Fight with Me
Page 4

“That’s great, good for them.”  Nate grins, that elusive, sexy, melt my panties grin and I find myself returning it.  His hair is pulled back off his face, as usual.  His chiseled jaw is freshly shaved, and he’s wearing a black suit with a black shirt and blue tie.  He never takes his jacket off to roll up the sleeves, and I briefly wonder why, then remind myself to get back to the conversation at hand.
“Yeah, they’re excited.  I’m hosting the baby shower next weekend.”
“I promise not to make you work next weekend,” he winks at me and I about fall out of my chair.
Who is this man, and what has he done with my boss?
“So, about the account?” I ask as Mrs. Glover knocks on the door.
“Dinner’s here, sir.”
“Thank you, Jenny, bring it in.”  Nate rises and takes two large bags out of Mrs. Glover’s hands.  “That’s all for today.  I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Have a good weekend, sir.  Ms. Montgomery.”  She nods to both of us and then exits the office, closing the door behind her.
“I had Chinese delivered.  I got you your usual.”  He smiles and resumes sitting in his chair, unloading bags.  He seems very happy with himself this evening, much more approachable and friendly than he has been since last summer.
What’s his game?
“Thank you,” I reply, realizing that I’m starving.  I load a plate with rice, sweet and sour chicken and egg rolls and we dig in, eating in silence for a few minutes.  I feel Nate’s eyes on me, so I decide to put my big girl panties on and just take the initiative.
“So, what’s up with this account?” I ask again and take a bite of chicken.
“I don’t have any idea, I just wanted to have dinner with you, and this is the only way I can see you.”
Holy fucking shit.
I stop chewing, my eyes wide, and I just stare at his perfectly sincere face.  “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
I frown and set my plate carefully on his desk.  “So, we’re not working on this account?”
“No.”
“I don’t understand.”
Nate lays his chopsticks down, wipes his mouth with a napkin and sits back in his chair, watching me carefully.
“I just wanted to share dinner with you, Julianne.”
“Why?” And why does he insist on calling me Julianne?
He frowns again.  “Do I have to spell it out?”
“I guess so.”
“I like you.  I enjoy your company.”  He shrugs, looking lost and a bit insecure.  I’m so not used to seeing emotions on his beautiful face.
“But you’re my boss.”
“So?”
“So, we could both be fired.”
“It’s just dinner, Julianne.”
“You’re not looking at me like you just want dinner, Nate.”
He cocks his head to the side and a smile kisses his lips.  “How am I looking at you?”
“Like you’d like to fuck me on this desk.”  Holy. Fuck!  Did I just say that?
Nate’s smile disappears and his eyes narrow.  “Watch your mouth.”
I swallow hard and blink rapidly.
“There are many places that I’d enjoy fucking you, including this desk, but right now, I simply want to enjoy a meal with you.”
“Watch your mouth.” I whisper and his smile is back.
“Telling your boss what to do?”
“Somehow, I don’t think we’re having this conversation in a boss/employee context.”  I shake my head and stare at the man before me.  “What is this?  Why now?”
“Eat.”
“I’m suddenly no longer hungry, thanks.”
“Just humor me, Julianne.”
“Why do you call me Julianne?” I ask and pick up another piece of sticky chicken.
“It’s your name.”  His eyes are on my mouth and I smile to myself as I grab an egg roll and bite off the end.
“Everyone calls me Jules.”
“Not me.”
“Why?” I ask again.
“Because Julianne suits you.”  He shrugs and takes a bite of his food.
“But I prefer Jules.”
“Okay, Julianne.”  He winks at me, and grins broadly before taking another bite of food.
“I’ll bet when you were small your teacher sent home a letter to your parents saying, ‘Doesn’t play well with others.’”
Nate laughs, and my gut clenches.  “Probably.”
I realize I’ve cleaned my plate and I throw it in the trash and bag the left overs.  “Okay, I ate. Thanks for dinner. Have a good weekend.”  I rise to walk out the door, but Nate leaps up and stops me.
“Don’t go yet.”
“Why not?”
He licks his lips, shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels.  “Stay with me this weekend.  At my place.”
I think I’ve entered an alternate universe.  Or I’m on Punked.  Yes, that’s it.  Punked.  I start looking around the room, behind me, up in the corners of the room.
“What are you looking for?”  he asks as he follows my gaze.
“The cameras.”
“What cameras?”
“I have to either be on Punked or I’m being set up to be fired.”