I Knew You Were Trouble Page 11

  Just as well. Gave Nick more time to figure out what to make for Taylor.

  It seemed somehow important that he get this right. He settled for another of his original recipes, a mixture of mezcal, lemon, Campari, and an unexpected touch of mint. The result was potent, smoky, tart, yet somehow perfectly refreshing.

  Not unlike the woman he was serving it to.

  She took a careful taste, then a second. “What is this?”

  Nick shrugged. “Haven’t come up with a name yet. That’s the hardest part. Gotta get it right.”

  She sipped again, and her genuine smile warmed him more than he cared to admit.

  But, being Taylor, she refused to compliment him out loud, instead nodding toward one end of the bar. “Guys over there need a refill.”

  Nick glanced over, and sure enough, the gin and tonic crew was clearly giving him the “another round” look.

  Damn. Nick prided himself on being one step ahead of his patrons’ drink needs.

  There was no question as to what—who—was distracting him.

  Nick served up the gin and tonics and did another preemptive round on his other clients, feeling Taylor’s eyes on him the entire time.

  When he made his way back to her, he half expected that her interest in talking to him would have waned, or that she would have turned her attention to her phone, as most singletons at the bar tended to do.

  Instead she just sat, looking perfectly content and especially hot with her hair in a high, curling ponytail, her black sleeveless dress showing off her curves to perfection without revealing too much skin.

  “I have to say,” Nick said, “I didn’t think I’d ever see the day you’d be at my bar.”

  She lifted slim shoulders. “Wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

  “Why tonight?” he asked.

  Taylor looked down at her drink, ran a red nail around the rim. “Celebrating. Or mourning. Not sure.”

  Nick tensed. “Calloway again?”

  To his surprise, she snorted. “No. Not him. My aunt.” She looked up. “It’s her birthday today. I just…I don’t know. I didn’t want to be alone, and thought about calling Brit or Daisy. But then I realized I didn’t really want to be with anyone either.” She wrinkled her nose. “That probably doesn’t even make sense.”

  Nick watched her for a moment. “What was Karen’s favorite drink?”

  Taylor’s head snapped up. “You remember her name?”

  He shrugged, and she gave him a smile.

  “Karen didn’t drink. A glass of red wine with dinner, maybe, but never a cocktail. If you’d met her, you’d understand. Not really the type to tolerate the dulling of her senses.”

  Nick nodded and pulled out an old-fashioned glass. He filled it with ice, then topped that with club soda and garnished it with a lime. He set it atop a cocktail napkin to the right of Taylor’s drink.

  “The reason you don’t want to be alone, but not with anyone either, is because the person you really wish you could talk to is Karen,” he said quietly. “So for tonight, just…let yourself pretend.”

  She stared at the glass, then back up at him. “I’m getting the really annoying suspicion that beneath the scruff and scowls you’re actually a little bit sweet.”

  He ignored this and held her gaze. “What would you want to say to her?”

  She glanced at the drink, then back at him. “I can’t talk to a glass of club soda.”

  “All right, then,” he said, leaning on the bar once more. “Talk to me. As a bartender, I’ve had plenty of practice pretending to be dead people.”

  “The rest of your customers—”

  “Are fine,” he interrupted. “Now come on. Lay it all out there for Karen.”

  She blew out a breath, then took a sip of her drink. “I hate you.”

  He smiled, because they both knew she didn’t. Not right now, anyway.

  “Okay, Karen,” she said, taking a deep breath. “First of all, I miss you. I know you don’t want to hear that, and would tell me it’s sentimental schmaltz, but you also raised me to be honest, so there it is.”

  Nick said nothing, because she needed to talk, not to be talked to. But he felt a small pang of sympathy for the woman who’d apparently been raised not to feel—or at least not to express it.

  “And since we’re being honest,” Taylor said, spinning the cocktail napkin around slowly, her eyes locked on the club soda, “I should probably tell you that you were right when you said that men can’t be trusted, and that love is an elusive fantasy.”

