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“You just said so yourself. You put on this grumpy facade when you come in to work. So then what do you look like when you’re not here?”
I’m pressing beyond what’s appropriate for what’s essentially a work meeting. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t seem to help myself. Because I finally have Nick on the ropes, and it’s a lot better than being there myself.
“I—” Nick starts, struggles for the correct word, and then says, “I hardly think this question is appropriate, Ms. Davis.”
The moment plunges into ice. Nick’s expression is cold, closed-off. I suddenly feel incredibly awkward, fully aware that I’ve pushed too far, gotten too personal.
I’ll admit, I get overly involved in my projects, occasionally crossing the line into unprofessionalism. But it’s also the reason I’ve been so successful in advertising. I throw myself fully into every campaign, delight in all the small details, of learning the inner workings of the businesses and their leaders.
But Nick is different from the other company heads I’ve worked for. The wall he’s built up against the world is thick, his defenses strong. And knocking on the door seems to only lead to the deadbolt being drawn.
Without another word, Nick opens the door we’ve stopped in front of and I realize that this was where we were heading the whole time. In an instant, the tumultuous thoughts colliding in my head are halted by the breathtaking sight before us.
The door leads to the bridge, the area at the helm where the captain issues commands and drives the ship onward. It’s a large, brightly lit room with huge windows giving a 180-degree view of the Hudson and the New Jersey coastline.
“Wow,” I say, walking slowly into the room. I run a hand over the golden brass command center, touching the controls delicately as if they were made of amber. “It’s wonderful.”
“The seat of power,” Nick says, “always looks wonderful.”
I glance awkwardly back at him, my overly invasive moment in the hall not forgotten for long.
But Nick seems content to leave the moment behind us. He doesn’t meet my eye, instead walking to the windows, hands clasped behind him. He looks out over the river, to Jersey.
I watch him silently, wondering what he could be thinking of. But before I can ponder for long, he turns around and fixes me in that level and knowing stare.
“Well?” he asks. “Aren’t you supposed to be taking pictures?”
And just like that, we’re back to frosty professionalism. I suppose I should just be relieved he didn’t fire me. I get to work immediately, lest that be an idea he’s still tossing around in his head.
I photograph the stately interior, the captain’s buttery leather seat, the view, already envisioning the drafts Mickey and I will put together later. The beauty of it all will make our job easy.
I’ve just about finished when I hesitate and glance at Nick. He’s still staring out the window.
I really shouldn’t do it, but I can’t help myself. I raise the camera and snap a photo of him. His back is mostly to me, but the picture still captures the curve of his chin, the severity of his expression.
He looks like a troubled captain, looking out over stormy waters. And despite our differences, despite how much I should dislike a man so hot and cold, so aggravating and jaded, I can’t help but feel a growing connection to him. That, despite what he insists on presenting to the world, there’s way more to Nick Madison than it seems.
CHAPTER SIX
NICK
It’s been a month since Evie and I explored the Seafarer together.
When I’d gotten back into my helicopter that day and watched Evie become a small speck on the deck of the massive ship, I’d sworn that I was going to avoid her as much as humanly possible for the rest of the time she worked for me.
The reality has turned out to be a bit different.
I make it a point to sign off on all major decisions personally, and I quickly struggled to find excuses for why I was suddenly sending intermediaries to deal with the ad campaign, what is arguably the most important part of the Seafarer’s upcoming launch.
So, despite my wishes, ultimately I’ve been forced to interact with Evie on an almost daily basis.
I try to have as many other people in the room as possible. I won’t give her any more chances to peek behind the curtain, trying to guess what kind of man I really am.
She’ll be disappointed to learn that there isn’t anything to see there. Work Nick isn’t a mask I put on in the office; it’s who I am, the result of decades of effort to stamp out any emotion that might distract from my quest to build my business.
I’ve managed to keep my emotions in line for years.
But now? Well, if I were so certain of my self control then why do I need human barriers between me and a young woman I’ve only known for a single short month?
