Page 7 of Bride on the Dotted Line (Blackstone Center #1)

Sienna

On Monday, when my alarm goes off at six o’clock, I’m already awake and looking at my phone.

This is the third time I’ve checked my notifications in the last hour. I’ve had promotional emails, a text from my mom asking if I made that stir fry, and a low-balance alert from my bank.

Nothing important.

I put my phone down, step out of my pajamas, and crank the handle in the shower. When I get out, I wrap myself in a towel and check my notifications again.

Nothing new.

Look, I’m not expecting Nick Harwood to text me before our meeting. That would be irrational. We’re seeing each other in person this morning. Why would he bother texting me beforehand?

And why would I care?

We communicated more frequently—and far more casually—than we should have over the weekend, but now it’s the first official day of the work week.

Today, it’s not important that my billionaire client made me laugh in a moment of vulnerability.

Today, it’s not important that I think I made him laugh, too, or that the strange tug he gives me in my stomach has only gotten stronger.

What matters is that he gives our contract to his lawyers, we get ten million dollars, and my dad’s legal debts get paid.

I pull into my parking space outside of Blackstone Center, my Bad Bitch playlist roaring over the car sound system. My hair is wound into a shiny bun at the base of my head, my skirt and heels black as midnight. I stare at my locked phone in its holder on the dash.

Don’t check.

But I do anyway.

There are no new notifications. My fingers are twitchy, though, and before I realize I’m doing it, I’m scrolling through Nick and I’s messages from start to finish. Looking for … what? I don’t know. Just looking.

Nick

See you tomorrow.

Sienna

Goodnight, Nick.

There’s a sudden tap on my driver’s side window. I jump, looking up to see Lena staring at me from outside the car, brows furrowed. Alarm whooshes through me. Did she see the name on my screen?

I play it cool. “Hey.” Stepping out of the car, I push my phone into my pocket and sling my work bag over my shoulder. “Morning.”

“ Morning ,” Lena says, mimicking me. She’s wearing a turquoise winter coat and a lovely shade of red lipstick that suits her brown eyes and skin perfectly. Twenty years my best friend, co-workers for five, and she’s worn that lipstick almost every day. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What do you mean?” We walk side-by-side around the corner of Blackstone Center. It’s sunny again today; ice is melting off the branches of the trees above us. Lena grabs my sleeve and yanks me to the side to avoid a pile of falling snow.

“Thanks,” I say. “This is my good coat.”

She shoots me a glare. “Don’t change the subject. I saw you smiling at your phone.”

Shit— was I smiling? “I wasn’t smiling.”

“Yes, you were.” Lena pulls open Blackstone Center’s giant glass doors, ushering me into the busy lobby ahead of her. “I can’t believe you’d do this.”

“Do what?”

“Does it have to be right now? Can’t your sad, single loins wait another three months?”

“Lena,” I say, pushing the button for the elevator, “I love you, but what the everliving fuck are you talking about?”

“Your phone. Your …” She passes a hand up and down in the air, indicating my outfit. “We get the biggest deal our firm has ever seen, we’re up to our necks in work, and you get a boyfriend ?”

The elevator dings, doors sliding open.

“Sienna has a boyfriend?” a new voice says. It’s Mason, coming up behind us with a stack of files under his arm and a large to-go coffee poised near his mouth. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

The three of us wait, letting a group of people exit the elevator before we get on. Mason’s wearing a sharp, blue suit, his blond hair slicked back so he bears an unsettling resemblance to a glasses-wearing Draco Malfoy. I hate to admit it, but the look works for him.

Lena presses the button for the third floor.

“It could be a situationship,” she says to Mason, who nods, glugging his coffee. “Or something else, I don’t know. It’s been a while since she broke up with the last one. Either way, I caught her smiling like a lovesick teenager at her phone. We’re boned.”

“We’re not …” I look wildly between them, somehow both offended and guilty, even though the idea of Nick Harwood in any kind of relationship—let alone with me—is hilarious. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I was just looking at my messages.”

