Chapter One
Thursday was a blur. Natalie Baker could easily remember how it had started. She had gotten up, gotten dressed in her favorite green dress and black cardigan, her shoes as low and sensible as always. She had taken the bus to work, greeted the security guard at the front, and found her cubicle just as comfortingly cramped as always. Then Jen had come to her with that strangely grim look on her face, and Natalie remembered being alarmed.
Maybe it's the Westerly accounts, maybe there was a mistake somewhere? That would be very strange, I checked them...
“Natalie, Mr. Browning wants to speak with you. Right away.”
The emphasis was more menacing than not, and that was when it all started to move in fast forward. Everything after that moment was a blur, from the walk to the manager's office, to the manager opening his mouth and telling her that after three years of exemplary service, she was being let go.
“This is no reflection on you, of course,” Mr. Browning had said. “We are just moving the department forward, phasing out your position. Of course, I'll be happy to give you a reference, and while we regret...”
His voice faded away to meaningless squawks, and Natalie found herself staring at his mouth as it opened and shut. It was oddly fascinating to her in this state. She felt as if he were some kind of puppet being controlled by strings she could not see. What did that mean?
She stayed in that strange, fugue-like state until the door opened behind her, and Raymond, the security guard she had greeted just a few hours ago, came in with a look of stolid indifference on his face.
“Raymond will escort you to your desk where you can gather your things, and then he'll show you off the property.”
Natalie stared at Mr. Browning, shaking her head slightly.
“Do you...do you think that I'm going to steal something?” she demanded. “Seriously?”
Mr. Browning flushed, but he remained unmoved. “I'm sorry, Ms. Baker, but it's company policy, I'm afraid.”
The blurs moved faster now. Natalie remembered packing up her things, the stares from her coworkers. They were probably wondering what she had done. Perhaps she had been caught stealing or slacking off. Who knew; what mattered was that their jobs were safe. They weren't the ones on the chopping block.
Her box of personal items was pathetically small. There were a few snapshots from old friends she didn't see anymore, a sketch of a horse she had found beautiful, a dried flower that crumbled to dust as soon as she touched it. Fitting, Natalie supposed, and then she was being escorted out the door.
“Sorry about this,” Raymond muttered, pulling it shut after her.
“Yeah, me too,” Natalie said, still stunned, and because she had nothing else to do, she made her way home.
Her little apartment was in one of the shabbier neighborhoods of Chicago, but it was a studio, and it belonged to her. When Natalie entered it, the thought struck her that without a job, it wouldn't be hers for very long.
An icy chill consumed her, even if it was late August and sweltering in the city. She set down her purse and box of office debris and simply shook. God, what would happen to her if she couldn't pay rent?
Her parents were long gone, taken by an accident when she was seventeen. She had an older sister who had never had much to do with her in Canada (Oh God, does she even still live in Canada? Did she even give me her most recent phone number?). Beyond that, there were friends from school, and even the odd boyfriend, but...she was alone. There was no one besides her.
“Oh God,” Natalie whispered, wrapping her arms around herself. She thought she would start to scream if she let it out. She paced from wall to wall just so she would have something to do, but her mind was spinning in circles. She knew she had to get her resume in order, start marshaling her efforts to stay on top of things and make sure she didn't actually fall into the abyss.
She must have paced for a few hours, at the very least. When a knock came at her door, her feet ached and her legs were unexpectedly sore. Peeking through the peephole told her that it was Mrs. Rhodes from across the hall and not an ax murderer, and she reminded herself that was a good thing. She opened the door, because at the very least, she could be polite.
“Hon, it looks like the super's going through and making sure we're using our storage lockers, so you should probably send him a note to say...”
Natalie thought she was doing a good job holding it together, but apparently she wasn't, because her elderly neighbor frowned at her.
“Hon, what's the matter with you? You look like someone drowned your hound dog.”
Mrs. Rhodes's words were so hilariously awful that Natalie had to choke back a horrified laugh.
“Oh God. No. No, nothing like that. It's just...”
The whole sorry tale came out as her widowed, across-the-hall neighbor stood in the doorway. Natalie was vaguely proud that she didn’t cry throughout it, but somehow by the end, Mrs. Rhodes led her to her own apartment, a place she had never been, and settled her onto a couch that was significantly more comfortable than her own.
“And...and I just don't know what to do. I mean, I have some savings, and I can coast along for a while, but what if I don't find a job, or I get sick or...”
Mrs. Rhodes had busied herself in the kitchen while Natalie was talking, and now she returned with a plastic jug of something dark and suspiciously lumpy. She poured out a tall tumbler and firmly handed it to Natalie.
“Things like this, you should have something sweet to help you with the bitter,” she said kindly. “Here, drink up. Sangria's good for you, anyway.”
Natalie didn't know about good for her, but the fruity drink had beautiful, ripe blackberries floating in it. Before she knew it, her glass was empty, and Mrs. Rhodes was pouring her another.
That was when the blurs started getting really bad. She remembered stumbling home after it had gotten dark, and instead of going to bed, Natalie set up her computer and switched on the webcam. At some point, she must have gone to sleep, because she woke up in bed.
It wasn't Natalie's phone that woke her in the morning. She hadn't set an alarm, and the pounding in her head nearly made her turn it off just so she could get a few more hours of sweet oblivion. The thought occurred that perhaps it was Mr. Browning calling to tell her that there had been an enormous mistake, of course there had been, and that she was welcome back as soon as possible.
