The Sexy Boss - Sedition: Book One Page 2

  3

  Nolan and I return to our desks, and I give him the three flash drives. Wind is tearing across the building, and the rate at which the snow falls increases every five minutes or so.

  I’ve been at my desk for the last three hours, transferring all of Liza’s action item emails to Nolan. However, as the storm gains strength, I start to think that I’d better get out of here before it’s too late. I shut down my computer and put on my coat and scarf. It’s as cold as ice cubes out there, and I’m already dreading exiting the building.

  I grab my purse, go to Nolan’s office, and knock on the door.

  “Come in,” he says.

  I enter. The way he’s looking at me makes my heart skip a beat. “I think I should leave. I want to stay ahead of the weather.”

  Nolan shoots out of his chair. “Right. Okay.”

  He seems nervous. I wonder if it’s because of the work he’s doing. I have no idea what he’s looking for in those files, but he’s been cooped up in his office for the last couple of hours. Misty paid him a visit about two hours ago, but she came out of his office just as fast as she went in. Then she mumbled good-bye to me and left for the day. Other than Misty’s last visit, I haven’t heard a peep from Nolan.

  Our gazes seem to linger for a fraction of a second too long. I’m starting to wonder if there’s something between us. If so, then what would that something be? Nolan is the kind of man who goes out with Sports Illustrated cover models, not confused little executive assistants. I do my job well, but I’ve never loved it as much as I should. I always wanted to be a museum curator, but somehow I ended up trapped in this position. Perhaps Nolan is just one of those people with an intense gaze. When he looks at me that way, I become a deer trapped in headlights.

  “Good night, Mr. Patrick,” I say.

  “Call me Nolan.” It sounds as if he’s ordering me to call him by his first name.

  “Okay, I will.” I turn to leave.

  “Oh, Abby? Thank you for going the extra mile.”

  I face him. “You’re welcome.”

  “And good night.”

  “Good night,” I say.

  I do an about-face and get out of his office before my face turns red; then he’ll be able to see what kind of effect he has on me. The way I’m reacting to Nolan Patrick is so schoolgirl-immature that I’m ashamed of myself. I give his office door one more glance and hit the road.

  The cold wind tries to murder me as soon as I step out of the cozy building. Just as I thought, I should’ve left a long time ago. Thank goodness the parking lot just got a fresh plow. I have my keys ready, and I open my car door and hurry to get in. My jaw shivers as I rub my hands together. Home. The sooner I get there, the better. I fumble the key into the ignition and turn it. The engine ticks. I turn the key again. The same thing happens.

  “No…” I cry. I try again. There’s no change. I drop my head on the steering wheel. “This cannot be happening.”

  I jump at the sound of knocking on my driver’s side window. It’s Nolan. Since my car has no power, the window can’t be rolled down. I open the door and get an extra gust of cold air.

  “Having problems with your car?” he asks.

  “It won't start.” Admitting that to him minimizes some of my anxiety.

  “Can you scoot into the passenger seat?” he asks.

  In my oversized coat, I move from one seat to the other. Nolan gets into the car and tries to start the engine. The car doesn’t work for him either. He pumps the gas three times and tries again. The car still doesn’t start. He does the same thing four more times.

  He says, “Let me get my cables.”

  I hug myself because it’s getting increasingly colder, nod, and say, “Okay.”

  He gets out and walks across the parking lot. The snowfall has really picked up. A few minutes later, a snow-covered black Land Rover pulls up to the hood of my car. Nolan hops out in his stained camel-colored coat and opens my car door. I try to stifle a shiver when he sits in the driver’s seat and feels under the steering wheel until he finds what he’s looking for. The hood pops open.

  I’m in a strange state of shock. Nolan Patrick is actually helping me with my car.

  “I’ll make the connections. Hopefully this will work,” he says.

  I feel so helpless. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “When I start my vehicle, try to start the car.”

