Anyone But Nick (Anyone But... #3) - Penelope Bloom Page 0,35

felt around and was about to give up when my fingers touched a small folded piece of paper. When I pulled it out, I couldn’t help feeling the strangest pang of familiarity. It looked old and well worn, like it had been folded and unfolded so many times that the creases were as soft as cloth.

When I opened it, my breath caught. I recognized every word. It was a poem. A sappy, embarrassing, loaded-with-clichés poem written by the hand of a teenage girl. Even as full of cringe as it was, I couldn’t help feeling a deep sadness as I read through it. The vocabulary was definitely from a young girl, but there was no denying the emotion practically bleeding from the page.

At some point, the paper had apparently gotten soaked by something—maybe a drink spill in his locker or any number of things that could’ve happened afterward. But the part that made me frown was when I noticed the bottom of the page. The combination of spilled liquid and the paper being folded over had left a ghostlike imprint of random letters at the bottom, almost like a signature.

I’d written the note anonymously, but when I squinted down at the fuzzy, water-smeared letters, they seemed to say ira. When I folded the paper a few times, I realized it had come from part of a sentence: “I ran from my feelings for long enough.”

My frown deepened when everything clicked together. I’d known Nick was smart enough to figure out who had written him the note from context. But I hadn’t planned for what would happen if he thought somebody had signed it.

I was so absorbed in the note that I didn’t even realize he’d been standing in the doorway.

“This is a surprise,” Nick said. “Not exactly what I was thinking when we set the boundaries, though.”

In a moment of rare hand-eye coordination, I discreetly tucked the note into my palm and turned my wrist to conceal it. I knew I’d need to find a way to replace it soon, or he’d likely put two and two together, but I could worry about that later. “Oh God. This looks so much worse than it is. Seriously, I can explain.”

He walked into the room and planted his palms on the desk. He leaned forward, eyes boring into me. God. I’d never known a man with eyes that carried so much weight. I thought Nick could’ve likely carried a conversation without ever uttering a single word. All he’d need were the various stages of his glares.

“I was just looking for some documents I thought Dan would have in his desk.”

“Yeah? Well, this isn’t Dan’s desk anymore.”

“I realize that. I just thought you might not have had time to move his things out yet, and—”

“And you didn’t think it would be a good idea to ask me in the morning. So you broke into my office instead?”

I opened my mouth to object, but he held up his palm, silencing me.

“Miranda. If I can’t trust my vice president, then she’s useless to me. What would you do if you were in my position? Give you a slap on the wrist?”

I had to resist the urge to let my head hang. Getting lectured by Nick like this was mortifying, but I couldn’t let that show. I knew I’d cry if I admitted how this made me feel, and crying in front of Nick was not going to happen.

“I would,” I said, then I had to stop to swallow hard. Get it together, Miranda. “I would give my vice president a chance to show me what she thought was important enough to break into my office for. And then I’d decide what to do with her.”

“What to do with her,” Nick mused. His voice sounded deeper than usual, darker.

Chills raced across my skin. Why was it so hard to focus? My job was on the line, yet my stupid brain was trying to twist his words into some pathetic fantasy. “Yes,” I said. “What to do with her.”

“All right.” He stood up and crossed his arms. “What documents did you need?”

“The internal financial reports. The ones that came straight to the accountants before they filed their reports.”

Nick walked calmly to a cabinet on the wall, pulled it open, and scooped out a folder. “This is last year’s report. Good enough?”

“Yes,” I said shakily.

He handed me the folder. “You have twenty-four hours. Show me something important, and we’ll forget about this. Fail to do that, and we’ll