We shared a grave look, before collapsing once more.
It was all just too much.
The headlines. The merger. The trouble with his father. Something had to break, and our little Miss Oklahoma had been that proverbial tipping point.
Of course...she would have never factored into the equation if it hadn’t been for me. A fact that Nick was just starting to realize, through his drunken stupor.
“Hey,” he scooted suddenly closer to me in the booth, kicking off his shoes as we both reclined against the designer cushions, “about Ella...”
Even as intoxicated as I was, my chest tightened nervously at the name.
Shit—so we’re back to this again?
“Who?”
Not my best defense, but it was worth a try.
He flashed me an indulgent grin, but then grew suddenly serious—his eyes dilating thoughtfully as they met mine. “Why did you pick her?”
That’s a damn good question. One that I’d like the answer to myself.
What the fuck had come over me last night? Why—when I opened up Ella Campbell’s file—had I picked up the phone? What had possibly possessed me to be so foolish?
“You said that being with a stranger would be awkward, but professional,” I quoted his exact words from the day before, my voice lowering to a soft murmur. “A mutually beneficial arrangement. One with no real emotion—everything would be staged.”
He tilted his head to the side, trying to understand.
“So you found me a real-life succubus?”
“No.” I laughed quietly, then the alcohol took hold. “Well actually yeah...kind of.”
The room spun, and all of a sudden, I was having trouble meeting his eyes.
These were not the conversations we were supposed to be having—the two of us. These were not the sorts of situations we were supposed to be getting ourselves into.
I was supposed to be in my office. Doing my job. Going home across the bridge to my apartment in Brooklyn to watch TV, drink some wine, and fall asleep holding all my phones.
He was supposed to be gallivanting around the Upper East Side. Going home with a beautiful woman, maybe two. Creating some fresh bit of mischief for me to fix in the morning.
We weren’t supposed to be sitting alone in a bar, drinking bottles of expensive liquor, recapping our day together with our shoes off. It just wasn’t...us.
“I shouldn’t have done it,” I said abruptly. “It was a bad call. I apologize.”
My hair had long ago come loose from its pins—releasing itself from its strict bun to fall in messy waves down the front of my blouse. On instinct, I started gathering it back up. Twisting and confining it once more. Grasping at some small semblance of professionalism.
His hands caught mine, freezing them in place.
“Abby...”
It was only with the greatest reluctance that I looked up to meet his gaze.
“...why her?”
My breath hitched in my chest, and all at once, I couldn’t stand to be in the room a second longer. The lights were too dim. The conversation was too honest. And Nick?
Nick...was too close.
“I really should be getting home.”