Authors: Heidi Medina
Nathan
“Nathan, let’s talk about this. Jetting off
to Vegas? Really? What are you gonna do, barge in on her meeting and force
her to come home, embarrassing her and ruining any chance you have in the
process?”
I paced stubbornly back and forth, refusing
to see any sort of logic in Jake’s words. “She is out there with Tyler
Winston,” I bit out, as if that explained everything.
Jake slid a moving box out of his way and
hopped up on the edge of his kitchen island counter. “That ass?”
I paused in my pacing, and raised an eyebrow
at him, as if to say “now you understand”. He popped the top off a beer and
gave me a stern look. “Okay. Tyler Winston aside, you can’t rush in like a
Neanderthal and expect her to be happy about it. This is her job. You’re her
boss’s boss. You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t kick your sorry ass to the curb,
boss or not.”
He had a point, and I planted myself in a
chair amongst the boxes. It had been my first instinct to fly to Vegas and do
exactly as Jake had suggested, consequences be damned. I didn’t want her
anywhere near Tyler Winston, and the thought that she was, was unbearable.
But Jake was right. Interfering in this did
run the risk of ruining the friendship we’d established and then where would I
be? Reagan was deathly devoted to her work, and unlike the Johnson dinner,
where my presence could easily be explained away, flying out to Vegas was
something else entirely.
But still. “If he so much as touches. . .”
Jake laughed. “She won’t even let
you
out of the friend zone. Do you really think she’ll fall that easily to Winston
in a mere matter of days? I thought you said she was smart.”
“Very,” I immediately replied.
“Well, then, I think you have nothing to
worry about. Wait it out and see her when she returns.” Jake hopped off the
counter and handed me a beer. “Since you’re here, I have something I want to
show you.”
My interest piqued as he handed me a folder.
I flipped through it, recognizing lease agreements for office space, and other
legal documents. “What is this?”
Jake sat down across from me. “Now that I’ll
be stationary here, I am thinking about opening my own medical practice.
Something small; general medicine. I’ve been looking at some space downtown;
wondered if you’d mind tagging along next week and giving me your insight.”
I looked at him in amazement. “Hell, yeah, I
will. Good for you, man. I can have legal take a look at these contracts if
you want,” I offered.
“I do, thanks. Now, you gonna help me unpack
or sit here crying in your beer all night?” Jake challenged.
I took in the mountains of boxes throughout
his kitchen and dining area, then scowled at him. “How much shit do you have
anyway? You’re worse than a woman.”
We set about unpacking until I finally
convinced him to let me hire some help. I left him that evening with his
contracts in hand, and a promise to meet up with him the following week to look
at real estate. I was happy he was moving forward without Heather, and
realizing his dream of owning his own clinic.
My mind was still unsettled on my own
problem, though, despite his earlier pep talk. While I realized I could not
show up in Vegas unannounced, the thought of Tyler having unrestricted access
to Reagan for three days was barely tolerable. Just because I couldn’t go
there, didn’t mean I would sit and do nothing.
I catalogued my contacts in Vegas in my
head. Perhaps one of them would stop by Winston Suites, just to
catch up,
and
see what was what.
Satisfied that I was at least doing
something, little though it was, I headed home.
Reagan
“You hungry?”
Tyler Winston had proved, so far, to be a
gracious host. He appeared to be around Nathan’s age, and while I was sure he
was considered among the masses as quite handsome, he paled in comparison to
Nathan.
We had spent yesterday at the site of his
newest hotel, and I had met several of the crew working there. Later, we had
gone back to his office and he had shown me some ideas he had about his
websites, and what direction he wanted to go with it. Overall, I was impressed
with his good business sense and was excited to offer suggestions of my own,
which he’d pleasantly accepted.
It was Thursday night, and I was scheduled to
fly home late tomorrow evening. Tyler had offered me a tour of the sites, and
we were currently walking the strip. Thankfully the sun had pretty much set,
so the heat had become almost bearable. Growing up in Texas, triple digit
temperatures were nothing new to me, but I was still grateful for the light
knit teal halter dress I was wearing.