“It’ll be fine,” Mason says to Lena, ignoring me. I fight the urge to flick them both on the foreheads. “Sienna’s been doing the Lord’s work with our new deal. She deserves to blow off a little steam.”

“Sure, but none of us can afford to fall in love right now.”

Mason scoffs. “Who said anything about love?”

The elevator doors slide open, and we walk into Charters PR Management. It’s a small, cozy space. The reception area lines one side, flanking a narrow, windowed hallway to our offices. Charters’ receptionist, Robin, clacks away at his computer. I notice too late that his cheeks are tinted pink.

Lena’s rummaging in her bag for her office keys. “Having a lot of work to do isn’t an excuse to sleep with the whole world, as a rule,” she says to Mason.

Mason gives her an acknowledging look over his coffee. “That’s true.” He turns to me. “Sienna, just because we’re swamped doesn’t mean you’re allowed to sleep with the whole world.”

“I’m not …” I argue, then I stop in my tracks, catching sight of the tall figure sitting in the waiting area behind reception. A wash of heat runs down my arms. “Oh. Good morning, Mr. Harwood.”

Nick has his legs crossed, a tray of coffees perched on his knee. He’s grinning.

“Good morning, Ms. Hayes,” he says.

A beat passes in which we all stare at each other. Robin does an awkward spin in his seat, nearly knocking his mug of tea to the floor.

“Mr. Harwood’s here,” he says.

“Yes, thank you, Robin,” I reply.

Lena and Mason are standing stock-still, gaping at Nick, but Nick hasn’t taken his eyes off me yet. He’s wearing a different suit today, a tailored, gray number with a vest and a maroon tie. Sitting in our tiny waiting area, he looks like a prince in a commoner’s guest room.

“Um,” I manage. We’re still making eye contact. I lift my chin as he stands, casually slipping one hand in his pocket. “Welcome to Charters PR Management, Mr. Harwood. I trust you had a pleasant weekend.”

His face betrays nothing. “I did.”

“These are my co-workers, Lena Rathore and Mason Bescht.”

Lena moves to shake Nick’s hand. “It’s … it’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Harwood.”

Mason just stands there like he ran out of batteries. I consider kicking him in the calf, but luckily Nick offers him his hand next. That’s enough to bring him back to life.

“Very nice to meet you, Nick—I mean, Mr. Harwood,” Mason says, beaming. “You look just like your pictures.”

Nick smiles politely and holds up his tray of coffees. “I brought these to apologize for wasting Ms. Hayes’ time the other day. I got caught up working.”

“Did you find our office okay?” Lena asks, gesturing for Nick to follow her down the hallway. “I know Blackstone Center can be difficult to navigate …”

They go on, disappearing into the meeting room. Mason and I trail them, elbowing each other. I’m doing my best to fire arrows at him from my eyes. “You’re such a dick.”

“Oh my god,” he says with his hand clamped over his mouth, trying not to laugh. “You should have seen your face.”

“I’ll get you for this,” I whisper.

Around the table, Lena’s setting up our old, clunky projector. Nick sits with his legs crossed again, thumbs tapping on his phone screen. I shrug off my coat and slide into the seat next to him, trying to pretend like the last ten minutes—the last two days —never happened.

My phone vibrates.

Nick

The whole world, huh?

I can feel his attention on me while I pull folders out of my work bag and arrange them in front of us. His scent is everywhere in this tiny room, hitting my senses like a battering ram.

Sienna

With all due respect, Mr. Harwood … piss off.

Nick snorts, pocketing his phone.

It’s going to be a long morning.

Two hours later, Nick bids us goodbye and vanishes behind the elevator doors, our revised plan tucked in a folder beneath his arm.

Mason, Lena, and I stand near reception, counting our breaths. Then, when we’re certain he’s gone, Lena whips around and shoves me on the shoulder, unbalancing me on my heels.

