Nicholas POV:
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
One of my hands gripped my hair and I didn’t even realize it until I felt the tugging. I’d been trying to break myself of that bad habit since birth, but it always came out when I was stressed.
Or pissed.
Or angry.
And today I was all three.
A huge deal had fallen through because of someone else’s incompetency, I’d ruined my favorite tie from a coffee spill, and I hadn’t had sex in over six months.
I was ready to blow something up.
I turned back to the conversation in my ear when the voice kept droning on.
“Francis, shut the fuck up with your psychobabble bullshit and fire his ass. Today. Or I will.”
I slammed the phone down, knocking files and papers off the edge of my desk. I glared at the resulting mess all over the floor, taking a few deep breaths before I truly lost it. No sooner had I calmed down somewhat when the nasal voice of my secretary came through the intercom.
“Mr. Rowe?”
“What?” I snapped.
“You told me to remind you to leave at 7:45 today because of your dinner meeting.”
I rolled my head, trying to ease the knots in my neck. “Fine. Thank you. You are finished for today.”
I glanced once more at the strewn papers and sighed before picking them up and throwing them back on my desk, deciding to go through the pile tomorrow. After gathering what I wanted to look over that evening, I put on a new tie from the wardrobe I kept in the private bathroom attached to my office.
I checked my watch and called John to make sure he had the car ready. I scowled as I exited my office, noticing Julia loitering at her desk. I quickly strode to the elevator and jabbed the button in irritation.
“Care for some company on the way down?” she asked, coming up behind me.
If she wasn’t a good secretary, I would have fired her. Instead, I grunted and ignored her, pulling out my phone and checking stock movements of the day. It had been a while since she’d been blatant about offering more than her typing skills, and I’d thought she’d gotten the hint that I was not interested.
Sure she had a decent body and a nice rack, but the calculating look in her eyes was too reminiscent of another. Besides, I didn’t dip my pen in the company ink.
My recent string of sexless days was definitely not for lack of willing participants. I knew I could have just about any woman out there, and I had for a long time.
But I was tired of that shit.
I wanted more.
Only I was having trouble finding it.
I’d tried to start relationships with a few women over the last couple of years. Generally, they had been nice, recommended by a friend or my mother. But unfailingly, I just couldn’t commit, regardless of my desire to be attached.
I wanted a wife.
I wanted a family.
I wanted someone that would never leave me. Never steal the rug from under my feet.
Like she did. I still hated her with the fire of a thousand suns.
Yet none of the women I’d met made me care enough to really put myself out there again. I was beginning to wonder if it would simply be better for me to embrace eternal bachelorhood and throw away my hope for the more that I craved.
The elevator door opened and I moved to the corner, hoping Julia had the sense to stay away from me in my current mood. Luckily she did, and I continued ignoring her presence while trying not to gag from being confined in a steel box with her perfume.
My phone buzzed with an incoming text.
[I need to talk to you.]
I frowned at the message. It was an unfamiliar number, but I recognized the area code from somewhere. I shrugged it off, assuming someone had dialed the wrong number. As soon as I was off the elevator and away from Julia’s cloying scent, I sent Virgil a wave before exiting and finding John waiting.
After giving him the address of the restaurant, I got in the car, taking a moment to lay my head back against the seat and clear my mind. It suddenly dawned on me why the area code had been familiar.
I used to live there. It was from Atkins.
I glanced at the message again, wondering if it was possible an old friend or classmate had gotten my number somehow. I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to find out if the call was really meant for me or not.
[Who is this?]
The answer came back quickly.
[Willow Taylor]
However coincidental, she obviously thought she was contacting someone else.
[I think you have the wrong number.]
I put my phone in my pocket and closed my eyes. A few seconds later it buzzed again and I groaned. ‘Would this day never end?’
[I have the correct number if I reached Mr. Nicholas Rowe.]
What the fuck? I racked my brain trying to place the name she’d given me. I rarely gave this number out, so it didn’t make sense for some random person to call it looking for me.
Before I could type out a response, my mother called. I debated letting it go to voicemail but decided to go ahead and get it over with.
“Hello, mother.”
“Nicholas! It’s good to hear your voice.”
She made it sound like I hadn’t spoken to her in years. I pinched the bridge of my nose, wondering if all mothers had the ability to lay down the passive-aggressive guilt trips.
“It’s nice to hear your voice, too. Although we talked just a few days ago.”
“Your brother calls me every other day.”
That’s because he’s a needy mama’s boy who constantly seeks approval.
I kept those thoughts to myself, watching the lights of the city pass by.