Page 6 of Dirty Nasty Billionaire: Part 3

It was almost hard to imagine.

I waited until the morning, when Nixon was usually more open to talking. I waited until our egg sandwiches had been delivered. I waited until his first cup of coffee was gone.

I waited.

He was flipping through his phone, checking the stock market, when I finally drew up enough courage to broach the subject.

“My sister is getting married next weekend,” I tell him.

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” he replies, his eyes still glued to his phone. For all his virtuosic characteristics, Nixon is still a stereotypical dude when it comes to paying attention to his various devices.

“Yeah, she’s four years older. She’s a kindergarten teacher. She’s getting married down on the Cape. In Wellfleet.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Yeah. I’m the maid of honor, of course.”

“Hmmm,” he replies, a little V forming in between his eyebrows. I try to read it, to figure out if stocks are up or down today. Will it make a difference in his reception to my idea?

I spend way too long trying to figure it out before deciding I’m being ridiculous. I can’t read Nixon Blake like an oracle. And besides, it’s not like I’m asking him to elope or sell his company. I’m just asking him to go to a wedding with me. The man has had his tongue on every square inch of my body, why does this seem like an unreasonable request?

I suck in a deep breath, and decide to just jump off the high dive. “Hey, so you should come with me,” I say. “As my date.”

His eyes snap up from his phone. Now I have his attention.

He looks at me hard, his eyes narrowed, like he’s trying to figure out if I was speaking English just then. If there was a clock on the wall, I’d be able to hear the interminable tick tick tick of the seconds as I wait for his response. I can tell the moment he’s decided, because he suddenly seems completely relaxed.

“I can’t do that,” He says, his voice monotone. And then he’s back to his phone, like I just asked if he wanted more coffee and he passed.

I feel like I’ve been slapped. “Why?” I ask.

“Because you work for me.” His voice is the same monotone. It’s like he’s built up a brick wall between is in these last few seconds, like he didn’t just come inside me. What is his problem? I’m angry and frustrated, and it makes me impetuous.

“Then I won’t work for you.” The words fly out of my mouth before I have a chance to think them, but as soon as they’re out, I know it’s what I want. I want to be with Nixon. I want to leave this apartment with him. I want to experience life with him. And if this job, this internship, is what’s standing in the way of that, then fuck it. I don’t need it. I graduated at the top of my class from one of the most prestigious liberal arts colleges in the country. I’ve got a fantastic resume and killer recommendations. Hell, I got this internship to begin with. Getting another job shouldn’t be hard. I was already fielding offers when I got the acceptance from Scour.

Now it’s Nixon’s turn to look like he’s been slapped. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll quit. I’ll find another job. You said it yourself, I’m incredible. I could find another position no problem.”

I’ve seen Nixon Blake in the throes of passion. I’ve seen him panicked. I’ve seen him pissed. I’ve seen him amused. But never once in the time that I’ve known him have I seen Nixon Blake confused. I know I’ve really got his attention, because he abandons his phone on the kitchen island.

“Why would you do that?” He asks.

I bark out a laugh, because for a fucking genius, he’s not very smart. “Because I want to be with you, you idiot!” I practically shout, my voice echoing throughout the expansive, empty apartment. But if I expected him to sweep me up into his arms, plant a kiss on my lips, and tell me that he wants to be with me, too, then I was mistaken.

“That’s not possible, Delaney.”

What?

“Why not? You said you can’t do something as simple as going to my sister’s wedding because I work for you, so I can change that. Then what’s standing in the way?” I’m pushing him. Hard. It’s a risk, but I’ve pushed him before. My challenging him is what got me Nixon Blake to begin with. So I’ll push him further now.

But I’ve miscalculated.

“Because it’s just not possible!” He slams his fist down on the marble with such force that I’m surprised that a spider web of cracks doesn’t emanate from the spot. The tension in his body is like a spring coiled up and ready to burst. It’s completely unsettling. Not because I feel afraid of him. I know he’d never hurt me. It’s that I can’t believe I’m the cause of it. Usually I’m the one who can bring him down from this. I’ve never been the one to cause it before.

He seems to realize that he’s gone too far, because his face softens, just a little bit.

“This was mistake. I never should have … I’m just not capable of having a relationship. Not like the kind you want.”

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