The Broody Brit for Christmas (Holiday Springs #1) - M.J. Fields Page 0,34
home with me.”
“I’ve always had a three-date rule...”
“I won’t even try to fuck you. I won’t even give you an inch, even if you beg.”
“I have dishes to do. You know, gotta earn my keep.”
“How much are they paying you at the shop?”
“What?” She forces a laugh.
“Until you get your feet under you, come work for me. You can use your fancy Ivy League degree to help with my books. It’ll pad your CV,” I correct myself and use the American term, “resume.”
What the fuck is wrong with me? I know damn well what it is, or rather, who it is that’s causing me to act like this. It’s her. It’s Nikki. It’s fucking insane is what it is, and that’s no bullshit. The way she’s looking at me confirms she thinks so as well.
“So, you want me to come home with you, and you want me to work for you?” Confusion mixes with a look resembling loss.
“Yeah, well, as screwed up as it sounds, yes, absolutely. It’s going to sound even worse when I tell you, part of your pay will come with a cozy little flat with a loft. You’d have privacy and—”
She holds her hand over her stomach and looks like she may get sick. “So, you want me to come home with you, work with you, and move in with you?”
I scrub my hand over my face. “Sounds a bit insane but also exactly right. Well, not the moving in with me part, you’d have your own space of course, and you’d obviously be free to come and—”
She unbuckles her seat belt. “It sounds a bit familiar—”
“Wait, just hear me out.” For fuck’s sake, now I’m being a total fucking wanker.
She sits forward, her hands on her knees. “Can we rewind to the very nice goodnight we were about to share before Nellie—”
“Look, Nikki.” I hold up my hands because… who the fuck knows, it just seems like the right thing to do. “I get that may seem a bit much, but I’m literally looking for help, have the space available, and—”
She quickly opens the door and slides out. “Thank you for the amazing date, Raff. It was truly a pleasure.”
When she shuts the door, I mentally kick myself in the balls. What the fuck is wrong with me?
As I watch her walk toward the house and see her having to dig for her key to unlock the fucking door to her own home, I’m pissed off all over again.
But when she looks at me and basically shoos me away, I back out of the driveway feeling something I’ve never fucking felt, ever in my life for any woman. I don’t even know what words to attach to said feeling. Possessive? Desperation?
“In-fucking-sane,” I scold myself. “Fucking wanker.”
Minutes later, I pull into the parking lot behind the bar. I see a black car parked in one of my spots. Not just any black car, but a Bugatti Veyron, and the only person in these parts who would drive a vehicle like that was supposed to head back to Vail—Beckett.
As soon as I step out of my car, it starts to rain. Fitting that a perfect night would end with tears from heaven.
I punch in the code to unlock the door and head inside. I know damn well he’s in the bar, ‘convincing’ the blonde from the football field tonight she should be his. Little did she know she was already his. I’d never seen him look as settled in a decision outside of the negotiation table, definitely not with a woman.
Just like Nikki is.
I’m not unconvinced that we won’t get exactly what we want, but I do know patience isn’t a virtue I seem to be able to grasp hold of when it comes to her. It was the same way with Hope, but she was as eager as I was. Neither of us had had our hearts broken by a lover. Nikki is a totally different story.
Walking through the small kitchen into the bar, I look around and see that Beckett isn't anywhere to be found.
“He’s upstairs,” Sally calls over her shoulder to me as she shakes up a drink for a customer.
“He alone?”
She laughs, shaking her head. “We are talking about your friend Beckett, correct?”
I nod my confirmation as I sit at the end of the bar.
She sets my favorite teacup in front of me with the tea bag still floating at the top of the steaming water. I steep the bag a few times