Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol #1) - Fiona Cole Page 0,40
pick you up at 6:30.
Me: Who is this?
Unknown: Nicholas Rush
Me: How’d you get my number? Or my address?
Nicholas Rush: It’s in your file.
Nicholas Rush: Or did you lie about that too?
Me: No.
Nicholas Rush: Good. See you then.
He didn’t ask if I still wanted to come or if I had any plans. He commanded.
Surprisingly, after the last twenty-four hours, I didn’t mind.
I’d waffled all day. I’d stumbled home last night and passed out, his offer barely touching the alcohol. However, when I awoke this morning, it slammed back to me like another painful slap to the face.
Along with shame, embarrassment, anger, and a whole hurricane of emotions.
I’d considered calling the office and telling him that there was no way I’d even consider his offer, but I always stopped, knowing it was a lie.
How Camden treated me, left its mark. While I may have drank until my face tingled, I’d checked my locks twice and slid a chair in front of my bedroom door just in case. And my father. I didn’t even know where to begin. Something lingered behind it all that I couldn’t see but knew was there—like an ominous shadow. Whatever it was, I didn’t care to find out. I wanted no part of it. I’d gone to him for help, and he’d hurt me. My own father. My Papa.
There is nowhere you can go that I won’t find you and drag you back kicking and screaming.
His words played on a constant loop, stopping me from packing a bag and running. All my doors closed just as I tried to open them.
So, just as fast as I’d dialed the office number, I set it aside and went back to pacing my apartment.
I’d also picked up to call Nova and Raelynn just to toss my phone in a drawer and walk away. They’d have questions I didn’t have answers to, and I had enough crowding my mind without others there joining in. I decided to wait.
So, when his order came without question, I’d almost been relieved at having the decision made for me. Besides, I could always walk out.
The driver was professional and cordial on the drive over, nice enough to not comment on my wringing hands and tapping foot.
Knowing Nicholas didn’t spend all his time in New York, I was shocked to be pulling up to a fancy building on the edge of Central Park.
I said thank you to the driver and made my way to the glass doors, my heart thudding a million miles a minute. As fast as my heart raced, my legs slowed.
This was stupid. I should hail a cab and run.
He probably just wanted me to come over so he could fire me in private. He wanted to let me know he was sorry, but last night had been a mistake, and he wanted to let me down softly.
Because it was a mistake, right?
I shook my head in the middle of the sidewalk, not caring of the looks I got from passersby. This was crazy.
I took one step back when the memory of Camden’s cruel words, and my father’s harsh slap had me standing still.
Even if the whole thing blew up in my face, and I walked away without a job, still set on a path to marry Camden, I had to at least try. I had to know I’d at least listened to all my options.
With my chin high, I walked through the glass doors into the exquisite lobby. The concierge sent me to the top floor, of course. The doors slid open to a small lobby with one door behind a round table holding flowers. The lobby looked like an illusion to the man I knew resided behind the door. The soothing creams and soft, warm lights hid the cold man who lived here.
Leaving it behind, I knocked on the door and held my breath, waiting.
The door opened to a version of Nicholas I’d never seen. He still wore his pants and shirt from work but stood barefoot on the soft gray wood floors, his tie long gone, and top buttons undone, revealing a smattering of dark hair.
Had I ever found chest hair so sexy?
All of a sudden, my fitted black slacks and starched white shirt screamed overdressed.
“Verana. Welcome,” he said when I stood there even after he stepped back.
I swallowed and snapped into action, taking the final steps over the threshold, leaving the illusion behind.