I Knew You Were Trouble Page 8

  Nick loved writing fiction, but he wouldn’t do it half as well if he didn’t live his life to the fullest when he wasn’t behind the computer. The time he spent at Oxford and behind the bar, not to mention his love of travel, kept his imagination fueled.

  “I will find your books,” Taylor said, her voice confident, even with his refusal to give her details.

  “I don’t doubt it,” he muttered. “What Taylor wants, Taylor gets, right?”

  Her smile slipped, and she made a quiet, derisive sound. “Not always, apparently.”

  Nick handed her his wineglass as he shifted to gather up the pieces he needed for step one of the bookshelf assembly. “No luck winning back the love of your life?”

  She swirled her wine, then took a sip. “Seems I’ve been replaced.”

  Nick’s fingers tightened around a board, already suspecting what was coming, but he kept his voice casual. “Oh yeah?”

  Taylor was quiet for a long minute. “Do you know Jessica Hayes? Copywriter from Oxford?”

  Shit.

  “I do. She and Calloway are back together?”

  “Back together? You knew that he was seeing her?” she accused. “Am I the only one not privy to that little secret?”

  “It’s not common knowledge. She was the one who referred him to Oxford in the first place. Not many people knew.”

  “But you knew.”

  Nick threaded a screw through two aligning holes and began tightening. “Jess and I are friends. I hire her to proofread all my books.”

  Taylor’s mouth dropped open, then she laughed, although there was no joy in it. “Awesome. Just awesome. Suddenly that girl is freaking everywhere.”

  Nick finished tightening the screw, then reached for his wine, which she handed over. He took a slow drink and studied her, trying to figure out if it was her pride that was hurting or her heart.

  It was hard to believe that a woman with so much fire could truly care for a spineless worm like Calloway. But then, the guy must have something that only women could see, because Jess was a great girl and she too had fallen under Calloway’s spell.

  Twice, apparently.

  “How long were they together?” she asked.

  “I’m pretty sure there’s some law against having girl talk while putting together furniture,” he muttered.

  “Nick.”

  His gaze flew to hers. Had she ever used his first name before? He didn’t think so. And if she had, it would have been as an epithet, not the soft plea he heard now.

  “I’m not sure,” he said gruffly. “A year, maybe.”

  “When’d they break up?”

  He glanced up and held her gaze. Let her figure it out on her own.

  It didn’t take her long. Remorse flickered across her face. “When he started at Oxford?”

  “If you’re wondering if he dumped Jess for you, you’d have to ask him,” Nick said, turning his attention back to the shelf. “But from the outside, the timing seemed…close.”

  She started to take another sip of wine, then stopped, staring miserably down at the glass instead.

  He felt something tighten inside him. There it was again. That sneaking suspicion that Taylor Carr had more of a conscience than she’d ever let on.

  “I didn’t know,” she said. “I had no idea he was seeing anybody when we met.”

  “Would it have made a difference?” he asked.

  Her eyes snapped up, gray and furious. He was glad for it. The soft, kind Taylor put him off balance, but her fire he could deal with.

  Mostly.

  “I don’t steal other women’s men.”

  “So now that Calloway’s back with Jess, you’ll move on?”

  Nick didn’t know why he cared about her answer so much, but he watched her carefully.

  And was disappointed when her eyes cut away from his.

  “He loves me,” she said quietly. “I know he does.”

  Nick refused to hear the quiet vulnerability in her voice. “Looks like he decided he loves her more.”

  Her soft cry was half pain, half fury, and he wasn’t the least bit surprised when she thrust her wineglass back at him and made a grab at the beginnings of the bookshelf in his hands. “Get out.”

  “Taylor—”

  “Out,” she hissed. “I don’t want you in here. I have to share my apartment with you, but my bedroom’s off-limits. Got it?”

  “Yeah. I got it,” he snapped, climbing to his feet. “My bad for offering to help build your precious bookshelf.”