There was so much activity around us that my
mind swirled with the sights, sounds and smells. Vegas was like an amusement
park on steroids, and I was a little in awe.
He led me to an outside bar across the
street, where a band was playing a cover of the latest country hit. Eyeing the
steaks on the menu, I hesitated but a moment and then caved and ordered one. I
hadn’t had a good prime rib since leaving Austin and I was anxious for a small
taste of home. I looked up to see Tyler watching me.
“What?”
Did he think I was just going to
order a salad?
“Nothing.” He continued to stare at me, and
I noticed something in his eyes that I couldn’t name, but it was making me a
little uneasy. “I saw you a week or so ago, you know. At the Preston’s party
in the Hamptons?”
I shoved aside my uneasiness. Tyler was a
nice guy, a client of Elite, and I wasn’t going to screw this one up. “Oh,
really? I didn’t see you there.”
“Yeah. I even asked Preston about you, but
he said he thought you were involved or something.” He paused, and I realized
he was fishing.
It took me a minute to realize that by
Preston, he meant Nathan. I somehow doubted he’d be chatting up Roger Preston
about some woman he was interested in, especially if that woman happened to be
one of Roger’s employees.
And Nathan had told him I was involved with someone?
Was that before or after our kiss?
I probably should have been irritated that
Nathan had taken it upon himself to give Tyler that impression, but instead I
just felt a delicious curl of heat low in my belly. It was presumptuous and
selfish, but it couldn’t help but make me think that even then he’d been
wanting me for himself.
And suddenly, amidst the chaos and excitement
that was Las Vegas Boulevard, I wanted to be back in New York.
I missed him.
“Hmmm,” was all I gave in response. I didn’t
want to get into a conversation about my love life, or lack thereof, with Tyler
Winston.
But his sudden interest explained the look
I’d seen in his eyes minutes ago.
Our food arrived then, and Tyler kept up
conversation, thankfully not mentioning the Hamptons further. The more he
drank, the chattier he became, and the topic turned to what I was learning was
his favorite subject: himself.
I sipped my water, nodding politely, as he
carried on about how he got his start in the hotel business, and how successful
he’d become. The more he talked, the more I missed Nathan. It had been five
days since I’d seen or spoken to him and I was just now beginning to realize the
impact that had on me.
I was shaken from my thoughts when Tyler
called to our waitress for another refill. I checked my phone and saw it was
eight-thirty. That meant it was eleven-thirty back in New York. I wondered
again what Nathan was doing. The need to talk to him was powerful, and I
decided I needed to call it a night.
“Tyler, I think I need to get back to the
hotel. I have some last minute things to wrap up for the meeting tomorrow.”
“Nonsense! This is Vegas, Reagan. The city
that never sleeps.” His eyes glazed over as he leaned in across the table to
me.
I stood up. “I really need to get going.” I
knew his hotel wasn’t far from here, and figured I could find my way back on my
own if need be.
“Fine,” he muttered petulantly, as if he was
a child who hadn’t gotten his own way. “I need to take a piss; be right back.”
As soon as he excused himself from the table,
I motioned for the check. I was standing just outside the bar area, people
watching and waiting for Tyler to return, when I felt heavy arms wrap
themselves around me from behind.
I froze instantly, my mouth going dry.
Get
off me get off me get off me!
“So, how about you and I get out of here?”
The implication was clear in Tyler’s voice as
he whispered in my ear, his breath hot on my neck. I stood there woodenly,
unable to move, blinking away the black spots that danced before my eyes.
SHIT!
This wasn’t happening. Not now!
I was vaguely aware Tyler was still speaking,
but I couldn’t make out the words over the ringing in my ears.
“Get off me,” I whispered, cold sweat beading
along my spine. I felt as if I was struggling to breathe and prayed I wouldn’t
completely pass out.
“Whoa, Reagan. What’s the matter with you?”
His question came across as if he was asking why I was such a freak, not as if
he was truly concerned over my well-being. I wasn’t certain he had heard my
whispered plea, but he did remove his arms from around me and stepped to the
side. I was leaning more toward he just simply wanted to move away from me,
and a situation he clearly didn’t understand.
