The simple honesty of it knocked the air out of my lungs. I looked down at my hands, suddenly unsure what to do with them. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” I said softly. “Throwing a whole party because your assistant is leaving.”
Nathan took another step closer. “You aren’t just my assistant.”
The words hung between us, making my pulse race. I was the first to break eye contact, glancing around the room.
“I never told you this,” I admitted quietly, nodding toward the booth, “but this is where I first realized you weren’t as scary as everyone said.”
Nathan’s eyes darkened slightly. “Oh, I’m still scary.”
My breath caught. The space between us had shrunk without me even realizing it, and I was suddenly very aware of how close he was standing.
“Nathan…” I started, though I wasn’t even sure what I meant to say.
His gaze flicked down to my mouth before returning to my eyes. “Do you want me to go?” Nathan’s gaze pinned me in place, molten heat flickering behind his eyes.
Yes. No.
My breath trembled. “No.”
Nathan’s smirk was slow, dangerous, and entirely too confident. I watched as he lifted a hand and gently curled his fingers around my wrist, guiding me closer until my back brushed the edge of the mixing console.
“What do you want?”
“You.”
Then his mouth was on mine, hungry and unrestrained, his hands gripping me like he’d been starving for this moment as long as I had.
Nathan exhaled slowly against my mouth, like the last thread of restraint had just snapped. His hands tightened at my waist, lifting me easily onto the edge of the console. The movement made my breath hitch, and his gaze flickered over my face, dark with something intense and barely controlled.
Nathan’s mouth lingered near mine for a moment before he pulled back just enough to look at me. The dim glow of the mixing console reflected in his eyes, making them look darker than usual.
“Come here,” he murmured.
Before I could ask what he meant, his hand slid around my waist and guided me toward the vocal booth, the small glass room tucked into the corner of the studio.
The door opened with a soft click.
I stepped inside, turning back to watch him through the glass.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Nathan didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt another inch and leaned over the console, his fingers brushing across a few switches with practiced ease.
The sight sent a strange flutter through my stomach. It was the exact same posture from the first day I’d watched him in this room.
Focused. Controlled. Completely in his element.
“Nathan.” I warned, suspicion creeping into my voice.
He glanced up at me through the dim light, that slow, wicked smile spreading across his face as he reached forward and pressed the record button.
A small red light blinked to life above the booth.
My heart skipped. “What are you doing?” I asked, looking around, as if that one act suddenly sent off a bat signal to the entire building.
Nathan leaned toward the control room microphone, flipping the switch that routed his voice into the booth.
