Monday morning.
Ugh, hairy ball sac.
I was sitting inside of my actual office at CMI’s home base in Midtown, and my email box was filled with new potential prospects of companies searching for their next great leaders and executives. Business was fucking great. Fate was smiling on me, and I was a happy, healthy woman living in the best city in the world.
I truly had nothing to complain about.
But I kind of felt like complaining and Mondays were a package deal. I mean, holidays aside, could anyone really remember the last time they had a fantastic Monday? Celebrated it? Told somebody, Oh, fuck yes, I’m happy to be back at work instead of napping by my pool and reading?
I thought not.
After a quick scroll through page two of my emails, I organized my shit into color-coordinated folders, flagged the most important items, and moved on to page three.
First rules of headhunting: Keep yo’ ass organized and your clients happy.
So really that was two rules, but whatever.
My eyes barely made it halfway down the page before my attention was pulled to my cell phone as it lost its shit from its cozy spot next to my laptop. Ring, bling, vibrate, I had that fucker set on every available notification setting possible.
It’s possible I’ve missed phone calls in the past.
Nick: I owe you an apology.
My heart fluttered at both the name and the content, but I squared my shoulders.
Me: It’s fine, Nick. I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that you’re a horrible trivia partner.
Okay, so obviously, I was deflecting, but a girl could only take so many blows to her ego, and I wasn’t all jazzed up to dive right back into the land of rejection.
I silently prayed his need for apology had everything to do with our last, and extremely awkward at the end, phone conversation. And I hoped if it did, my redirection would force him to vocalize his exact trespasses as a means for further avoiding confusion.
Nick: LOL. That’s not what I’m talking about.
Boom. Perfect lead-in.
Me: Oh… then what exactly are you apologizing for?
Nick: For being a slow, dense idiot.
I stared at his text for a good thirty seconds, trying to find some kind of response to his words, but it was fruitless. I’d gotten just what I wanted—a direct admission of his obliviousness. But recognition of his failure to follow context clues was not the same as an admission of feelings on his end.
If I got any farther out on the pirate plank, my mouth would be full of salt water in no time.
Nick: I’m new at this whole dating thing. I mean, Lexi’s mom was literally the last woman I actually dated. And that was over ten years ago. Needless to say, I suck at it. I suck at keeping my foot out of my mouth, and I suck at saying I think you’re cute too. Because I do.
Over ten years? Hot damn. That was a long fucking time ago. It didn’t seem possible with his body and eyes and overall fucking bachelor of the year eligibility, but I could definitely relate.
My last serious relationship had been twelve years ago, and I’d ended it about sixteen hours before we were supposed to say “I do.” Not my finest moment, but despite being the hardest thing I’d ever done and taking years to get over it, it’d been the right thing.
I had been young—twenty-two, to be exact, and too young for marriage. That didn’t apply to everyone, but it definitely applied to me. I had a wanderlust, a fervor for living life and building myself into a strong, independent woman. My fiancé had wanted me to settle down, and I wanted to spread out and up. I begged him to see the light, but he wanted me how he wanted me.
I was just glad I found the strength to step away, regardless of the scrutiny. Granted, I’d hauled ass all the way across the country and stayed gone, so I hadn’t exactly had to run into these people at the fucking grocery store every day.
Since that ended, I’d been boots—or stilettos, depending on the occasion—to the ground and running as I chased after career goals and personal bucket list items.
I occasionally dated. And sometimes, if I’d really enjoyed the guy’s company, one date would turn into more. But for the most part, the train tracks I was following were more like a monorail.
Prior to Nick Raines, the time of death of my last casual date was over six months ago. His name was Barry, and he owned three commercial car washes throughout LA and Malibu. We weren’t a match made in franchise heaven.
So, I guess, really, Nick’s inexperience was a remarkable mirror image of my own. I just thought I knew how to play the game. Not to mention, it was pretty fucking adorable that he was willing to openly discuss the barren qualities of his past. Most men would be grunting about what a sex god they were as they chatted up some other woman at the bar and forgot all about me.