I closed my eyes and mentally counted to ten,
willing my breathing to right itself so I could get out of here. I inhaled
deeply, taking in big gulps of air as I wiped a hand across my forehead,
tendrils of hair dampened and sticking to my skin.
“Hello?” Tyler was definitely getting wierded
out, and obviously didn’t know what to do. I didn’t blame him, but his inability
to handle what was unfolding before him was not my main concern. Getting back
to my hotel was.
I opened my eyes, and wanted to sob in relief
that the spots were gone and my panic attack seemed to be passing. “Sorry. I
am not feeling well. I’ll find my way back.” It was all the explanation I
could muster, and all he would get.
I turned away from his annoyed expression and
hurried back in the direction of the hotel, shouldering past the countless
tourists that cluttered the strip. It wasn’t until I was back in my room that
the tears fell.
Two panic attacks in a week.
These people here didn’t know me. They
didn’t know my boundaries. Twice now someone had overstepped, innocently
enough, but because they didn’t know me, I’d had more panic attacks in the last
week than I’d had in the last four years.
I wondered if Helen was right. Maybe this
was too much, too soon. I’d wanted to move to Manhattan, venture out on my own
and do something I’ve always dreamed of.
Maybe I should have been more realistic about
my capabilities and just stayed in Austin.
I had forgotten all thoughts of trying to
reach Nathan, and finally fell asleep somewhere around ten p.m. I had no idea
what time it was when I heard my cell phone ping, alerting me to an incoming
text message.
Nathan
I tossed and turned in my bed, unable to
sleep. As expected, today—or yesterday, considering it was now three o’clock
in the morning--had been a day from hell; for many reasons.
It had been two years. Two years since my
brother had been taken from us. Two years spent watching my mother turn from a
strong, passionate woman, vibrant with life, to a shell of her former self, wasting
away under the strong arm of alcohol. Two years spent missing Thomas, and
hating my father, as we grew further and further apart.
Two years. Seven hundred and thirty days.
I hated this day; this anniversary of sorts,
of his death. There was nothing to celebrate. Life was not better with him
gone, and nothing was the same. I missed Thomas every single minute of every
single day. I didn’t need an ‘anniversary’ to remind me of it. Just like I
didn’t need to see the accident scene photos tucked away in my safe to remind
me of the horrible circumstances of his death.
But at least I had learned to
compartmentalize. I missed him, but it no longer consumed me.
Yet Mom had insisted she needed me, and as I
had done last year, I went to her, cursing my father as my car ate up the
distance between me and her. And as I had done last year, I’d listened to my
mother, as she relived in startling detail, the events that had transpired the
day her eldest son had been killed. Where she’d gone, the last words they’d
spoken to each other, what he’d been wearing, what she’d been doing when the
police had shown up at their home with the horrifying news.
All of it. Every last detail; spoken in
alternating moments of blinding rage and unspeakable grief.
And just as had happened last year, the band
aid over the hole in my heart, caused by his passing, was violently ripped off,
leaving it open, gaping, and bleeding into my soul.
I had held my mother when her memories had
overtaken her, and there was nothing left for her to do but sob for the son she
wished for daily, but knew would never return to her. I had held her long
after she’d finally succumbed to the alcohol she’d consumed prior to my
arrival, and passed out. I had pulled the covers of her bed around her, and
curled up behind her, before giving way to my own tears of grief. The ability
to separate the constant pang of missing Thomas, and going about the demands of
my everyday life, were lost to me in that moment, and the crushing knowledge he
was truly gone was as fresh as the day it had happened.
I had left her to sleep off the day’s
anguish around eleven, and had returned home, hoping to fall into an exhausted
sleep myself.
But once I was gone, alone and away from the
day’s events, my mind returned to Reagan.
And the fact she was miles and miles away.
With Tyler Winston. And now, I couldn’t sleep.
I needed to hear her voice.
