Breaking All the Rules (16 page)

Nate’s lips move, making no sound. I force myself to wait and wait and wait, patience not a strength of mine.

“I’m not good at pillow talk,” he finally blurts

“No shit, Sherlock.” I roll my eyes. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“I have no idea what you expect,” Nate explains. “Pillow talk isn’t covered in our agreement.” I grit my teeth, tired of hearing about our damn agreement. His gaze shifts to my face and then back to the road. “I don’t want to disappoint you. It’s better if I say nothing.” His knuckles whiten.

“No, it’s not better if you say nothing.” I cover his hand with mine. “If you ever disappoint me I’ll tell you and you’ll fix it. I’m not the type of person to stay quiet about . . . well . . . anything.”

Nate says nothing, the lines on his face remaining.

“We’ll likely have a monster fight. I’ll give you the finger and curse you out and you’ll get all icy and sexy.” I shiver, heating up simply thinking about our imaginary skirmish. “This will enrage me even more and I’ll slap your chest, setting off the sparks between us. You know how it is when we touch.” I move my hand to his upper thigh and he hardens, his cock pressing against the fabric of his black dress pants. “Then we’ll have wild crazy make-up sex, putting a few dents in that immaculate desk of yours.”

I pause. He doesn’t say anything.

“What do you think?” I ask.

“I think wild crazy make-up sex sounds good.” Nate’s lips lift into his small smile, the creases between his eyebrows flattening.

“That’s all you got from that tirade, huh?” I laugh and skim my hand over his fabric-covered cock.

He turns the car into Blaine Technologies’ underground parking lot. “I have an eight o’clock meeting.”

“And I must cause turmoil in the mobile world.” I regretfully move my hand back to his thigh. “Wild crazy make-up sex will have to wait.”

Nate parks the car and covers my hand with his. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Camille.”

I suck in my breath. This is as close to a declaration of love as he has ever come. “And you said you’re not good at pillow talk.” I bounce out of the vehicle, my spirits light, and sling the straps of my backpack over one of my shoulders, not feeling its weight.

The limousine is parked in the corner. The same three black sedans and silver Jaguar are slotted in their regular spaces. I’m arriving with the same man and he wears the same black suit, white shirt, and black tie he always does.

For once this repetition, this normalcy, doesn’t make me squirrelly, doesn’t make me want to snarl and snap and fight the establishment. Nate takes my hand, leading me to the bank of elevators, and I follow him, blissfully content.

“You know we
will
fight, right?” I press my body against his. “Ours will never be a peaceful relationship. I have a bit of a temper.”

The elevator doors open. “I’ve noticed.” Nate enters, turns, draws me to him, his hands resting on my leather-clad ass. “You get angry, we fight, and then we have make-up sex.” He shrugs. “I can live with that.”

I tilt back my head, gazing up at him, my green hair cascading down my back, loose and free. He is smiling, his eyes sparkling, his face devastatingly handsome and unguarded, not a trace of his renowned coolness in his countenance.

“I can live with that too,” I murmur, my voice husky, my body aroused. I want him. I always want him.

The doors open at the ground floor. Nate stiffens and I move to his side.

Jerome, the security guard, my nemesis, enters, his gray uniform pulled tight over his protruding stomach. He presses the button for the fourth floor.

“Mr. Lawford.” He nods to Nate. “Miss Trent.” Jerome scans my body, his gaze lingering on my breasts and legs.

Nate places a possessive hand on my hip.

“All interns must enter and exit through the front doors.” Jerome doesn’t heed Nate’s unspoken warning, the security guard’s full attention fixed on my breasts. “I’ll be reporting this violation to Mr. Henley.”

“Miss Trent is with me.” Nate’s voice chills to unadulterated arctic frost, his words dripping with a glacier arrogance. A shiver of excitement rolls up my spine. He’s powerful and mine. “I enter wherever I like.” My Iceman is back and he’s very pissed off.

Jerome gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his eyes widening. “M—M—Miss Trent now reports to you, sir?”

“I consider Miss Trent to be an extension of me.” Nate pulls me closer to him. “Treat her as you would any top executive.”

“Yes, sir.” Sweat trickles down Jerome’s face, his lips quivering. The big bully looks as though he’s one sharp word away from peeing his pants.

