Been There Done That (Leffersbee #1) - Hope Ellis Page 0,51
young, smiling Nick. His arm was thrown around the shoulders of another man with an equally wide grin. They stood at the front desk we’d just left, under the Rocket Enterprises sign.
“That’s Eddie Banks. My partner.”
Nick stood beside me, his gaze trained on the picture. His arm brushed mine and something like static ran up my arm. Keeping my face straight, I noted the intensity of his gaze, the tension in his folded arms. Had something happened with his partner?
“It looks like a beautiful moment. You both must have been so proud.”
He nodded, not taking his eyes off the photo. “We’d just opened this, our second location. Our first office is in San Francisco. I’d argued with him about the cost. I didn’t think making such a big expenditure here was a wise move at our early stage of growth.”
I scrutinized his strong profile, the tight purse to his full lips. “So what convinced you?”
He shook his head, half-laughing. “Eddie did. Said it would pay for itself, that it would be a drop in the bucket compared to what we were about to bring in.” He nodded to himself. “And he was right.”
“I’m glad you had the benefit of a partner. I can only imagine how lonely it would have been otherwise, managing those kinds of difficult decisions alone, without the counsel of someone you trust.”
“I do trust him,” Nick said, quietly, as if to himself. “He’s one of the few people I trust completely. Him, and my Aunt Nan.”
“Sounds like you would do well to listen to them, then.”
He faced me suddenly, his vivid eyes startlingly bright as they searched mine. “Maybe you’re right.”
This close, I scented the familiar, unique essence of him. He smelled like clean skin, sandalwood, and betrayal.
Get a grip, Zora. You can’t trust this man, not ever again.
I blinked at the intensity of his gaze, and then he turned. “C’mon.”
His arm briefly extended in my direction and his hand brushed against mine for the barest moment.
I followed in his wake, my fingers tingling from the brief contact of his hand against my skin.
He narrated our progress, explaining the purposes of smaller administrative offices and larger suites, until we came to the mouth of a hallway facing two large sets of double doors.
Nameplates indicated that Nick’s office was to the left of his partner’s. He quickly keyed in a code and pushed in the door, revealing a massive space that rivaled the first floor of my house in size. The massive desk one would expect occupied one corner, with a separate meeting area and bartender’s cart.
But it was the view that stole my breath and left me wide-eyed. Gingerly, I made my way to the floor-to-ceiling window, hypnotized by the streets of Manhattan so far below, the cars and people reduced to tiny specs, everything ant-sized from this vantage point.
“This is amazing,” I breathed, unable to tear my gaze away.
“It is, isn’t it?” His tone seemed bemused. I caught his reflection behind me in the glass, slowly advancing.
“My first time in here, I don’t think I was able to speak for a whole minute.”
“You’ve come a long way from Green Valley.”
“Some days I think so. Others . . .”
I snuck a glance to the side, where Nick leaned against this desk.
This version of Nick wasn’t at all what I expected, not from reading about him and not from our recent encounters. I’d been distracted, I realized, busy reacting to him and the circumstances that brought us together. But in this unguarded moment, observing his tense perusal of the skyline, I was aware of a heaviness, a burden. Even in the midst of his stunning accomplishments, it was clear he was dissatisfied and unsettled. He was conflicting layers of pride and arrogance . . . and angst. Reflecting light in public, absorbing sullen darkness in private.
Affection and warmth I hadn’t imagined could still exist for this man swamped me. He’d obviously worked so hard to put behind the boy, the young man, he’d once been. But watching him now, I still saw that boy I’d known almost all of my life and all the fierce longing and determination that had always been a part of him.
“I’m proud of you,” I said, realizing my own self-preservation was somehow at stake as I said it. But I wanted—no, needed—him to hear it. I wanted the statement, the veracity of it, to reach him wherever he was.
He let out a breath and slowly straightened from the desk.