Page 51 of Man of the Year

“What happened tonight? With Mr. Rosenberg and that girl?” I ask.

If Julien doesn’t tell me, maybe Nick will. I’m being careful. It looks like everyone has their own version of the story.

“Hell if I know,” Nick murmurs and rubs the back of his neck. “Rosenberg got drunk. I don’t know how. That’s why we have the rule thatheenforced. He has issues. And he can’t afford to make an ass out of himself. Not right now.”

“Why?”

“IxResearch announced its IPO and is going public on Monday. It’s important. Billions of investments are at stake.”

“Why is everyone more concerned about money and not the fact that he could have hurt that blonde he was talking to?”

Nick cocks his head to the side. “Hurt?”

Crap, I shouldn’t have said anything. “I mean, I heard him shouting. I cleaned the library afterward. There was all that broken glass. So much of it.Hedid that?”

“Yeah. We call themepisodes.”

“That’s one hell of a temper.”

Nick looks away. That’s the first time he doesn’t joke around.

“I mean, the girl was drunk,” he says hesitantly.

“Drunk? I saw her an hour before that. She seemed fine.”

“Well, she wasn’t.”

“Does this happen?—”

“Natalie, listen.” Nick shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He stands still for a moment. When he looks at me again, his gaze is almost pleading. “Please, don’t tell anyone about it. Not a word,” he says almost in a whisper. “Not until Monday. Otherwise, we will lose our jobs, and everything will turn into a giant mess.”

Right, here’s another person trying to cover up what happened.

“Please?” He gives me puppy eyes. “I need this job. And I don’t want… Ugh. The boss can be pretty cruel when it comes to…” He doesn’t finish the sentence and looks away.

“What do you mean by cruel?”

“He’s a powerful man, okay? He can ruin someone’s life just like that.” He snaps his fingers and lets out another heavy sigh. “Anyway. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about tonight. Or the party. Or freaking Rosenberg.” He yanks a set of keys out of his pocket and starts swinging them back and forth. It seems to be his relaxation technique. He finally meets my eyes. “Wanna get out of here?” he asks, seemingly calmer. “Go for a drink?”

That’s one hell of a topic change.

“You don’t drink,” I remind him.

He chuckles. “You look like you could use one.”

Before I have a chance to say anything else, he leans with his hands on the driver’s door, ducking his head so he can look at me. “Let’s get out of here, forget about this hot mess of a party. Let’s chat or whatever,” he offers softly, his hopeful eyes on me. Then his hand reaches inside the car and tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear.

My breath hitches in my throat, and I don’t know how to respond to this gesture.

“Chat, huh?” I could chat. I could gethimto chat for sure. A drink sounds good. I need a bottle to relax. I’m exhausted. I really need to clear my head, and Nick sounds perfect.

The staff door suddenly swings open, and Rosalie appears. She takes several steps toward the parking lot, her hands set on her hips, as if she’s a mom who has just seen her adolescent daughter flirt with an older boy.

“Nick?” she calls out, which is annoying and sounds like “Neeeeeek.”

Nick doesn’t look away from me, as if he doesn’t give a crap.

“Nee-eeeck?” she calls out again.

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