he isn’t joking.

I force a swallow down my throat, painful as barbed wire. “No, I-I…” I stammer.

“Good.”

He grips my waist and lifts me out of the way as if I weigh nothing more than a feather. Actually lifts me. His touch brands my skin, leaving a scorching burn in its wake. Most of my dreams consist of being touched by Nate, but nothing prepared me for the reality. My legs wobble as my feet connect with solid ground once more, and I put a hand on the wall to steady myself.

Nate’s lips twitch. Damn the man. He knows the effect he has on me, and he’s reveling in it.

Before I can find my voice, or my legs, Nate pushes open the door to Bernard’s office.

I draw in a shuddering breath. Oh no. No, no, no!

Nate laughs.

I want to die.

“Fucking hell, Bernard,” he says, laughing, while I avert my eyes from the sight of my boss’s flabby white ass as he scrambles to his feet and pulls up his pants. The girl he’s been screwing doesn’t even blush. She simply adjusts her skirt and jumps down from the desk.

“You kept me waiting for this?” Nate saunters into my boss’s office and gracefully sinks into a chair, his long legs splayed wide, and hands laced behind his head.

“Hey!” the blonde says, although her annoyance is as fake as her boobs.

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