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I feel bad as soon as the words are out because they’re only partly true and hurtful. A quick glance at Nick reveals his shoulders slumping momentarily before he pulls them back, his broad chest creating a false air of confidence.
“Wine?” he asks.
I open my mouth to insist that this is just business, but Nick’s eyes twinkle as he turns toward me with the bottle.
Oh, no.
If he learned one thing from our night together, it’s that I have a hard time saying no to expensive alcohol…
In his large hand, he holds a bottle of Chateau Cheval Blanc. My mouth snaps shut.
When I open it again, the words “just one” come out.
His chuckle comes out more like a rumble, and I feel the heat of my earlier thoughts flood through me. Nick tops off a glass already on the counter, then reaches into a cabinet for another.
It’s 5 o’clock and apparently Nick has already been drinking.
He pours my wine and hands me the glass and when our eyes meet, I realize he looks a little tipsy. Not anywhere near drunk, but just loose enough to lean casually against the counter and give me a long look. As if he remembers every detail of what’s underneath my conservative clothing.
I squirm, wishing we were back at my office, where there’s some modicum of control. But the faster we get these meetings over with, the faster I can tie up this account and get that promotion.
“It’s nice that you don’t care about money,” Nick murmurs into his glass, eyelids heavy. “Most women can’t help themselves.”
Hesitating, I’m not sure how to proceed. So far our conversations have been mostly business, except for the confrontation in the office a few days ago—when we agreed to keep it professional and civil.
But Nick makes it hard, his eyes looking deeply into mine. I swallow. He looks like he wants to eat me for dessert.
He licks a bead of wine from his lower lip. I feel myself becoming aroused and look away, trying to gain control of my runaway thoughts.
“That’s why we’re doing all this,” he sighs, straightening up. “Come on. I guess we should get to it.”
I follow him out of the room, frowning. What are the chances I’ll ever get to corner a tipsy Nick Weaver again…? I remember Vanessa’s cryptic words about his ex, and have to ask, “What do you mean, ‘that’s why we’re doing all this’?”
He doesn’t look back as he leads me through the house. Most of the lights are dimmed or off completely, so I’m left following him blindly. We come to a door and he opens it, stepping aside to show me into a small office.
Again, nothing like the opulence of his father’s—though everything is tasteful and carefully curated. Definitely expensive, but not excessive. As much as I hate to admit it… I approve.
He puts his glass down before opening a drawer and pulling out some files. “It’s just important to my family that we have all this stuff sorted out. My dad isn’t getting any younger.” He glances over at me with a roguish grin. “And neither am I.”
“Well, that’s certainly the truth,” I tease him, with a big grin.
He gives me a joking frowny face and sits down, motioning for me to do the same. I sit across from him, legs crossed carefully, the delicate wine glass in my hands.
“So, you’re worried someone’s going to make a claim? How does that work? I thought you were a bachelor.”
He sorts through some papers and finds what he’s looking for, placing them on the desk.
“Years ago we had some… issues. Things got messy.”
He’s being quite vague and I’m going to need to be more direct if I’m going to get anything out of him. I decide to fire my next question off as a need for professional transparency. I’m the family estate lawyer, and I need to know the realities of what I’m working with. Future, present, and past.
“Your ex?”
He blinks. The words are like a soft blow. To hide the injury, Nick looks down and digs in his pocket, pulling out his reading glasses and putting them on. I feel that desire stir in me again. Like a schoolgirl lusting after a forbidden professor…
“Yes. The last person I was with, I had full trust in. And I found out that she was more interested in my money than in our relationship.”
I can’t help frowning. Even with the limited information I have, something is… off. But I can’t say what. So instead I ask, “What’s your plan, then? If you intend to stay a bachelor for the rest of your days.”