  He meant to storm out of the bedroom, but at the last minute he crouched in front of her, caught her stubborn little chin, and forced her furious gaze up to his. “Jess is a good person, Taylor. She deserves to be happy.”

  Taylor’s gaze clouded with hurt before returning to anger.

  Damn, but she really was beautiful.

  “And I don’t get to be happy?” she said. “Bitchy Taylor deserves to be miserable, is that it?”

  “Nah,” he said quietly, studying her. “I’m just not sure you’d recognize actual happiness if it bit you in your perfectly shaped ass.”

  She slapped his hand away from her face. “Get. Out.”

  He did.

  Not because she’d told him to. But because for one idiotic moment, Nick had wanted nothing more than to kiss all that pouty anger right off Taylor Carr’s saucy mouth.

  Chapter 9

  “Fine, go,” Taylor said with a fake dramatic sigh, waving a corn chip at her best friend. “First Daisy skips out for the sake of a boy, now you.”

  “First of all,” Brit said, tugging on her coat and pulling the ends of her blond hair out of the collar, “if you’re calling Lincoln Mathis a boy, you need to get your eyes checked. Second of all, I can’t spend one more minute watching you turn into a lump on that couch. It’s Friday night and you’re newly single. You should be wearing that red dress that makes your boobs look huge and working the club scene, not spending it with Sandra Bullock in your pajamas. I’ve done movie night four times this week. I need to get out, Tay. So do you.”

  Taylor nodded toward the credits of While You Were Sleeping. “But Sandy gets me.”

  “Well, that’s probably true,” Brit muttered as she rummaged in her purse. “She spent seventy percent of that movie thinking she was in love with the wrong guy.”

  Taylor sat up and gave her friend a sharp look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Brit studied Taylor as she applied light pink lip gloss without a mirror. “It’s been almost a month since the breakup. You ready for some more tough love?”

  Taylor’s eyes narrowed. “Bring it.”

  Brit dropped her gloss back in her purse, then came out swinging. “Bradley’s not the guy for you.”

  “Only because he’s caught in the web of an ex—”

  “Oh, hung up on an ex, huh? Sort of like you?” Brit interrupted. “But no, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m not saying that Bradley’s not the right guy because he’s dating his ex-girlfriend. I’m saying he was never the right guy.”

  “Wait, what? How long have you thought this?” Taylor asked, sitting up straighter on the couch.

  Brit shrugged, looking contrite. “Since pretty much the beginning. He’s a nice enough guy, but he doesn’t bring out your best self.”

  “Meaning?” Taylor asked, even though she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear this.

  “It’s just a gut thing,” Brit said quietly. “You were always so different whenever you were around him.”

  “Which you saw, like, four times. And you know it was a weird situation. We didn’t want anyone to know we were dating.”

  “And how long was that going to last? Until the secret marriage? Secret baby?”

  “We weren’t going to have a baby,” Taylor snapped. “At least I acknowledged what I felt for Bradley. You ignore your feelings for Hunter.”

  “Aha!” Brit said, pointing her finger. “You said felt. Past tense. I knew it.” She ignored the refer
ence to Hunter altogether.

  Taylor crossed her arms across her middle in a pathetic attempt to hug herself, feeling…wounded.

  Her friend’s gaze softened. “I know you think you were in love with him. I’m just…I’m not so sure he was good enough for you.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing, Taylor. He broke up with you on the day he was supposed to move in. In a letter. Does that sound like the hero of the story to you?”

  “You know what I’m sick of?” Taylor snapped, standing and grabbing angrily at the popcorn bowl before marching to the kitchen. “I’m sick of other people telling me how I feel. You and Nick don’t know who I love or don’t love. I think I know my own heart.”

  Her friend’s gaze was pitying, and that ate at Taylor most of all. How dare Brit stand there and tell her she didn’t love Bradley? How dare Nick freaking Ballantine try to tell her she didn’t know her own happiness?

  They didn’t get to decide what made her happy. She did. And she’d decided that Bradley was…

  For an obnoxious moment, Taylor had to reorient herself to remember exactly what Bradley was to her, and why.

