“We’re doing this,” he scooted a little closer, “because out of all the people on the planet, there’s no one I’d rather be chained to this sofa with than you.”
My cheeks heated with a flush, and he flashed me a quick smile before continuing.
“And we’re doing this...” he gestured to the two of us, “because we’re drunk.”
; The serious mood shattered in an instant, and I threw back my head with a laugh. “Is that right? You wouldn’t be talking to me like this if we were sober?”
“Are you kidding?” He ran a hand back through his hair, keeping the other locked on my ankle the whole time. “I wouldn’t say these things to my priest.” I cocked my eyebrows doubtfully, and he conceded the point. “Fine—I wouldn’t say these things if I had a priest.”
I snorted and leaned back against the cushions.
“What—you think your father has infiltrated the clergy? Even words said in confessional are no longer safe?”
It was said as a joke, but there was a little bit too much truth there for comfort. Not since the robber barons and oil tycoons of the Industrial Revolution had one man in the city possessed so much power. At this point, there was literally nothing and no one out of his reach.
While most sons of such a man would consider this power a blessing...Nick did not.
“The thing about my dad is...
He trailed off, staring at the blank television screen as a small shadow flickered across his handsome face. It was an expression that only Mitchell had ever been able to produce. One that seemed completely out of place on a face so prone to smile. And while I was curious what he’d been about to say—I knew much better than to ask.
After getting hired by the Hunter family, as I was literally walking back down the hall in Nick’s penthouse after seeing father and son together for the first time, I remember being struck with a single pervading thought:
I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to grow up with such a man.
Not that Mitchell had much of a hand in actually raising Nick. Like most children born into wealth and privilege, Nick was raised by nannies until he was shipped off to boarding school to grow up with the rest of the future senators, CEO’s, and leaders of the free world.
What few childhood memories he had of Mitchell were few and far between, and despite the rest of his life being an open book, Nick certainly wasn’t sharing.
A few things had slipped out over the years. Things said in rare, unguarded moments of either intoxication or rage. Things that were chilling enough to make my toes curl.
But for the most part, both father and son seemed content to leave the past in the past. It was for the best, too. Aside from a towering height and proclivity for beautiful women and lots of money—the two had been virtual strangers from the start. It was an uneasy truce, but one that had served as the fundamental basis of their relationship for years.
Mitchell lived his life, while Nick was free to live his own. It wasn’t until recently that things had begun to overlap, and despite having worked for the family for a little over two years, I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen them together.
That being said, there was still something a little scary about Mitchell—no matter how far removed he might be. Perhaps it was that, even so far away, he was still the only person in the world who could make Nick make that face.
He saw me looking, and quickly smoothed it clear.
“The thing about my dad is...he can always manage to ruin a good day. So let’s not talk about him anymore.” He pushed to his feet, rendering the conversation closed. At first, I thought he was upset—but then he reached down his hand with a tender smile. “And I had a really good day, Abby.”
I beamed back, and let him help me to my feet. According to the clock on the wall, it was already coming up on two in the morning. Had we really been talking that long?
“Me too.”
It wasn’t flattery or exaggeration. Truth be told, it was the best day I could remember having in a long, long time.
“Same thing tomorrow?” I asked, tilting my head with a teasing smile.
Without seeming to think about it, he reached out and stroked a long finger all the way down the length of my face. I froze beneath his hand, shivering as he lingered near my jaw.
Then, as quickly as he’d touched me, he pulled away.
“Actually...how would you feel about something a little different tomorrow?”
“Different?” I repeated, well aware that in Nick’s world, ‘different’ wasn’t exactly limited to this side of the Atlantic. “What did you have in mind?”