Page 10 of One Foggy Christmas
Without permission, my gaze travels across the office to Nash Carter. He’s standing behind Eli, arms folded, looking at something on the computer. Nash has perfected his casual but well-dressed style. His fitted navy t-shirt hugs his arm muscles and chest, ending just past the waist of his jeans, where a stylish belt buckle peeks out. He doesn’t give off cowboy vibes, but he definitely looks like he’d be best friends with John Wayne and fit in on a ranch somewhere in Texas—not what I expected when moving to the city. Nash’s jeans-in-the-workplace policy took me by surprise. I mean, Stetson wears dress shirts to law school every day, so I expected fancier attire from a major business in downtown Chicago. But Nash’s rugged style suits his laid-back personality.
He straightens, and as if he can sense me watching him, his eyes shoot to me. I don’t immediately turn away, and I’m rewarded with a small but attractive smile that creates flutters in my stomach.
What the heck was that?
I swallow hard and scoot my chair into my desk like I intend to work my way out of being attracted to my boss.
But it’s too late.
He’s on his way to me.
When I arrived at work two weeks ago and saw the charming guy from the Cubs game, I about died. My heart exploded in my chest from shock. There’s no other acceptable reason for the burst.
Nash has been all business since I got here, just like he promised he would be. I should be grateful. The last thing I want is to be favored in this internship because a man wants a relationship with me. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss his shameful flirting from the Cubs game.
It was nice to be pursued.
I haven’t had that in years—maybe never. Unless you count the note Stetson gave me in third grade that said, “Be my girlfriend. Circle yes or no.” I circled yes, and from that moment on, I’ve always been his. So much so that he’s never had to work hard again to get me to fall for him. My love was just assumed and expected—like a lot of things in my life. Where I’d live. Where I’d work. Who I’d marry. When every decision for my future has already been made, it takes away the excitement of the journey.
That’s the problem with Nash. He brings excitement to my otherwise pre-determined life, and I like it.
He stops just outside my cubicle, resting his elbow on the wall. He looks massive in my small space, and the flutters from moments ago swirl to life again, as if his presence gave them their second wind.
“Have you looked at the Green Acres long-term care facility yet?”
Work. Yes, let’s focus on work.
“I have.” I search around my desk for the file to jog my memory on which facility we’re talking about. When I don’t immediately find it, I stand and start moving my grocery bags around, looking under each one.
“Did you go shopping?” Nash leans over, peeking inside one of my bags.
“I went before work.” I don’t want him to think I grocery-shopped during business hours.
“Is that a can of Spaghetti-Os?” He reaches inside, pulling it out. His smile teeters between amused and teasing as he holds the can up for me to see as if I wasn’t the one who purchased it.
“I’ve never actually had Spaghetti-Os.” I shift my weight, feeling nervous. “My best friend used to eat them whenever I visited her at college, so I just thought I’d give it a try.”
“An American delicacy. I’m sure you’ll love it.” The playfulness in his eyes makes me think he knows something about Spaghetti-Os that I don’t. “What else do you have in here?” He reaches into the bag and pulls out Goldfish crackers, fruit snacks, and Top Ramen. His smile grows more prominent with each item.
My food choices make me look like a freaking six-year-old.
“Your palette reminds me of a toddler,” he jokes, noticing what I hoped he wouldn’t. He’s not wrong. I get everything plain. I don’t eat vegetables. Heck, I’d eat cheese pizza if it was acceptable for a grown adult.
“I’ve never lived on my own. So Spaghetti-Os and Top Ramen seemed like a rite of passage I needed to experience.”
“You’ve never lived on your own?” His brows jump in surprise. “Not even in college?”
“I commuted from my parents' house to Syracuse University. My dad thought it would be best to live at home so I could still be involved with his business.”
He nods as if he understands.
I find the Green Acres folder and hold it up. “Here it is.” I open the file, looking at the pictures. “Oh, yeah. I wasn’t impressed with this facility. It seems dirty, and the bed-to-staff ratio is way off. Plus, every time I called to speak with the director, I was on hold for over ten minutes.” I hand the folder to Nash. “I don’t recommend we staff it.”
He leans back against my desk, crossing his ankles as he reads over my notes. “Yeah, I actually agree with you.”
“You do?” I match his position, accidentally brushing my shoulder against his arm. The way that shoulder brush speeds up my heart is downright illegal.
“Why are you so surprised?” He eyes me from the side.