Nick was humble. Grounded. Between his career and his daughter, he looked like he had his shit together. Color me impressed. And intrigued.
Nick: I get it if you’ve blocked my number at this point. But I’m really sorry, Charlotte. I think you’re funny and fun and quite possibly have the best laugh I’ve ever heard.
He liked my laugh? Liked it?
Good God, if I called my mother right now, she’d tell me to marry this one.
Me: Apology accepted and appreciated. So, besides being surprised and flattered, what else are you?
Nick: Wondering. If you’ll have lunch with me.
Me: I have a meeting with a client at 3, but other than that, I’m fairly flexible with my schedule.
Nick: How about noon?
Me: Is this, like, a date?
A once-burned woman confirms. Remember that.
Nick: That depends.
Me: On what?
Nick: Fleetwood Mac’s Sex Pants. ;) I’m kidding. This is definitely a date.
A date with Nick? Yes, please!
I couldn’t stop myself from fist-pumping the air.
Me: Hahahaha Okay. How about I meet you at your office at noon, and you can wine and dine me at the cute little deli up the street from your office?
Nick: Please tell me you’re talking about Mitch’s…
Me: Of course. It’s only the best goddamn deli in the city.
Nick: Okay. Mitch’s, “the best goddamn deli in the city”? Now you’re speaking my love language. It’s a date.
My heart fluttered.
Me: Perfect. See you then.
One tap of my index finger to the screen and I hit send. Unfortunately, as the message disappeared and the screen cleared to home, time glared in my direction. Shit. It was half past nine, and I hadn’t even put a dent into today’s to-do list.
You better work, bitch.
After barreling through half of Monday’s work responsibilities, and micromanaging the other half to my assistant, Laura, I managed to slip out of the office a little later than I’d planned, but still in enough time to arrive at Nick’s office only ten minutes after twelve.
When I stepped through the doors of his waiting room, two things stood out. Though, to be fair, one was decidedly more of a sore thumb than the other. Nick’s perky receptionist, Jenna, was very familiar and showed no signs of sore thumbs at all.
But the two men holding cameras and filming footage of reception…well, they were all swollen up.
What the fuck? Was there some kind of emergency?
I checked in with Jenna, a crooked eyebrow refusing to go down on my face. She looked like she wanted to laugh, but she didn’t open her mouth to do so—or otherwise explain the dog and pony show. She stepped forward, and I followed, all the way into Nick’s office, where I realized suddenly one of the cameras from reception had come along for the ride.
Not to mention that once I’d stepped inside of his office, another cameraman had already set up shop, filming anything and everything that occurred around him.
What in the ever-loving fuck was happening?
I felt like I was on Candid Camera or something. Any second, I wondered if a clown would jump out of a closet and scare the ever-living shit out of me.
“Hey, Charlotte,” Nick greeted me from behind his desk, that all too familiar smile of his holding my attention hostage. “Hungry?”
“Uh…” I muttered and glanced at the white elephants, otherwise known as a fucking film crew, standing in the room. “What in the hell is happening right now?”
“I guess I forgot to mention that I’m currently being filmed for a docuseries about the hospital, huh?”
“Yeah,” I said through a surprised laugh. “I think it’s safe to say you never mentioned the fact that I’d be on camera while stuffing my face full of meat. Deli meat!” Jesus Christmas, Charlotte.
Nick chuckled. “Don’t worry. They won’t be following us to lunch.”
“Well, that’s good news.” A snort escaped my nose before I could stop it. Instantly, my cheeks heated, and I covered my face with my hand. Now is not the time to snort like a freaking pig.
His big brown eyes locked with mine, and a hint of a smile crested his lips.
It was cute. Really cute. But I resisted the powerful pull and sighed instead. I mean, a little heads-up would have been nice. Cripes, if I’d known I was going to be on camera, I might have considered brushing my hair or applying fresh makeup before leaving my office.
I wasn’t looking for some kind of big break into Hollywood, but I’d prefer that my on-screen debut didn’t occur after speed-walking five blocks and sweating like a glass of fucking iced tea.