  I bob my head, trying to endure the freezing chill that enters the car after he opens the door. It’s a fraction warmer when he slams it shut. I move back into the driver’s seat and watch Nolan move around our cars with a familiarity that indicates he’s no stranger to this type of work. I’m shivering more, and I’m not sure if it’s from the cold or my nerves.

  Nolan trots back to my window and shows me a thumbs-up. “When I do this, I want you to turn the key,” he says on the other side of the glass.

  “Okay,” I say.

  He gets in his big, shiny SUV. The engine of his car roars to life. Nolan puts his thumb up. I turn the key. The engine burps twice then conks out.

  Nolan revs his engine, and his thumb goes up. I try again. Nothing happens. He gets out and tinkers with my car for a few minutes. I’m pretty much ready to give up and call AAA. He gets back into his SUV and flips his thumb up. I turn the key. My engine ticks like a cicada.

  Nolan gets out and taps on my window before opening the door. “Abby, will you let me take you home? I'll call my mechanic and have him come look at your car.”

  I gasp internally. “Um, sure.”

  I’m shaking in my boots. I only live three miles away, but the roads are icy. He’ll have to drive slowly. What in the world will we talk about for the fifteen minutes it will take to get me home?

  * * *

  Nolan’s SUV smells like sweet citrus. The seats are the kind that hug the back, and the inside is so clean that it looks as if he just rolled off the lot with the expensive vehicle yesterday. Nolan gets in and rubs a hand through his wet hair. I feel sort of bad. Not only did I spill coffee on his coat, which looks pretty expensive, but because of me, the hems of his pants are wet, and so are his shirt cuffs. Jeez, I’ve made him very uncomfortable today.

  “What’s your address?” he asks, sort of like he’s grousing. He holds up his phone, waiting to put my address into the GPS.

  “5555 Fifty-Eighth Street, same zip as here.”

  He nods. “Visibility is low. The GPS will give me the extra set of eyes that I need,” he says as if he has to explain.

  I’m nervous, but I make myself smile. “It’s a handy tool,” I say to fill the awkward silence.

  “Right,” he barely says.

  I try to ignore the impact his lackluster response has on me.

  Nolan puts the wheels on the icy road. He’s driving very carefully, and I’m trying very hard not to look in his direction. He makes me so nervous, yet I’ve never been so comfortable sitting alone with a person I just met. I try to see as much of what’s around us as I can. I’ve taken this drive in these conditions so many times that I’m probably a better guide than the GPS.

  This drive could be scary, but Nolan does a great job of stopping at the lights, turning the corners, and getting along with other drivers.

  “So, Abby,” he says.

  I’m struck by panic and sit back in my seat. “Um, yes?”

  “Thank you for the flash drives. That was a great call on your part.”

  “Thanks, I…”

  “Why…” He glances at me.

  My pulse is racing. “I’m sorry, were you going to say something?”

  “Please, finish what you were going to say.”

  I take in his sexy profile. I momentarily forget what I was going to say because I was merely going to jibber-jab to save us from awkward silence. “Um, I put the files on the flash drives because pieces were always coming up missing or someone else had the file we needed. That’s all I was going to say.” I shrink nervously into my seat.
<
br />   He chuckles a little. “You answered the question I was going to ask.”

  I frown, trying to figure out what that question was—a few ticks later, the answer hits me. Jeez, my brain is so slow when I’m this nervous. “Oh.”

  “Are you from here?” he asks.

  “Yes.” I try to think of a more intelligent response, but nothing comes to me. “Are you?” He must think that I’m as interesting as a wet rag.

  “Actually, I am.”

  I pep up. “Oh, what high school did you go to?”

  Nolan clenches his jaw. It only lasts for about two seconds, but it feels as if it lasted a lot longer. “I didn’t. I attended a boarding school.”

  “Oh.” I want to say that by the look on his face, it appears that that school sucked. If he were anyone but my boss—my sexy boss—I would say it! “Where?” That sounded like a pretty decent question.

  His frown turns more severe. “Boston.”

  “Didn’t like it?” Shoot. I may have overstepped my boundaries with that one.

  “Not really.”