  Nick’s teeth gritted. He didn’t want to think ill of the dead, but this Karen woman was really getting on his nerves, even from beyond the grave. No wonder Taylor was, well…Taylor.

  “Anyway, I was stupid,” Taylor was saying. “I fell for a guy. The wrong guy. The totally wrong guy.” She let out a self-deprecating laugh. “And I realized a little too late that he wasn’t who I thought he was—that he wasn’t worth one second of my time.”

  Her eyes flicked briefly to Nick as she said it, then she glanced back down. “Anyway, he’s with some other girl now, and, well, I don’t think he deserves her either, but I guess that’s for her to figure out.”

  Taylor took a deep breath. “And I just…I miss you. I wish you could tell me what’s next, and remind me to just keep my eye on my career, and—”

  Okay, that was enough.

  Nick reached out, his fingers brushing against the back of her hand until she looked up. “I don’t doubt that you miss Karen a hell of a lot, but she wasn’t right about everything.”

  Taylor blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t need to focus on your career right now,” he said. “Or at least not just that.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “And I suppose you’re going to tell me what I do need.”

  “I am, and you’re going to listen,” he said, his fingers pressing her hand once more before retreating. “You need to do something—anything—without an agenda. Take a month to just let life happen to you.” She looked skeptical, and he laughed. “Trust me on this, Carr. Some of the best things in life are the unplanned ones.”

  “Like new roommates?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Don’t sound so skeptical. Ask yourself this: Whose bar did you walk into tonight?” he said, straightening and giving her a wink. “Then ask yourself why.”

  Chapter 14

  Taylor couldn’t quite remember the last time she’d been in such a good mood.

  From the moment she’d opened her eyes that morning, she’d felt…refreshed.

  Happy.

  It didn’t hurt that her hair was on point, the hot pink dress one of her favorites, her shoes brand-new and a bit expensive.

  The only slight imperfection on an otherwise stellar start to her day was that she and Nick hadn’t had their usual sparring match over coffee, yogurt (for her), and cereal (him).

  His door had remained closed, but she couldn’t much blame the guy. She’d left the hotel bar sometime around nine last night and come home to a bubble bath and a good night’s sleep, whereas he’d told her he had to close the bar at 2 A.M.

  So it was with no small amount of shock that when she walked (okay, maybe sashayed, a little bit…the shoes were really fantastic) into the Oxford office at nine-thirty, she saw…

  Nick Ballantine.

  He was sitting at his usual desk, in a white dress shirt and dark slacks, looking far more refreshed than he should considering his hours.

  Not so long ago, his presence would have had her back up and her claws out, and that’s if she’d been in the mood to deal with him.

  This morning she somehow found herself standing in front of his desk and, though she’d deny it to her dying day, a little happy to see him.

  He didn’t glance up as she approached, but she knew he was aware of her. Just as she was of him.

  Nick finally finished typing whatever he was working on, then lifted brown eyes to meet her gaze. “Yes, Taylor?�
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  “How the heck did you beat me here?” she asked.

  He looked pointedly at her Starbucks coffee cup.

  Her lips pursed defensively. “It was a long line. But regardless, do you ever sleep? What time did you get home last night?”

  He leaned back in his chair and smirked. “Worried about me, roomie?”

  Before Taylor could retort, Brit appeared by her side, slightly out of breath.

  “Everything okay?” Taylor asked her friend.

  Brit glanced between her and Nick. “I saw you guys talking. Figured I better get out here before the bloodshed started. And speaking of bloodshed”—she lowered her voice and stepped closer to Taylor—“why didn’t you tell me you confronted Jessica yesterday?”

  Taylor felt Nick’s gaze on her but didn’t look his way. “I didn’t confront her,” Taylor said. “I ran into her in the copy room. We talked. That was it. Why is it that everyone seems to think carnage will follow whenever I have a conversation with someone?”