“H-hey!” I sputter.

“What the hell, Sienna?” Lena’s eyes are practically glowing red. “I know I’m usually on Mason’s neck about tension in meetings, but there’s definitely something you’re not telling us. That man would not stop looking at you.”

My stomach does a nervous swoop. I noticed that I held Nick’s attention more than the others during the meeting, but then again, we’d met before. And had a nice conversation. And texted over the weekend.

Yeah.

“I think he’s just trying to throw us off, Lena.”

“Us?”

“Well, me specifically.”

“I don’t like him,” Mason says. He’s got his arms crossed, one shoulder leaning against the wall.

“Of course you don’t like him.” Lena’s head is in her hands. “He didn’t stare at you like you were seven-layer cake all morning.”

“It’s fine,” I tell them. It is fine. Nick was shockingly co-operative during the meeting.

He listened, asked questions, and nixed none of the changes we’d made to the plan.

After we finished, he drained the last of his coffee and promised to have his father’s lawyers look over the contract as soon as they could.

On the surface, a successful meeting for Charters PR Management.

But I can’t shake the feeling it went too well, especially after Nick and I’s conversation on Friday.

“Do you think they’ll take the deal?” Mason asks me.

I weigh the question, staring at the snowy street outside the window. “Any other client, and my answer would be an unequivocal yes. The Harwoods are a special case, though.”

And as much as I don’t want to admit it, I know more about Nick than my co-workers do.

I know that the three-month plan we’ve laid out is risky for him—Nick needs his reputation turned around ASAP.

His charity gala is in less than three weeks, and it took one google to find out that the company’s shareholders will be there.

By the time Nick goes to Fiji only a week after the gala, most of the opportunity to impress the shareholders will already be gone.

I came to the meeting this morning expecting him to object to the timeline, but he just … took it.

“I think he’s got something up his sleeve,” I say finally. “We communicated over the weekend, and it didn’t seem like?—”

My phone buzzes.

En masse, we look down to my hand. Even Robin looks from behind the reception desk.

“It’s him,” I say, reading the notification.

Mason and Lena huddle around my phone, watching as I tap in my passcode. There’s a pinch between Lena’s brows. “What’s he saying?”

“He wants to meet for dinner tomorrow to discuss further. Just me.”

“Well, he’s lost it,” Mason says. “Tell him we work together as a unit. If he wants to discuss, it should be with all of us.”

“Yeah, but only because that sounds like a date, and I don’t approve,” Lena adds.

There’s a shiver feathering its way down my spine, like I took a sip of a sweet, blended drink after sitting in the sun. “You don’t like him either?”

She laughs. “Darling, I fell in love with that man the moment I walked out of the elevator, but we know better than to mix pleasure and business.”

I nod. “I still think I should accept this.”

“ What? !”

Tucking my phone back in my pocket, I start pacing in front of Robin’s desk. “We’re making headway with him. Some more time together, and I’m positive I can get it done. He’s Nick Harwood, for god’s sake. He’d probably flirt with a department store mannequin.”

“If he ever walked into a department store,” Mason remarks.

“Which he wouldn’t, because he’s a billionaire,” Lena says.

“Right.” I breathe in slowly. “He and I established a rapport over text on the weekend. He trusts me the most, so it’s me that has to bring him over the finish line. I can get him to sign the contract.”

Lena scrutinizes me. If she’s put it together that it was Nick’s messages I was reading in my car this morning, she doesn’t bring it up. Maybe because she’s finally understood that the lovesick smiling never happened.

Because it didn’t.

“Okay,” she says. “You’ve gone insane, Sienna, but okay.”

I turn to Mason, and he shrugs. “Just make sure you know what you’re doing.”

“I do.” A smile stretches across my face. If Nick Harwood and I are going off-book, I know exactly what kind of war I’m going to wage. “Trust me, I do.”

Sienna

I’ll be sure to wear something nice.