Natalie blinked at the forty messages on her phone, and then it vibrated in her hands, making her drop it.
What the heck...
Unnerved, Natalie picked the phone back up and opened her voice mail. The message made her dark eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, and with a muttered curse, she stumbled to her ancient laptop. She waited impatiently for the machine to wake up from its sleep mode, and as she did, she belatedly downed some painkillers for her aching head. God, maybe sangria was so good for trouble minds because it just wholesale destroyed them...
The computer was still queued up to the page she had been on last night, a site that was meant to allow people to talk about their accomplishments, and a place where headhunters and employers alike could browse for prospective employees.
Like we were cattle, Natalie remembered thinking. She could remember how desperate and hopeless she had felt sitting down at the computer last night, but what had she typed?
She scanned the page, found the pertinent text, and then as she read, her mouth dropped open and she stared in shock and horror.
“Oh no,” Natalie whimpered. “Oh God, oh no...”
She went to take the ad down, but as her phone rang again, she realized it was far, far too late.
***
Nathan was half-certain that Melissa would have left the restaurant by the time he showed up, but to his surprise, the gorgeous redhead was still at the table his faithful secretary had reserved. Absently, he noted how lovely she was as he walked up to the table, flashing her a smile as he sat down next to her.
“Melissa,” he said warmly. “Look, I'm sorry that I got delayed, I was just...”
“It's about time, you Irish bastard,” Melissa said through gritted teeth. “I didn't want to do this over the phone.”
He had a bare moment to process what she was saying, and then her hand reared back and landed a slap on his cheek so sharp that it momentarily stilled the action of the restaurant. Everyone stopped to see who had gotten slapped, and when they saw that it was him, they quickly went back to their own business, though he knew that they were certainly listening. One of the little perks of his glamorous lifestyle, he supposed.
Melissa must have liked slapping him so much that she reared back to do it again. This time, he had the presence of mind to grab her wrist, looking at her coldly before he let her go.
“If I were you, I would not try that again,” he informed her. “Now do you mind telling me what in the world that's all about?”
“It's about you and five months of missed dates, things being more important than me, nights where you don't come home at all, and ugh.” Melissa shook her head as if she could shake thoughts of him right out of it. She stood, looking down at him with anger.
“I think I liked you better when you were the asshole playboy,” she hissed. “At least you were honest about not being around long and just wanting to have fun. Now that you're all reformed... God, what's the point?”
Nathan had several things he could have said to that, but she was turning around to storm out. He thought about chasing her, but why bother? She wasn't a woman who was easily swayed, and he had to admit she was right.
The waiter somehow managed to get up the courage to approach him cautiously, as if he was worried that Nathan would turn on him like some kind of deadly animal brought to bay.
“Would you like to see a menu, Mr. Thomas?” he asked, and Nathan grinned mirthlessly.
“Nah, just the wine menu, please. Something in a red seems about right for this bloody business.”
The waiter laughed politely, but he returned with first the menu and then a large bottle of something that was almost a claret in color and very expensive. Despite downing most of the bottle, Nathan was mostly in control of himself when they poured him into the back of his Mercedes.
“Where to, sir?” asked his chauffeur.
“Home,” Nathan replied, stretching his long form across the broad back seat. He watched the bright Chicago lights go past as his driver pulled into traffic, his mind unsettled despite the pleasant buzz of the alcohol.
As much as he had tried to block out her words, there was a grain of truth in Melissa's vitriol. He had taken a stab at a normal life, and he had learned that at the end of the day, it wasn't for him.
In his mind's eye, he could see the progression, and he knew Melissa had seen it too. They would date, get engaged, get married, and have a beautiful set of children, among them one that would carry on the Thomas name and fortune. It was a duty and a trust that his father, grandfather and great-grandfather had laid on him, and at age thirty-five, Nathan knew it was time to take it seriously.
However, over the six months he had been dating Melissa, Nathan had come to the conclusion that there was something missing in him. Melissa was beautiful, rich, well-connected. She was everything he should have wanted in a mother for his children and a companion for his life. However, though the passion had been strong at first, it had died quickly, and there was even a small glimmer of thankfulness in the back of his mind that Melissa had ended things.
Nathan realized with crystal clarity that if she hadn't, he would have done so, likely before the month was out, and he had to shake his head in disgust.
There really is something wrong with me, he thought, but then he shrugged. So what? He had never settled for what was normal or boring before. When he had a problem, he solved it, and this was just one more problem to solve. He needed an heir, children, but there was something in him that made actually living with a woman and being a real lover impossible for him. He lacked the inclination to be a real lover in anything except the most physical way, and if he wanted to reach his goal, he had to find a way around that.
Idly, he thumbed open his phone to catch up on the latest news. A story caught his eye, and almost without knowing it, Nathan found himself drawn in. He laughed at first, because it was ridiculous, but then he read the ad again more closely.
A germ of an idea was starting to grow in his head, and by the time he made it back to the Lake Shore Drive penthouse, he knew he had calls to make.
In the back of his mind, Nathan knew this was insane, but he shrugged it off. There were worse things to be called than crazy, after all.
At the end of the day, he was a man who got what he wanted, and right now, he realized that he wanted Natalie Baker.