Page 13 of I Could Be Yours

He can’t stand me.

But instead of either of us walking away, we’re bickering like teenagers.

“Take your broody asshole down a notch, Nathan. Your black cloud is dimming my shine.”

I brush past him. I can’t let him get to me. Today is about Rix and celebrating her forever. I have plenty of time to fixate on why I never seem to get any closer to my own.

CHAPTER 4

NATE

“Excellent presentation, Nate. Great work.” My boss pats me on the shoulder as we leave the boardroom on Monday.

“Thanks, Andrew. I appreciate your support.” Under my suit jacket I’m sweating, but the stress has been worth it. I’ve only been with the company for a handful of months, and I’m already proving my worth. Even more exciting, I’ve been given a half-million-dollar budget to develop the prototype for my new skate and blade design. It’s a huge deal, considering how new I am. But I have career goals and a plan to attain them. If this project goes well, it could give us an edge against the competition, get us big contracts with the Terror hockey team, and make a name for me in the industry. It’s the start of something awesome.

“We should go for lunch to celebrate,” Greg, one of my colleagues, suggests.

He’s always up for a party as he’s on the rebound after his girlfriend of six years broke it off with him recently. She said she’d fallen out of love. He just reinforces my belief that love doesn’t last, and his single status makes him an easy work friend.

“Sure. Let me just drop my things in my office.”And changemy shirt so I don’t have to wear my suit jacket in the sweltering July heat.

I stop short when I spot Essie sitting in the waiting room outside our offices. She looks like she stepped out of a summer advertisement. Her long, dark hair falls in waves over her shoulders, contrasting with her pale, floral-print dress and strappy sandals. Her bag matches her dress, and she has a binder in her lap, as well as a tablet and her phone.

Panic makes my heart race, and my already sweaty palms dampen further. “What are you doing here?”

Her head lifts and a wide, beautiful smile curves her annoyingly luscious lips. “Waiting for you.”

“But…why? Are Rix and Tristan okay? Did something happen?” I remind myself she wouldn’t be sitting here smiling if things had gone sideways.

“Rix and Tristan are fine.” She pushes to her feet. “I need to discuss a few things with you, and they’re pressing.”

Greg is still standing beside me, and Jennie, the head receptionist, is watching this go down with more interest than I would like. She keeps telling me about her niece who just graduated from university. Like I would ever date someone related to a person I work with.

“Come into my office.” I take the binder and tablet from her and lead her down the hall, closing the door once we’re inside. “You couldn’t have messaged?”

“I tried. Several times. You didn’t respond.” Her smile stays firmly in place.

I dig my phone out of my pocket. I have unread messages from last night and more from this morning. “I had a big presentation. I would have responded this afternoon.”

“I need an answer before this afternoon, so here I am. How did the presentation go?” That smile stays firmly on her pretty, glossy lips.

“Huh?”

“The presentation? How did it go?” Her attention catches on the wall across the room, and she heads toward it.

“It was fine.” I can’t imagine Essie giving a shit about my career goals.

While my office lacks a lot of personal touches, that particular wall feels a lot like diary entries for work. All my sketches are tacked to the corkboard. Organized neatly, of course, but still, that wall is the only space in this office that isn’t clutter free. The whiteboard is full of notes and formulas, all of which pertain to the presentation I just gave. I came in early to review before the meeting to be sure I had it all locked down.

She tilts her head. “What’s all this?”

“Just stuff I’m working on.” I could literally talk for hours about what I do for a living, but most people gap out after about thirty seconds.

She reaches out and brushes her long, delicate fingers along the edge of one of my earliest designs. It’s basic, and unfinished, but also a reminder of how far I’ve come in the past several months.

She glances over her shoulder. I don’t know how to read her expression, but her eyes move over me on a sweep that makes my body feel like a live wire. Her voice is soft and reverent when she speaks. “This is like…scientific art.”

I brush off the compliment. “It’s rudimentary.”

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