  Brit pursed her lips and looked at Nick. “You want to take this?”

  He held up his hands in refusal. Then his gaze cooled slightly as he glanced over Taylor’s shoulder. “Morning, Calloway.”

  Ah.

  Taylor appreciated Nick’s attempt to warn her that her ex was approaching, but she was also very aware that she didn’t care one way or the other whether Bradley was in the same room, in the same city, on the same planet.

  She turned, and sure enough, there he was. Blue suit, perfectly combed hair…

  Boring. Very boring.

  He nodded at Brit, who merely rolled her eyes, then turned on her heel and marched away. Good friend.

  Bradley stopped beside Taylor. “Morning, Taylor. Nick. How’s it going here?”

  Nick’s gaze was steady. “Don’t remember reporting to you, Calloway.”

  Bradley ignored the slight and turned toward Taylor. “A moment in my office, if you’re free.”

  She shrugged. “Sure.”

  He looked surprised by her bored tone, then nodded and headed toward his office, clearly expecting her to follow.

  She did, because he was her colleague, but she was a hell of a lot more aware of the man she was walking away from than the man she was walking toward. Taylor felt Nick’s gaze on her as she followed Bradley’s retreating back, wishing that for once she knew what Nick was thinking.

  He’d been kind to her last night—hell, he’d been kind to her a lot more often than she deserved. But he’d never shown any interest in her as a woman, and…well, it bothered her.

  “What’s up?” she asked as Bradley closed the office door behind them.

  He gestured distractedly toward one of the chairs.

  She sat. “Did you hear back from Vance?” she asked, referring to the Rolex exec at the meeting yesterday. “What did he think?”

  “He was pleased,” Bradley said, sitting in his own chair. He seemed a bit distracted. “But that’s not what I want to discuss.”

  “All right.”

  He frowned, clearly sensing that she wasn’t about to make this easy for him. He cleared his throat. “I wanted to ask how you are. It’s been a while since we’ve spoken.”

  And whose fault is that?

  “I’m good.”

  He gave her a private smile. The kind that used to warm her from the inside out, and now left her utterly cold. “How are you, really?”

  She leaned forward and held his gaze. “Really? I’m great.”

  Taylor was a little surprised to realize how much she meant it. How much time had she wasted on this guy?

  Pathetic.

  Bradley blinked, glanced away, then back at her. “I wanted—I need to say that I have regrets about the way I handled things.”

  Taylor sat back and crossed her legs, noting that his gaze followed her skirt as it slid up her thigh. “Yes, well, you probably should have regrets, Bradley.”

  He nodded, looking contrite. “I know. And I’ve been thinking about it. I want to help you with the living situation.”

  “My living situation is fine.”

  “You’re living with Nick Ballantine,” he said, as though she wasn’t acutely aware of this. On every level.

  “Am I?” she mock-gasped.

  “You and Nick are like oil and water.”

  Taylor let herself smile. “He’s not so bad.”

  Bradley’s jaw tensed. “Still, you’re too old to have a roommate. I’ll talk to my lawyers, see if we can’t get you out of that lease…”

  “Too old? Really? Plus there stopped being a we when you left that letter on my kitchen counter, Bradley. And while I agree I need legal assistance, my primary concern is removing your name from the lease. I’ve hired my own counsel for that.”

  He frowned. “Taylor. Please. We don’t need to rush anything—”

  She held up her hand to stop his bullshit. “Bradley. Did you or did you not leave me for another woman? And did you or did you not initially leave that woman for me?”

  He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “I think…I made a mistake, and—”

  “Which time?” she asked.

  He met her eyes miserably. “Tay. I just need to think—”

  “Wrong answer,” she said coolly. “The correct answer is that you made a mistake both times. You don’t get to treat women like that, keeping one in your back pocket until you decide you like another version better. And you sure as hell don’t get to change your mind again.”

