Page 17 of Hold Me Today

7

Mina

Unreadable as his expressions often are, Nick’s an open book right now.

Oh, those pewter eyes of his seem to say to my blunt admission:oh shit.

Unfortunately, “oh shit” isn’t a viable option—and I’m prepared to push a hard bargain.

Before he can protest, I dig into my shoulder bag and pull out a manila folder with my budget plan. A budget plan that took me longer than it should have to draw up. Maybe if I had moreinthe budget, I could hire a financial analyst to help me move all the puzzle pieces into place.

But I don’t have money to spare, so it’s as good as it’ll ever get.

One by one, I move the papers around on Nick’s desk, angling them so the writing is upside down for me but clear as day for him.

I need this to work.

I can’t—can’t—fail. I won’t let that happen to me, to my dream.

“I have enough money to cover the remaining material costs. Maybe not as many of the high-end features I’ve been eyeing butAgapewill look beautiful no matter what.” I’ll cry over my lack of slate floors another day.And the hydrotherapy room I’ve been dying to put in. Ugh. Floors can be replaced. Fixtures can be updated. Rooms can be altered later on. But I’ll never have another opportunity to get the ball rolling like I do now. “I can purchase the necessities—the sinks and the laminate flooring and mirrors and all that.”

And if my personal finances squeeze a little too tight over the next few months, then that’s just fine.

The dream makes it all worth it.

My chest tightens, heart skedaddling into an uncoordinated two-step, and I risk a glance up at Nick.

He’s as rigid as stone.

Keep talking!

The heel of my hand lightly taps on the desk, and I focus on my research. On my plans. And pointedly ignore the fact that Effie’s older brother looks like he’s planning to expedite my death just so I’ll get out of his hair.

His curly hair.

Hair I’ve cut only once—the day before his wedding.

Ruthlessly, I shove the thought aside and take a deep, steadying breath. “I was told the renovations wouldn’t last any longer than a month. Maybe less if longer hours are put in.” The expected timeline I printed out over the weekend mocks me with its set-in-stone punctuality. I’m already behind schedule.Yay.“I don’t know how to say this exactly, but I . . . I wouldn’t be here if there was an alternative.”

There isn’t one.

No other options that I can foresee except for Nick, a man I’ve known for decades, coming in to save the day.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gone out of his way to help me, but overhaulingAgapeis a heck of a lot more time-consuming than a single dance spun around his mother’s living room on prom night. No one asked me to the dance, and he . . . well, Nick had made me feel special. That one dance spurred fantasies of the two of us for months after, each one rawer and more sexual than the last. Or as sexually explicit as any virgin eighteen-year-old knows how to get, at any rate.

“What’s in it for me?”

My chin jerks up, tongue pressing flat to the roof of my mouth to keep myself from asking what he means.Think before you speak, my tutor in school reminded me whenever I grew flustered in class,allow yourself the moment to truly think about what’s been said.

I do that now, acutely aware of the fact that sweat beads on my brow and my spine has never been straighter in my life.What does he mean? What does hemean? Logic tells me that the romance novels I always listen to are misleading—he’s not asking for me, the woman, but something else.

I just don’t know what.

I drum my fingers on the desk and summon vague words to my tongue. “I have enough cash in the bank to buy anything we might need.” Leaning forward, I tap on the upper corner of one sheet, and wait for Nick’s gaze to drop to where I point. “I took out a bank loan to buy the place. The chances of them giving me another so soon is unlikely.” A hard swallow that feels like I’ve downed a sharp-edged boulder. God, it rankles to have to come crawling, metaphorically on my hands and knees, and ask this of him. Especially because . . . “I can’t pay you, Nick.”

I’d planned to bust in here with the reminder that he owes me for letting my reputation swirl down the drain of misrepresentation. After his wedding night, everyone assumed I slept with an almost-married man—and I let them believe what they wanted.

Because Nick needed me that night. He needed a friend, someone to sit beside him and offer comfort while he grieved the loss of the woman of his dreams . . .

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