“I should have been there,” I murmured without thinking.
Nick’s face lit up with a bemused grin. “What? Four-year-old Abigail Wilder swoops in to the rescue? Pelts the paparazzi with her building blocks?”
I raised my eyebrows knowingly.
“You’d be surprised what damage I could do with those things...”
He chuckled.
“I think the Royal Navy had it covered.”
It was my turn to laugh. But then something he’d said suddenly clicked.
“Wait a minute...you know how old I am?”
For a second, we both just stared. Me—pale as a ghost as my faithful ‘I’m twenty-nine’ cover story blew up in smoke. Nick—with the world’s most inscrutable poker face.
...a face that cracked into a smile.
“Of course I know how old you are.” He shot me a chiding grin, as if I’d been a fool to underestimate him. “I’ve known since the minute we started working together.”
Working together. Not, from the minute you started working for me.
That was one of the things I loved about Nick. To most people—especially the high-caliber clients that filled my day-book—it was a huge distinction. But Nick didn’t think twice.
“I actually happen to like that you’re a little younger than me.” His smile twisted up into a confident smirk. “Makes me want to show you the ropes.”
“I am not that much younger,” I replied with a matching grin.
But a part of me was thrilled to know he was in on the secret. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep up the façade of hovering just a year before thirty. Besides, something about the way he said show you the ropes made me want to know exactly what that meant.
In a moment of rare bravery, I was actually about to summon up the courage to ask, when there was a sudden metallic scrape in the living room. A second later, the front door opened and a man’s voice rang out through the apartment.
“Abigail? Are you home?”
Nick leapt back like he had been burned. Creating an instant distance between himself and the bed. His muscles tensed, and his eyes locked onto mine with a silent accusation.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered in a clipped voice, “I didn’t realize I was interrupting.”
I stared up in shock, as thoroughly taken aback by the situation as he was. As had been previously established, my work life didn’t leave much room for a social one. I couldn’t remember the last time there had been one man in my apartment, let alone two.
...it really made me wish I was wearing pants.
“I don’t...you’re not—”
“Abigail?” the man called again. There was a rustling in the kitchen, followed by the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. “You in here? How come your door isn’t locked?”
Then the voice clicked and I clapped a hand to my forehead.
“Jake?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m in the bedroom.” I then glared at Nick. “I guess it’s not meant for me to sleep in.”
The footsteps paused, then quickened.
I peered at Nick. “Did you forget to lock my door?”