  “Taylor—”

  “No,” she interrupted. “I’m done discussing my personal life, but there is something I need to discuss with you. On a professional level.”

  His jaw clenched resentfully, but to his credit, Bradley had always tried to be a good co-worker, and he nodded. “All right. What?”

  She held his gaze. “I emailed HR yesterday afternoon. I’ve requested a transfer.”

  He blinked. “A transfer.”

  “To Hunter Cross’s team.”

  “What the—”

  “He’s got a bunch of open positions,” Taylor pushed on. “And now that the big website redesign’s been approved, he needs someone to figure out how to best integrate ads with content.”

  “Taylor…”

  “It’s a good fit for me,” she said quietly. “You know it is, Bradley.”

  He tapped his fingers on the desk. “You do love the digital side of things,” he admitted quietly.

  She nodded. Advertising was her first love, but she much preferred the technology side of that world. Print advertising wasn’t dead, not by a long shot, but online advertising was where the growth was. The future.

  “I don’t want to lose you,” he said quietly. “We work well together.”

  Taylor said nothing. She wasn’t sure whether he was speaking about losing her as a colleague or as a woman, but she didn’t care.

  “It’s for the best,” she said quietly. “You know it is.”

  There was a long moment of silence before he finally nodded. “You don’t need my approval.”

  “No. But I’d like your guarantee that it won’t impact our working relationship.”

  “Of course not,” he said quietly.

  Taylor nodded. “Thank you. Truly.”

  He gave a rueful smile. “Do I have to say you’re welcome, or can I sulk for a while?”

  “Brood,” she said as she stood. “Real men brood, not sulk.”

  “Of course. Leave me to brood, then,” he said, his lips twitching.

  She studied him for a moment, feeling a little pang that not so long ago these quiet exchanges had meant everything to her.

  Now? All she could think was that she was ready for something else.

  No. Something better.

  Chapter 15

  When Taylor maneuvered the Bloomingdale’s bags from her shopping haul through the front door a week later, Nick was standing behind the stove.

  She blinked for a moment at the unusual sight. Other than the occas
ional scrambled eggs, neither one of them was much for cooking, but the waft of delicious smells implied he knew what he was doing.

  He glanced down at her bags. “Let me guess. High heels and tight dresses?”

  “Don’t forget yoga pants,” she said as she took the bags to her bedroom and dropped them on her bed.

  She hadn’t bought yoga pants, but mentioning them reminded her that as much as she loved her cute pink dress, comfortable it was not. And the high heels were pinching in about six different places.

  A couple of minutes later she wandered back into the kitchen in cropped yoga pants and an oversized, off-the-shoulder purple sweatshirt.

  “You know I’m immune to those now,” he said, not looking up from where he was stirring something with a wooden spoon that she thought might have been hers but which she’d never put to much use. “I’ve rethought my position, and those do nothing for your ass.”

  She smiled as she plopped on the barstool and pulled on warm, fuzzy gray socks. “No? That’s good. Considering they’re my default at-home pants and we’re roommates, I’d hate for you to be made uncomfortable by any sort of attraction.” Taylor sat up straighter to peer into the pot. “Whatcha making?”

  “Mushroom cream sauce. Throwing a pasta dish together.”

  “Most people’s idea of throwing a pasta dish together is dumping a jar of tomato sauce in a pot to heat it and them pouring the whole thing on top of overcooked spaghetti.”

  “I have two kitchen specialties. That’s my other one,” he said as he used a knife to scoop up some sort of chopped herb and drop it into the pot.

  “Who taught you to cook?”

  “My mom. This was one of her holiday/birthday meals, because it takes more time. With five kids, most nights involved a casserole or Hamburger Helper type of thing as she tried to juggle meals, soccer practice, ballet—”

  “Bet you were an adorable ballerina,” she said, propping her chin on her hands and batting her eyelashes.

  He gave her a ha look.

  “Five kids, huh? Where do you rank?”

  “Second oldest by two years. We’re all two years apart.”