“Oh, for crying out loud. Is there nowhere safe in this office anymore?” Nicholas the Disapproving fumes.
“Oh, hello there. Fabulous, you’re here. I have some questions.” I smile over at him. He’s taken off his suit jacket and loosened his tie, so he looks a little more approachable than usual. His dark hair is standing on end as though he’s been pulling at it, and his sharp jaw has the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow around the kind of lips women spend thousands on fillers to achieve. Scrumptious. How deceiving looks can be.
“I’ll bet you do.” Why does that sound suggestive? Surely that was only in my imagination. Maybe it’s a trick of the enclosed, intimate space.
“It appears there are no female partners at CPM. Why is that?” I ask as Nick prowls across the room. Prowls? Since when did I get so dramatic? But prowls is the only word for the way he moves. I slide off the sink and stand tall as he comes almost nose-to-nose with me. So close I can feel his heat and smell his cologne. The pit of my stomach clenches. Okay, maybe somewhere lower down than my stomach. I can feel my nipples turning to pebbles. I think my mouth even starts to water. Ugh.
“Female partners? What on earth are you on about? How is our business structure any of your concern?” he growls, adding to my discomfort by sending one of those icy and inappropriate shivers down my spine to between my legs. This spine-shiver thing is starting to get old.
I feel the need to lick my lips to make sure I’m not drooling. “Well, I’m thinking this should be a gender-neutral space, but I didn’t see any women at the meeting. Which got me wondering …”
“No. At present, we have no female partners,” he barks.
“Well, that’s not very inclusive of you. Have you ever had a female partner?”
Nick’s lips thin, and his eyes narrow. I didn’t mean it to sound salacious, yet somehow it did. I can feel his tension, but it’s not all irritation. His pupils have swamped the silvery grey of his eyes. The air between us seems tight and hot, my skin super sensitised. I can feel every stitch and seam in my clothes. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was just as affected as I am. His breathing is loud in the echoey space. For a crazy hot second, I think he might kiss me. But he crosses his arms and takes a step back.
“I would suggest, Ms MacLeod, that in future you keep your pert little nose out of things which are none of your concern and stick to things you know. Like the colour of the drapes and throw pillows. Now, if you will excuse me, I’d like to use the facilities in private.” His tone makes it clear the discussion is over.
I’m momentarily taken aback, not only by the rudeness of his words but by his hard-as-granite tone. Not to mention my physical response. It only takes me a second to regroup and put on my preferred armour—sarcasm. “Oh, yes. I’m terribly sorry. Let me get out of your way and allow you to use your archaically sexist, executive washroom in private.”
Honestly. No female partners in this day and age. Bloody male privilege. Haven’t they heard of gender equality? How out of touch are these people? Sadly, the door has a soft close on it, so I can’t even slam it on my way out. Dammit.
I have no idea why Nicholas causes such a strong reaction in me. Well, no. That’s not quite true. He annoys me. He annoys me because he’s rude, unfriendly, uncooperative and, it would seem, sexist. Whilst, at the same time, being pretty much the sexiest human being I have ever laid eyes on. Well, met in person, at least, because Liam Hemsworth is pretty damn unbeatable in that department. Those lips. Hello.
By the end of the day, I find Nicholas is also Nicholas the Miser.
I know, I know. It’s not good to eavesdrop. But in my defence, I didn’t set out to hear their conversation. It just happened. It’s not my fault they left the door ajar, and once they started talking, I could hardly let them know I was there, could I?
Harry’s assistant had gone home for the day, but she left some old office plans on her desk for me, which I want to take home and look at this evening.
As I’m picking them up, Nick’s black gravel voice rumbles out of Harry’s office door.
“I’m afraid I can’t agree. Five per cent is ludicrous, Harry.”
“It’s more than the CPI, but roughly the same as other firms are offering as an increase. I’ve done some digging.” Oh my god. They’re talking about staff pay increases. I’m frozen in place, trapped between the door to freedom and Gillian’s desk, too scared to move in case they hear me. “Most are offering between three and five per cent for admin, and the same for junior associates.”
“Well, I’m not going to agree to it.” Wow. Nick is also stingy. I’ve seen first-hand how hard the staff work in this company. Harry’s voice comes closer, and I hold my breath, hoping to God he doesn’t look out and see me because there’s nowhere to hide.
“You’ll have to give some ground, Nick …” and the door clicks shut, silencing the rest of the conversation. I grab the plans and skedaddle before one of them comes out. That is a conversation I shouldn’t have heard. Yet more evidence Nicholas the Smouldering is not someone I should even be dreaming about, let alone thinking about. If only someone would send my subconscious—and my hormones—the message.
Over the next couple of days, it seems I can’t be anywhere without Nicholas the Sexist Miser appearing and starting a squabble. And honestly, about the littlest things. Whether a new copy room is needed. Whether the reception area should be bigger or smaller. Whether hot-desking is a workable plan. Okay, that last one is not so little. But by the time we got to that, I found myself taking the opposite view, even though I secretly agreed with him. For no other reason than to annoy him. Well, that, and because I was annoyed his view was the same as mine. Getting under his skin is just so much fun.
It seems like everyone in the firm is a little bit in awe of Nicholas, with the exception of Edith, who has known him since he was in primary school, and Mandy, his assistant. Someone must have ratted out his behaviour towards me because a week into my work in the CPM offices, Mandy corners me in the boardroom while I’m sketching and measuring and she’s setting up for a big meeting.
“I hear you and Nick have had a few differences of opinion whilst you’ve been here,” she comments as she lays folders full of paperwork, pads and pens in front of several chairs. I guess Mandy is somewhere in her forties, with the neatest hair I’ve ever seen and a wardrobe of don’t-mess-with-me suits all the other admin staff envy.
“You could say that. Honestly, I don’t know what I’ve done to rub him the wrong way, but he seems determined not to get along with me.” I cross my fingers behind my back because this is not even a little bit true. I know why we don’t get along. I bait him mercilessly.
Mandy laughs and rolls her eyes. “Yes, he can be quite contrary when he wants to be. But his bark is far worse than his bite.”
This seems like a good time to do some digging. “I’ll take your word for it. I was shocked there are no female partners here, and he got quite angry when I asked him about it.” I can’t mention the pay discussion I heard, not least because it affects Mandy. But I wish I could. Strangely, she answers my question for herself.
“Yes, he would. He’s passionate about diversity and inclusivity. He’s been working on a policy for a while, but getting the older partners to agree has been an uphill battle. It’s enormously frustrating for him. He and the other partners are always butting heads.”
“That’s odd. Why didn’t he say so?” If he had, our whole argument could have been avoided. It occurs to me that maybe he enjoys not liking me.
Mandy shrugs. “I don’t know. He’s a complicated character. Very … oh, how would you put it—reserved?”