  I figured that was the answer, but I didn’t expect him to answer honestly. “Well, you didn’t miss out on anything. High school here was cold and boring. You know that song ‘Wisteria’ by Air? You know, Stacy Love?”

  He keeps his eyes on the road. “Never heard of it.”

  “It goes ‘and we’re all just the same, we think alike, we speak alike, we even do you-know-what alike,’” I sing out of tune just to give him an idea of how the song goes.

  For the first time, I see Nolan’s face brighten. “What do you mean by ‘you-know-what the same’?”

  I shift in my seat.

  Nolan laughs. “I take it you don’t curse?”

  “I curse,” I say defensively.

  He laughs again. “Good. I also take it that you mean they even fuck the same.”

  I chuckle. “That’s what the song says.”

  “Is that true about the high school you attended?”

  I roll my eyes to indicate the truth of that statement. “Very.”

  He laughs for the third time.

  We turn up Newton, and Fifty-Eighth Street is only five blocks away. Nolan and I focus on the flashing red lights up ahead.

  He slows the vehicle to a stop. “What in the hell is going on?”

  I scoot to the edge of my seat to get a better view. Someone knocks on Nolan’s window, and we turn at the same time to see a traffic control officer. He gestures for Nolan to roll down his window. Nolan complies. Stinging cold air shoots into the cab.

  Nolan turns up the heat. “What is it, Officer?”

  The officer looks at me and then back at Nolan.

  “Sir, I can’t let you pass through here right now, we’re clearing the area.”

  “But she only lives a couple of blocks away,” Nolan says as if that should be enough to grant him permission to pass.

  I touch Nolan’s arm. “That’s okay. I can walk the rest of way.”

  “No way, I’m not going to let you walk home.” He turns frantically toward the officer. “Is there any other road I can take to Fifty-Eighth Street?”

  “They’re all closed.”

  I gather my purse and tighten my scarf. “It’s really no big deal. It’s stopped snowing so…”

  Nolan frowns as though he sucked on a dozen lemons. “I’ll walk with you.”

  My first inclination is to tell him that it’s okay, really, I can make it home safely, but he seems so insistent. The officer directs Nolan to park along the side of the road, where snow is piled up. I brace myself before I step out of the car. Once I’m out, air cools my warmed face. Snow crunches under my feet. My knees are weak, and I almost take a tumble, but two strong arms catch me.

  “Are you okay?”

  I’m surprised by how fast he made it to my side. “I’m fine.”

  He lets go of me. “Stand here, I’ll be right back.”

  Nolan carefully walks on the slippery road to the officer. They’re talking. Nolan has such a tall, graceful physique. There’s no way a guy who looks like that doesn’t have a girlfriend stowed away somewhere. I’m slightly embarrassed about gawking at some other woman’s boyfriend, so I turn to look at the market down the street. Thank goodness I went grocery shopping the other day.

  “Okay, lead the way,” Nolan says.

  My jaw is trembling. “This way.”

  Nolan wraps an arm around me. “To keep you warm.”

  I bob my head, accepting his explanation. I mean, why else would he want to hold me?

  It’s so cold that all I can think about is whether or not I left my heater set to seventy-three degrees this morning. I was in such a rush that I don’t remember turning it on. We’ve run out of plowed road to walk on, and the sidewalks haven’t been shoveled. Nolan looks at me as if to ask if I’m okay with treading through deep snow. To show him how fine I am, I lift my knees and trudge through the snow like a pro.

  Nolan removes his arm from around me in order to keep his steps steady. I haven’t worked out in long time, and I’m breathing heavily and sweating under my heavy layers. The exercise doesn’t even faze Nolan. Of course he’s in stellar condition—just look at him.

  I point at my little white house with a triangular gable. It’s trimmed in light blue, and the shutters are painted the same color. “There it is.”

  Nolan’s narrowed eyes follow my finger. I’m sure his house and neighborhood are way more remarkable than mine. But no wonder the roads are closed. They’re layered with at least sixteen inches of snow, and men are working on a broken-down plow in the middle of street. My legs ache, and each step drains me of vital energy. I’m panting so hard, and I don’t even care if Nolan notices.