The need was so strong, and occupied my
racing thoughts, until finally I heaved the comforter off my bed and stalked out
to the kitchen for my go-to midnight snack. Pulling out the gallon of
chocolate milk, I poured a glass and stared at my phone, charging on the
counter.
I knew that while Vegas was a few hours
behind, she’d probably be sleeping.
I shouldn’t wake her.
Screw that. It had been five days. Enough
was enough.
Unplugging my phone and setting my empty
glass in the sink, I padded back to my bedroom, typing as I walked.
Nathan: How’s Vegas?
There was so much I should, and would rather,
be saying, but I decided to keep it light. Explanations could come later.
I sat in the dark, holding my phone, heart
pounding and feeling like an idiot.
What if she didn’t even respond? It was no
less than I deserved.
I had no sooner finished the thought when my
phone chirped as her reply arrived.
Reagan: Vegas is fine… very ready to come
home, though.
I scowled at my screen. She sounded sad, and
yes, I’m well aware one cannot tell another’s tone through a simple text, but
still. I hit dial, and lay back on my pillows. She was already awake, I may
as well just call, I reasoned with myself.
“Hi.” Her voice was soft, and slightly
muffled. It didn’t matter. It was the sweetest sound I had heard in days,
perhaps in my entire life.
“Hi,” I replied, closing my eyes. “Did I
wake you?”
“Um, kinda,” she admitted. “But it’s okay,”
she hastened to add.
“Sorry.” And yet, not really. “I couldn’t
sleep.”
“And you just wanted to hear my voice?”
Although sleepy, her voice lightened enough to let me know she was joking.
I wasn’t. “Yes. I’ve kinda had a hard
day.”
Silence stretched on the other end, and I
checked to make sure the call hadn’t been dropped.
“This day would be hard on anyone. And I am
glad you called.”
She remembered.
I smiled into the
dark. But I didn’t want to talk about Thomas. I’d done enough of that in the
last twenty-four hours. “Really? Wanted to hear the sound of my voice, too,
huh?”
“Yes.” She was coming more fully awake, and
was no longer joking. My body leaped in response, going rock hard.
I missed her.
“Well, then. It’s a win-win for us both.
How have your meetings gone? I assume you’ve met Tyler.” I hated to bring
him up, but I was desperate to know her thoughts.
“The meetings have been great.” A pause.
“And yes, I’ve met Tyler.”
I kept my voice light. “He’s treating you
well, I hope?”
Another pause.
If he’d tried anything, I
swear to God—
“Sure, um. . . yeah. I guess.”
I sat up and opened my eyes. “What’s wrong?
Has he been inappropriate?”
I would kill him.
“Why would you ask that?” Her reply was
quick; rushed.
“Because I know him,” I grumbled into the
phone.
She laughed softly. “No, he has not been
inappropriate. There was . . .a situation. . .tonight. But it wasn’t his
fault.”
I did not like the sounds of this. At all.
“What do you mean, a situation?” Or that it wasn’t his fault? Anything wrong
with Tyler around, was generally always his fault.
“Nathan, it’s nothing. I promise. Can we
talk about something else?”
She seemed to be done discussing the subject.
I wasn’t. “No.”
“No?”
“No. Tyler Winston is a client of Elite. If
he did or said anything that could be construed as inappropriate to you, I need
to know about it.” I got out of bed and began pacing the area beside the bed,
my anger growing by the second.
“He didn’t. I mean, he got a little drunk,
but that’s it. Nothing happened, and I am asking you,
as your friend,
to let it go.”
There was something she wasn’t telling me,
something she didn’t want to tell me, and it infuriated me. I was used to
people supplying me with answers and information when asked. I didn’t like
being refused, especially about something like this.
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “But
as your friend, I think I should tell you that I don’t like it.”
She laughed again, relief evident in her
tone. “Fair enough.”
Against my very nature, I changed topics.
“Are you tired? I can let you go.”
Her response came before I’d completely
finished my words. “No, not at all. I’m fine.”
I climbed back in bed and settled back under
the covers, feeling immensely pleased. “So, what are you wearing?” The
question was out before I fully comprehended that I’d just spoken my thought
aloud.