I can’t suppress my smirk. Take that, rent-a-cop. Nate squeezes my hip, his chin tilted upward, his profile strong and proud. We stand side by side in silence, watching the red digital numbers ascend.

The doors open at the fourth floor and Jerome rushes out, moving faster than I’ve ever seen him move. A sweat stain marks the back of his uniform.

“Did he search you?” Nate asks as the doors close once more, his words scarily soft.

I blink at him. “What?”

“Did he search you?” my angry executive repeats. “Because if he has touched you I’ll make him wish he had never heard of Blaine Technologies.”

Whoa. I stare at Nate, incredibly turned on by this surprising display of jealousy. “No, he never touched me.” I lean against my protective man. “He searched my bag and stuck his finger in my lunch, but he never searched my person.”

“Good.” Nate’s chest heaves, his eyes blazing, his rage not completely spent. The doors open. “This is your floor.”

“And you have an eight o’clock meeting.” I balance on my tiptoes, brush my lips against his. “Try not to kill anyone today.” I laugh as I exit the elevator.

Nate loves me, though he likely doesn’t know that yet. We have a month together. That’s enough time for him to accept his feelings, to say the words, to make a longer commitment, to take a chance on forever.

The low-talking brunette approaches me, smiling shyly, her gaze darting to my face and then away. I wish her a boisterous good-morning and she beams, her face lighting up, her lips moving, her words too quiet for me to hear.

Nate loves me. My chest bubbles with happiness. My project will gain the mentors it needs. The sun has risen and it is a glorious day.

Everyone receives a greeting from me this morning, even the pinch-faced lady. She mutters about noisy people and printer fumes as she sprays the air with a product I can only describe as poison in a can.

“Green,” Miss Yen hollers.

“Good morning, boss.” I flounce into her office, a big smile plastered on my face. Miss Yen is seated behind her desk, which is unusual for my hyperactive boss. She’s wearing yet another beautiful black suit, her hair twisted into a tight chignon.

“You’re my favorite boss, did you know that?” I chirp, ecstatic with the world.

Miss Yen winces. “Sit down, Green.” She doesn’t meet my gaze.

My fantastic mood fades as I obey her. Someone is in deep trouble, and I suspect that someone is me.

Chapter Twelve

M
ISS
Y
EN FIDGETS
in her seat, appearing as uncomfortable as I feel. I must be getting fired. I’ve bent the rules one too many times and she has to let me go.

I set my backpack on the carpet. This isn’t a first firing for me. I know what happens next. “Should I pack the rest of my things?”

Miss Yen jerks back her head and meets my gaze. “What? No.” There’s another long stretch of silence and she sighs. “A project came back from the dead and the Change the World grant no longer has an opening. You won’t be pitching at the end of the month.”

I won’t be pitching. I hired the subcontractors, worked late last night, hoped for nothing. The disappointment threatens to crush me, a huge weight sitting on my chest, pressing down, down, down.

I breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, forcing air through my lungs, struggling to contain my feelings. This fiasco isn’t Miss Yen’s fault and she shouldn’t have to deal with the emotional aftermath. She believed in me.

“Our agreement about you using the shredding room still stands,” my boss says, her voice soft. “There will be an opportunity to pitch next year, but you’re resourceful, Green. You won’t wait for that opportunity. You’ll find another way to fund it.”

“I
will
find another way to fund my project,” I assure her. Funding is the simple part. I need the mentoring, the collective brain of Blaine Technologies’ impressive management team. They’re too busy to help a lowly intern.

Miss Yen watches me closely, as though she worries I’ll go ballistic. It’s a legitimate concern. The data-sharing project means everything to me and I don’t have the knowledge to manage it alone.

I’m not completely alone. I curl my fingers into fists, digging my fingernails into my palms, using the pain to offset my disappointment. Nate promised to mentor me and he always keeps his word.

“Thank you, Miss Yen.” I grab my backpack and drag my rejected ass to the shredding room, shutting the door behind me. My makeshift office isn’t where I want to be.

I want to take the elevator to the seventh floor, rush past Gladys’ desk, down the hallway, into Nate’s office. He’ll strap his big strong arms around my body, pull me onto his lap, and hold me tight as I cry.

