Private Player - Page 24

“We’re exceeding our monthly and quarterly targets on every measure,” the operations director said robotically, his gaze flitting between Nathan and me as if he were following a script and was going to be marked out of ten.

Nathan didn’t seem to be taking much notice; he was busy devouring the spreadsheet in front of him as if it held the meaning of life. “Yup,” he said, pushing back in his chair. “Looks good, but see if you can get Erik to call me to run through the actuarial model before it goes to the board.”

The operations director flitted out, leaving Nathan to check his emails.

“I wasn’t sure if he wanted to impress you or me,” I said, wanting to understand if Nathan was used to people trying to put on a show like that.

“Both,” he said, clicking on an email and then fixing me with a stare. “He thinks if he impresses you, I’ll be happy.”

So he had noticed. I was starting to realize Nathan didn’t miss much.

“Is he right?” I asked.

Nathan held my gaze before he said, “I’m not trying to impress you. Not today anyway. Is that a mistake?”

I wasn’t sure if the Nathan from the wedding hadn’t been so intense or whether I just hadn’t noticed, but there was something a little overwhelming about being across the desk from him while he thought carefully about the questions I asked.

“You should just be yourself,” I replied. “So no, you shouldn’t try to impress me.”

Nathan blinked, those eyelashes sweeping across his face. “Tim likes to do a good job, that’s all. And he does. Lucky for him he’s my operations director and not trying to make it in Hollywood.” He grinned, the intensity fading away to be replaced by the carefree man I met on Saturday.

“Yeah, I’m not sure he’d be getting an Oscar any time soon,” I replied.

“He’s a good guy. Works hard and he’s loyal.”

“Is loyalty important to you?” I asked.

“Would anyone say no to that?”

“I was hoping for more than a yes-or-no answer.”

“As you know, small talk isn’t my strong suit.”

“We’re not small-talking. We’re connecting on a deeper emotional level.”

Nathan looked away, a knowing smile nudging at the corners of his delicious mouth.

Without warning, a tall, bald man stormed into Nathan’s office, completely ignoring me. “This,” he said to Nathan, slapping down a folded newspaper, “is a problem. You’re not convincing me that your mind is on the job when you’re pictured all over town with a married woman.”

Shit, was that the Mercury?

“You’re running out of chances, Nathan.”

“Giles, I told you, we’re friends,” Nathan snapped. “Nothing more.”

“I don’t care what you get up to in your spare time but keep it private. I don’t want to read about it in Mandy Mason’s column. I want your focus on Astro. Don’t disappoint me.”

My stomach dropped, and despite not being responsible for what my mother wrote, guilt churned in my gut.

Giles, presumably the chairman of Astro, swept out and Nathan unfolded the newspaper and read the column. “This woman doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” He poked at the grainy black-and-white photograph. “This photograph looks like we’re in some underground bar in the middle of the night. But we’re in Costa at eleven in the morning, for God’s sake. Nothing clandestine happens at the Costa in Euston Station.” He dumped the paper in the bin and shook his head. “Bloody Mandy Mason. She’s making my life a living hell.”

I took a deep breath and stopped myself from telling him I’d felt the same when she’d grounded me three times the summer I was fourteen. The last thing Nathan Cove needed to know about me was that I was related to his nemesis.

He rose to his feet. “We need to head to the car. We’re off to the food bank.”

“You sure you’re not trying to impress me?” I said, trying to lighten the mood as he held open his office door.

He’d only half-returned my smile when his mobile rang and he frowned. “Give me a minute.” Before I could reply, he’d shut his office door, with me on the other side of it.

A couple of minutes of me shifting from foot to foot, wondering whether I should go and get myself a coffee, and then just as suddenly as he’d left, Nathan swung the door open. His eyes were dark and thunderous, like he was out for blood. He charged past me. “We’re going to be late.”

I scuttled after him, desperately wanting to know who had been on the phone. Was it more news about my mother’s column or something else?

As we rode down in the lift, Nathan seemed preoccupied.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

He turned to me, having regained his composure, and nodded. “Yes. Completely fine.”

“And the phone call . . .”

He opened his mouth, paused and then said. “My dentist. Rearranging my appointment.”

Tags: Louise Bay Romance
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