“A t-shirt,” she surprised me by answering.
And now I was imagining her, in her bed at the hotel, in the dark, in a
t-shirt. In
nothing
but a t-shirt, one where her nipples would stand at
attention underneath, uninhibited by her bra this time, waiting for my mouth.
I was hard again. I stifled a groan. “Shit,
I’m sorry. . .I didn’t mean—“
“What are
you
wearing?” There was a
playfulness in her tone that I hadn’t heard before, and I wondered at the cause
of it. Was she actually flirting back with me?
“Boxers.”
Another lengthy pause. And then, “How was
your weekend?” Now her voice sounded strained, and it didn’t escape my notice
that she was changing the subject.
Chicken.
I smiled, even though I knew she couldn’t see
me. “Busy, but nothing of great importance. I apologize for not answering you
sooner, after you texted Saturday.”
“That’s okay. I figured you were busy.”
“Regardless, I would have much rather talked
to you.” It was the truth and I meant it. “I know we’re supposed to be just
friends and all, but can I just say that I’ve missed you?”
I heard her moving around, and pictured her
sitting up in her bed. “Yes, you can. I’ve kinda missed you, too.”
I wanted to shout at her to discard this
ridiculous idea of just being friends, so we wouldn’t have to miss each other;
we could
be
with each other, but tamped down the urge. I didn’t
understand her fierce determination to keep things in the friend zone, when it
was so obvious she was attracted to me, but I had to play along. “I miss you,
you miss me. We need to fix that. What are your plans for the weekend?”
She gave a nervous laugh. “I don’t think I
have any. . .yet , anyway.”
“You do now. There’s a bunch of new bands
playing in Central Park on Saturday. Wanna go down there and check ‘em out?”
She hesitated, but I knew she would. “As
friends, of course,” I added. I was out of my mind with wanting to see her,
and wouldn’t put it past myself to invent some work related emergency to bring
her into the office over the weekend if she refused my offer.
“Yeah, that sounds fun.”
I’d half expected her to decline, so when she
agreed, my heart skipped a beat. Like, literally fluttered and skipped an
entire beat.
An entire day with Reagan, just the two of
us.
“Excellent! Call me when you get back into
town, and we’ll decide what time we wanna go, okay?” I knew I’d monopolized
enough of her time and should probably let her go. While I wouldn’t have any
trouble talking to her until the sun rose, I didn’t want to press my luck.
“And now, you need to get back to sleep. You have a busy day tomorrow.”
“Thank you for calling, Nathan. It was nice
talking to you.”
I smiled into the dark again. “Goodnight,
Reagan,” I replied softly.
Immediately after disconnecting with Reagan,
I dialed another number. Yes, it was approaching three-thirty in the morning,
but I couldn’t wait.
“Isaac, Nathan Preston. Yes, I am aware of
the time but wanted to catch you. I need Miss Andrews home tomorrow, first
thing. Whatever meetings are scheduled tomorrow with the Winston account will
need to be rescheduled—with someone else,” I added, in case he wasn’t clear.
“The Johnson and Johnson account is her only priority.”
Isaac put forth a weak attempt to challenge
my instructions, but it was late and the man was half asleep. He caved almost
immediately.
“Good. Now, get some sleep. We all have a
busy day tomorrow.”
I knew he’d be pissed tomorrow, when he’d had
time to fully contemplate the conversation, but also knew he would comply.
And most likely would run to my father and
tattle, but Dad was in Japan and was an obstacle easily avoided. I’d deal with
him on this, if I had to, when he returned.
Bottom line, I wanted her home. Call me
selfish, high-handed, and meddling. . . .I didn’t care. I’d never liked the
idea of her in Vegas with Tyler Winston alone, and upon learning something had
happened since she’d been there—and it involved him, despite the fact she
refused to admit it—well, let’s just say Isaac was damn lucky I didn’t make him
get up and fly out there to pick her up himself.
I fell asleep with the knowledge that in less
than twenty-four hours she would be back home and my mind would be at ease.