Page 6 of I Could Be Yours (The Toronto Terror #6)

NATE

“ E xcellent 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 change my 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.”

“What are these formulas for?” she asks.

Like she’s genuinely curious. Like she actually wants to know what I do, beyond the title of engineer.

But I like to keep my workspace devoid of distractions.

Which means I need her out of here as soon as possible.

I don’t want the memory of Essie looking intrigued, and sexy, and determined, smelling like cotton fucking candy haunting me while I’m trying to design.

I already think about her in the shower every damn morning these days.

“You wouldn’t understand.” I’ve tried to explain it to people outside of work, and their eyes just glaze over .

Essie shoots me a look.

I redirect the conversation before it turns into another one I get to feel bad about. “You had something you want to discuss. What is it?”

She rolls her shoulders back, eyes no longer lit up with interest. “The Plinko board, have you made it?”

“It’s handled.” I haven’t started it, but I still have time.

“So you have it?” she presses. “Do you need help finishing it?”

“No. I definitely don’t need help.” It’s bad enough that I’ll have the memory of her standing in my office. I don’t need her in my apartment trying to help me build something. “I’ll have it ready for the weekend.” Which is when we need it.

She crosses her arms. This draws attention to her chest and reminds me that I’ve seen her nipples. My dick tingles. I think about the day my mom left. It works, but also darkens my mood.

“If you can’t follow through, Nathan, I need to know. We are five days away from the stag and doe. I’d like it to go as smoothly as possible for Tristan and Rix. Do you have a way to get it to Huntsville? Because if you don’t, we need to make a plan.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

She huffs, and her right cheek tics with irritation. It’s hot, which is frustrating. Why does she have to be so brain-meltingly attractive and sassy and competent?

“Look, Nate, I get that maybe this stuff isn’t your top priority, and you obviously have other things going on.

” She motions to my whiteboard. “But Rix deserves to have the best stag and doe in the history of the universe, and that’s what I’m trying to plan.

If you’re going to flake out, or be a hindrance, step the fuck out of the way and let me run things. ”

Work me takes that as a challenge. But as I gaze down at this tiny, polished, annoyed woman, I realize she truly loves Rix.

Why else would she come all the way across town just to make sure I’ll follow through?

She has no reason to believe I will since I’ve let her down in the past, and I’ve been letting her down by not being engaged in all this planning shit.

More than that, I’m letting my brother down by not showing up the way I should.

Tristan deserves the same special experience Essie wants to give her best friend.

“The presentation took up all my bandwidth,” I confess.

“But it’s done now. I promise I will send photographic evidence of the Plinko board as soon as I can, and I will have a means to transport it to Huntsville for the weekend.

” There . I’m stepping up and assuaging her concerns.

“Is there anything else you’re concerned about that needs my attention? ” Like your nipples .

I really need her out of my office. She smells fantastic, and she’s far too good a friend to Rix, and I’m so fucking antsy and full of self-loathing over my inability to stop thinking about her pretty mouth, and other body parts I’d like to explore.

Not to mention my inability to be anything but a constant dick when she’s around.

“I’ll hold you to it with the photographic evidence. Also, I sent you a calendar invitation days ago, and you haven’t accepted.” Essie scrolls through her calendar and taps a button.

“For what?”

She holds up her tablet. “Dance lessons.”

“Dance lessons?”

“Rix would like to be prepared with more than our dance routine from junior high. Tristan is game because he loves her and wants what she wants. I told her we’d join them for solidarity, and so we don’t look like bumbling idiots during the wedding reception.”

“I can dance just fine,” I argue. I also don’t know if I can handle touching Essie for an extended period without drowning in my own disdain.

She blinks up at me, wearing a placid smile. “Are you saying you won’t support Tristan and Rix? Because if that’s the case, I can ask Flip. I’m sure he’d be happy to take dance lessons with me. ”

“No. Don’t ask Flip.”

“Are you afraid Flip will show you up?”

“No, that’s not?—”

“That he’ll have better moves than you?”

“No, I?—”

“Then what’s stopping you, Nathan?”

“I’m accepting the invitation right now.” I’ll never hear the end of it if Flip takes my place at the dance lessons. And I won’t let Tristan down. I scroll through my calendar notifications and reply yes. The lessons populate in my phone. I show it to Essie. “There. Happy?”

“Immensely.” Her tone drips sarcasm. She glances at her phone. “I have to stop at The Party Place to pick up decorations.”

“I can pick up decorations,” I offer.

She pats me on the chest. “Just get that Plinko board ready.” She spins, and her long, dark hair fans out impressively.

Why the hell do I suddenly have the desire to shove my hands and face into it and inhale?

“I’ll walk you out.” I saw the heads turn when we were coming to my office.

“That’s not necessary.”

“I have to meet a colleague.” There. Now she can’t read into my motives.

Greg perks up as we pass his office. Every single head turns in our direction as I walk her to the elevator. Guys I don’t even know say hello. Essie smiles and murmurs a greeting in response while I just nod, my irritation growing with every lingering look.

I work in an office full of engineers. We’re all science nerds. Women like Essie—who look like they stepped out of a magazine—are infrequent around here. I place a protective hand at the base of her spine and rush her to the elevators, pushing the button with the side of my wrist.

“I’ll have the Plinko board done. And I’ll check your spreadsheet and see what else I can tackle.” I also plan to add a couple of games, but I won’t put them on the list.

“Most of it is already handled.”

The doors slide open.

“I’ll see you on Friday in Huntsville.” I shove my hands in my pockets because I don’t know what else to do with them.

She steps into the elevator, hits the button, flips her hair over her shoulder, and smiles the smile that brings back good and bad memories. “Yes, you will.”

The doors slide closed, and I can finally take a full breath again.

“Who’s the hottie?” Greg asks.

“Shut the fuck up, Greg. Let’s go for lunch.”