  Suddenly Nolan stops walking. “Abby?”

  “Yes,” I say, breathing heavily.

  “Do you mind if I carry you the rest of the way?”

  Once again, my first inclination is to refuse the assistance. My parents taught me to be self-sufficient in all things, even treading through thick snow. But I’m exhausted, and I don’t think I have enough in me to make it home without resting for at least a couple of minutes.

  I shake my head. “I don’t mind.”

  Nolan doesn’t hesitate. He sweeps me right up, and I feel as light as a feather in his arms. Goodness, he smells so good. I fight the urge to bury my face in his neck. His breath has a pleasing scent as well. Everything about him makes every cell of my body scream out for more.

  Nolan has to really watch his step once he reaches my lawn.

  “You have a lot of shoveling to do before the big one hits,” he says with a chuckle.

  “I pay one of the neighbor kids to do it. He’ll probably stop by soon to clear the extra snow. He’s very dogmatic about keeping on top of it.”

  Nolan smiles as if he’s amused by what I just said. I like the pleasanter side of Nolan. There’s no way to tell where the lawn ends and the sidewalk begins. I guide him to the sidewalk and, one step at a time, up the porch steps. We reach the door, and Nolan puts me down.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I say.

  He does that thing with his lips where it looks as if he could be smiling but probably isn’t. I open the door and we go in. Just as I figured, I forgot to set the thermostat to seventy-three degrees. I keep it lower at night because I sleep under a thick comforter that keeps me nice and warm. Nolan studies the furnishings. I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing everyone thinks the first time they walk into my house.

  “It all used to belong to my grandparents,” I say. “They gave me this house.”

  He nods while looking at the grandfather clock. “Nice.”

  When my friend Trista visited from Honolulu last year, she said no one our age keeps a grandfather clock. I wasn’t embarrassed about it then, but I am now. I wish I could snap my fingers and make the outdated floral-patterned living room set and shellacked brown coffee table all go away.

  We’re standing at the door, and the silence i
s awkward. Funny, but my living room seems too small for him.

  I rub my hands together. “I forgot to set the heater.”

  Nolan looks so uncomfortable. “It is rather chilly in here.”

  “I’ll build a fire. That’ll help.”

  He perks up. “Oh? How about I do that for you?”

  I’m stunned by his offer. “Well, okay. I’ll go get the matches. But would you like a drink? Something to warm you up?”

  Nolan blows into his hands. “Thanks for offering, but I’ll just start this fire and get back to my car.”

  “I understand,” I say as I scurry off to the kitchen, trying to keep my breathing steady as I go. I can’t read too much into this. He’s simply a chivalrous guy. I search through the drawer near the sink until I find the matches. Once they’re in my hand, I squeeze the box tightly, reminding myself that this afternoon with Nolan Patrick actually happened. I hurry back into the living room, he’s squatting in front of the fireplace, positioning the wood. He’s taken off his coat, and he looks so relaxed. Just for a second, I wonder how it would feel to have him lie on top of me. Only for a second or two.

  I hold out the matches. “Here you go.” Our fingers touch, and my heart skips a beat. I’m sure he didn’t feel all the excitement I felt.

  Nolan takes the matches. “Thank you.”

  One match is all it takes for him to start the fire. I usually go through four or five before I can get it going.

  He stands once the fire is purring nicely. “There.” He hands me the matches, and this time, I make sure we don’t touch.

  “Wow, I truly appreciate this. It’s not often your boss makes you a fire.”

  Nolan chuckles at my sad attempt at a joke. He takes his coat off the couch and puts it on. “There’s a first time for everything.”

  I walk him to the door, but he opens it before I can.

  “Well, drive safely,” I say. It feels as if we should kiss or something.

  He lifts a hand. “See you on Monday morning.”

  “Bright and early,” I say.

  We smile at each other one final time before he heads down the steps. He passes the neighbor kid, who’s finally made his way to my house.