  “Nick weighed in on this?” Brit asked curiously, tilting her head.

  Taylor dropped the bowl in the sink and squirted some dish soap into it before flicking on the water. “That’s what you got out of what I just said?”

  “Is that why I haven’t seen him all week?” Brit asked. “You guys fought?”

  “We’re always fighting.”

  “Yeah, but not usually cold-war style. You guys are more the fistfighting kind of enemies.”

  “Believe me, if he could stomach my presence for more than five minutes, my knuckles would like nothing more than to collide with his weak chin.”

  As though summoned, Nick chose that moment to walk in the front door. He paused for a split second when he saw the two women standing off in the kitchen, and Taylor thought he was probably debating a fast retreat.

  Instead he shut the door behind him and pecked a kiss on Brit’s cheek as he unwound a red scarf from around his neck. “Brit. Good to see you.”

  “Same,” Brit said, her voice all friendly warmth instead of drill sergeant hard, the way it had been a moment before.

  They both ignored Taylor.

  “You coming or going?” he asked, noting Brit’s jacket as he shrugged out of his own.

  “Just leaving.”

  Nick nodded, hanging his coat by the door. “Understood. The stink of mourning in this place can get oppressive.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, I’m right here,” Taylor snapped.

  Nick finally glanced her way, and she was annoyed by the little frisson of awareness that passed between them.

  Other than a couple of chilly mornings where they’d silently passed the coffeepot back and forth, they’d barely spoken since their fight over Jessica and Bradley.

  He was wearing the white shirt, black vest, and black bow tie he always wore while bartending at the fancy hotel. The getup should have looked ridiculous, but with his rough-edged good looks, he came across like the playboy best man at a country club wedding, the guy all the female guests secretly hoped to hook up with.

  Taylor looked away from him as Brit made her way over, throwing her arms around Taylor.

  “Don’t be mad at me, ’kay?” her friend whispered. “I’m sorry I was harsh; I just hate seeing you hurting.”

  Taylor hugged her friend back, grateful for the apology. Brit had been harsh.

  And though Taylor didn’t agree that Bradley wasn’t the guy for her, Taylor was a little embarrassed to see herself the way she’d been this past month through the eyes of her friends, and even Nick.

  She’d been a moping, self-pitying, ice-cream-gobbling victim—the very antithesis of everything she’d ever stood for.

  Winners don’t view life through victim glasses, Taylor.

  She winced to think of what Karen would say if she could see Taylor now.

  “I’ll snap out of it,” Taylor whispered back. “Promise.”

  Her friend patted Taylor’s head comfortingly as she pulled back. “Take as long as you need.”

  Brit finger-waggled a goodbye at Taylor, went on her toes to kiss Nick’s cheek, and was out the door before Taylor could register that her friend’s departure meant she’d be left alone with Nick.

  She usually made sure she was in her bedroom before he got home, but she was realizing now they couldn’t keep going on like this.

  Taylor wasn’t going to let some lecturing jerk who barely knew her make her hide in her own home.

  Determined not to retreat, Taylor turned toward the fridge and pulled out the pitcher of filtered water. When she turned back around, Nick was still standing there, watching her.

  She gave him a derisive once-over before reaching up to get a glass from the cabinet. “Don’t you want to change out of the penguin suit?”

  When she looked around she saw he was moving slowly toward her, and Taylor was more than a little pissed off to realize that her heartbeat had picked up a little.

  The memory of him grabbing her face the other night popped unbidden into her mind, as it had a hundred times since it happened.

  It hadn’t been the first time Nick Ballantine had touched her.

  It was just the first time he’d touched her when neither of them was seeing someone else.

  The distinction was…crucial.

  And terrifying.

  Somehow she’d managed to mostly forget about that time she’d asked him out. And the time he’d asked her out.

  She’d let herself believe that their bad timing was a sign—fate warning them that they weren’t meant to be anything more than bickering frenemies.