That isn’t an option. Nate has a meeting until nine o’clock. And I won’t cry here, alone, with the cameras pointed at me, capturing every tear, every weakness.

Slumping into my seat, I stare into space and twirl the green fountain pen in my fingers, clinging to this flimsy connection to Nate. I have to do something, anything, or I won’t be able to hold it together.

Working on my beleaguered project doesn’t appeal to me. The thought of talking to subcontractors, acting as though everything is okay, as though the project isn’t on life support, is painful, taking more than I have to give. Shredding files doesn’t require brains or feigning happiness. I stomp out of my temporary office into the hallway, the force of my exit smacking the door against the doorstop. The thud is obscenely loud and the pinch-faced lady complains. I turn my head toward her, not hiding any of my grief, and she shuts her mouth.

I grab a box of files and heft them back to the room. The sanctioned destruction calms me. I feed the papers into the shredder and the machine chews them into thin strips. The result is predictable, controllable, giving me a sense of accomplishment, of confidence. Rational thought returns.

I have Nate. He promised to help me. The two of us will figure out a solution to this mess. We’ll save the project and make a difference in the world.

At nine o’clock I wipe the white dust off my hands, smooth down my skirt, and exit the room semiserenely, like a normal human being would.

I take the elevator to the finance floor. The trip is quick and the car is thankfully empty. As I exit Gladys, the gatekeeper, looks up from a stack of papers. “Mr. Lawford is in his office, Miss Trent.” She sounds relieved to see me.

I frown. “I don’t have an appointment.” Why is she expecting me?

“He needs you.” Gladys’ phone rings. She glances at the number but doesn’t answer it. “He’s not himself.” Her voice drops to a whisper.

“Okay,” I reply. He’s not himself. I don’t know what that means, only that it’s bad.

I hustle along the hallway. Employees stand in their cubicles, their faces turned in the same direction, their heads tilted as though they’re listening to something of great importance.

Having blown out my eardrums at too many clubs, my hearing isn’t the best. I only hear the employees’ hushed tones, the wave of whispers cresting as I pass. My heels thump against the carpet and my heart pounds. What’s happening?

I turn the corner and Nate’s voice reaches me. “You called her
what
?” he bellows. The employees around me collectively gasp. I doubt they’ve ever heard their Iceman boss bellow, ever seen this passionate side of him. I
am
familiar with this side of Nate and even I’m stunned, the depth of his emotion both thrilling and frightening me.

“You think you know, but you don’t,” Nate grumbles. “You don’t know about her. You don’t know about us. You don’t know me.” His office door is wide open, his one-sided conversation traveling throughout the quiet office. He’d be mortified if he knew this. I increase my pace, determined to protect his icy reputation, to protect him.

“I don’t care what she said. That’s not who she is. If you call her that again or interfere in our relationship in any way, I will sever all ties with you.”

I cross the threshold and close the door behind me. Nate stands before the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back to me. He holds the phone in his right hand, his knuckles whitening around the device. His left hand clenches and unclenches a ball of black lace.

He’s clasping my panties, I realize.

“No, I don’t want your money,” Nate says, his voice edged with disgust. “Opening your wallet won’t fix this situation. It isn’t that easy.”

I wrap my arms around his waist and press my chest against his rigid spine, brushing my cheek over his soft suit. He leans back, pushing into my touch.

“You can’t put a price on trust, Father.” Nate shakes his head. “Money debases its value,” he says, echoing my words.

He drops the phone to the carpet, and I hold him to me, stroking his suit-clad chest with my fingertips, attempting to ease his turmoil, to calm my angry man.

“Your dad loves you,” I murmur. “Everything he did, he did out of love.”

Nate slides my panties into the pocket of his pants and he turns. “My father called you a whore, Camille.” He gazes down at me, lightning flashing in his storm-filled eyes. “No one calls you a whore.”

“You’re paying me for sex.” I place my palms on his chest, savoring his solid body, his strength. “I
am
your whore.”

Nate pulls me closer to him, folding my curves into his muscle. “You didn’t deny his accusation.”

“I couldn’t deny it.” I tilt back my head and study my handsome executive. “It’s the truth.” This confrontation won’t be the last one. Anyone who knows Nate’s history with women will assume I’m an escort. I won’t ever be able to refute it.