Nick groans and throws his head back, exposing the column of his neck. He’s sporting a five o’clock shadow, but it’s neatly trimmed, proving it’s a style choice and not an indication of laziness or running late.
I’ve never dated a guy with facial hair before, and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to run my fingers through that sexy scruff. To have it brush against my cheek. Would it be soft? Scratchy? A pleasant combination of the two?
“I’m never going to live that down, am I?” he asks, pulling me back to the conversation.
I tap my chin with my forefinger and pretend to think it over. “Probably not, but I’ll tell you what. If you approve the before and after employee satisfaction surveys, I promise not to bring it up again.”
He narrows his eyes. “Ever?”
“Ever.”
It’s hardly a fair offer. I’m getting way more out of the deal than he is—the surveys are critical to the research portion of my capstone project—but he doesn’t know that.
“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Evans.” He extends a hand toward me, and I’m reminded of our first meeting, when he offered to shake my hand and I rebuffed him. It wasn’t one of my finer moments, but to be fair, neither of us was in great form that day. This time I accept, extending my hand to meet him in the middle.
Nick’s touch is firm but gentle, and his hand is warm as it clasps mine. If I expected it to be cold and hard, like everything else about him, I was wrong.
But Hartless isn’t the real Nick. It’s just the face he shows the world. A mask he wears like a layer of protection against the media and heartache, and God only knows what else. If I’ve learned nothing else today, it’s that there is more to the man than his stone-cold reputation and constant need for perfectionism and control.
For an instant—a millisecond, really—I almost feel bad about sneaking into his office and rearranging his desk this morning.
Almost.
After all, he had it coming for redlining all my original ideas, and God knows the man could use a little chaos in his life.
When I finally pull my hand from his, there’s a lingering warmth on my palm. “So, I’ll put the surveys together and send them over for approval,” I say, my voice too loud and pitchy for the serene café.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Really?” I don’t bother to mask my disbelief. After all, this is the same man who insisted on helping select a photo booth. “You’re going to let me survey all three thousand Triada employees, and you don’t want to see the questionnaire first?”
Yeah, I definitely heard him wrong.
“I trust you,” he says, voice even. “Besides, constructing surveys is a bit outside my wheelhouse. You’re free to do your thing, as long as you stay out of my brain.”
Okay. We definitely have anInvasion of the Body Snatcherssituation.
“Are you feeling okay?” I gesture to an empty booth. “Do you need to lie down?”
“Hilarious.”
“I’m not joking. Are you sure you’re comfortable letting me handle this part of the project solo?” The man might not be entirely heartless, but I have zero doubt his need for control is deeply ingrained. Everything about him screams “order” from his neatly styled hair to his pristine office.
And that kind of control? It isn’t given up lightly.
“Yes, I’m sure.” He grins, revealing a row of perfect white teeth. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
Chapter Sixteen
Nick
“If I have to look at one more red heart, my brain is going to explode.”
Scarlett smirks and looks up at me over the top of her rainbow frames. “Will there be confetti? Because I could get behind that.”
“Only if I’ve magically acquired it by osmosis.” I push my chair back from the table, putting as much space as possible between myself and Scarlett’s vision board.
Yeah, I now know what a vision board is because this project is taking over my life. I even had a dream about it last night.