  But the other night when he’d touched her, she’d…wondered.

  Wanted.

  Nick stopped a few inches in front of her, not touching, but close enough that she could feel his warmth.

  His hand slowly lifted and her mouth went dry, wondering if he would touch her again. Where he would touch her.

  It wasn’t until she heard the faint thud of the cabinet closing that she realized he was merely reaching for his own glass.

  Wordlessly he pried the pitcher out of her hands, filling his glass, then hers.

  You idiot.

  When she lifted her eyes to his face again, he was giving her a knowing smirk, and it was exactly what she needed to snap her out of her haze of…whatever that had been.

  She sidestepped, putting distance between them, glaring at him all the while.

  “So Brit doesn’t like Calloway either, huh?” he asked, finishing his glass of water in three gulps and then refilling.

  Taylor took a small sip of her water. “Apparently not. Doesn’t matter. It’s not for my best friend or my worst enemy to decide who I care for.”

  Nick looked at her for a long moment, then shrugged. “Okay,” he said, then turned away and headed toward his room.

  It was exactly what she wanted. For him to back down and stay the hell out of her life—especially her love life.

  But instead of his easy acquiescence providing relief, she felt oddly disappointed. She didn’t need him to approve of Bradley, she just wanted…

  “I’m not pathetic, you know,” she called after him.

  “Never said you were,” he said, turning around, but not coming back toward her.

  “He’s a good guy,” she insisted.

  Nick shrugged again. “You know him better than me.”

  “Are you going to write?” she blurted out when he turned away again.

  Nick sighed and looked back at her. “What do you want, Taylor? You haven’t said a word to me all week, and now you’re itching for small talk?”

  “I was just being polite,” she muttered into her glass.

  “Nosy, you mean.” But he smiled a little as he said it.

  She watched him over the top of her water glass as she took another sip. “How was work?”

  He rolled hi
s eyes and spread his hands to the side. “Fine. We’ll do this. Work was fine. And yes, I’m going to go write. Anything else you want? You still want to hit me like you told Brit right when I walked in? Do it. Get it over with if it’ll mean you’ll stop sulking and leave me alone.”

  Without realizing what she was doing, Taylor’s gaze drifted downward over the strong chin she’d wanted to punch.

  Except she wasn’t so sure she wanted to punch it right now. She wanted to lay her palm against it, wanted to know if the ever-present bristles would be soft or scratchy. Wanted to know what it would feel like against her skin, between her—

  Whoa.

  Taylor’s thoughts skidded to a halt as she frantically hauled her dirty mind out of the gutter.

  “I’m going to bed,” she muttered, finishing the rest of her water and placing the glass in the sink to be dealt with later.

  “Sure you don’t want a cold shower first?” he called after her.

  Taylor slammed the door shut on him, then leaned against it, squeezing her eyes closed and trying to ignore the fact that every part of her body was tingling.

  For reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with Bradley Calloway.

  Chapter 10

  Nick had just finished making a second round of martinis for the fortysomething cougars at the far side of the bar when he heard familiar voices.

  He turned just in time to see three of Oxford’s guys approach the bar, and he grinned in welcome.

  “Hey, guys,” Nick said, placing three white cocktail napkins on the bar as they shrugged out of winter coats. “What brings you my way at barely four o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon?”

  “I walked in on Cassidy making out with his wife in his office,” Hunter Cross said, dropping onto the barstool. “Needed alcohol pronto to erase the visual, and these two kindly obliged.”

  Nick nodded in understanding. Their boss getting it on with his hot wife in his office was hardly an unusual occurrence. It also explained how the slightly atypical grouping in front of him had come to be.

  Hunter Cross was accompanied by Lincoln Mathis and Jackson Burke, and while all three were good guys, they didn’t usually run in the same Oxford crowd. Lincoln and Jackson were part of the close-knit editorial team, whereas Hunter was a VP on the digital marketing side of the house. All the guys were friendly, but Nick wasn’t used to seeing the two groups together.