Nick stood up from his desk and slipped his phone, wallet, and keys into the back pockets of his dress slacks. He glanced to the camera once as he was closing the distance between us, but any apprehension at a public display must have disappeared as he made it within striking distance. His arm was warm and heavy around my shoulder, and his breath felt like sex in disguise as he whispered into my ear. “You look beautiful, Charlotte. I’m sorry I was dense, but I’m glad I’m not anymore.”
For a man who hadn’t dated since George W. Bush was president, he definitely had the capability of charming a woman. Signals weren’t his strong suit, but when it came down to saying the important things, he hadn’t let me down yet.
“Me too,” I whispered back. “Though I should probably mention, I’m just here for the food.”
He laughed, and with a hand to the small of my back, he led me out of his office and toward the main elevators of the Medical Arts Building wing. And, as we cleared the lobby doors, we finally lost our third wheel—the cameraman.
Once we arrived at Mitch’s Deli, I scavenged a booth in the far corner of the restaurant while Nick rounded up our sandwiches and drinks from the counter—two pastramis on rye, a water for him, and an iced tea for me.
He set our plates and cups on the table and slid into the cushioned seat across from mine.
“So…” I started, and he quirked a brow in my direction, seemingly already anticipating my words.
“I know,” he muttered as he added extra mustard to his sandwich and then offered the still partially full packet to me. I took it and likewise adorned my meat. “The cameras and film crew shit is ridiculous, huh?”
“A bit?” I laughed and he grinned.
“I didn’t want to do the show. At all.” He shrugged. “Looks like I got talked into it, though, doesn’t it?”
I shrugged. He was involved all right. I had the thirty pounds in camera weight to prove it.
Yes, I know cameras don’t actually add weight. Just visually. Yeah, yeah. Just go with it.
“Of course, then I was so busy getting you to forgive me, and you know, occasionally working…” He smirked. “I kind of forgot they were there.”
“How anyone could forget they were being filmed is a mystery,” I muttered, and he chuckled.
“Considering this was the first day of filming, you’d be surprised how quickly you get used to those bastards.”
“So…what kind of reality show is it?” I asked and took a small bite of my sandwich.
“It’s a docuseries about my and two other doctors’ careers,” he explained after a quick sip of water. “Actually, I have Will and Scott to blame for roping me into it.”
“Will and Scott?”
“The other two doctors who are also being filmed.”
“So, is it supposed to be like the real-life Grey’s Anatomy or something?”
“Good God, I fucking hope not,” he answered. “The way our hospital executives and the producers from the show pitched it to us, the series is just supposed to be, like, a day in the life of a physician kind of thing.”
“And Will and Scott are doctors, too?”
He nodded. “Will is Chief of Obstetrics, and Scott runs the ER at St. Luke’s.”
“Gotcha. So, between the seventy-hour work weeks and filming your first television debut, when do you find the time to enjoy yourself?”
“Sixty hours, and I just started filming today, during work hours,” he corrected.
I used my silence as a question and held him at the top of the loop until he broke.
“Fine,” he acquiesced. “Sixty- to seventy-hour work weeks, and enjoy myself? What does that even mean?” he questioned with a soft smirk.
“You know, like, grabbing some drinks with friends. Dancing. Movies. That sort of thing.”
“Honestly?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Well, the last time I grabbed a drink with friends was about three years ago at a medical conference. I haven’t been to the movie theater since Avatar came out in 3D. And the last time I danced was at my cousin Jimmy’s wedding about a year ago, and I was heavily under the influence of alcohol.”
“Oh boy.” I winked. “I’m going to have to loosen you up, aren’t I?”
He smirked but didn’t offer up any kind of answer. Instead, he reached his hand across the table and gently swiped something off of the corner of my mouth. The small hint of yellow mustard sat on his thumb as he pulled his hand back to his side of the table.
But then, Nick Raines surprised the hell out of me.
Fascinated, I watched as he slid his thumb into his mouth and sucked the mustard off of his skin.
Hells bells, that was pretty fucking sexy…