Page 87 of Love Under the Microscope
I hope he can’t hear the thundering of my heart. I love this company. I never want to risk Zentello or its reputation. I want Orchid to be the success I know it can be. I want to keep my true identity anonymous. I want all these things that my relationship with Nigel Carrington jeopardized. Because of my irresponsibility in trusting him, I put the many things I hold dear at risk. I’m just thankful I have my pages back.
Nate drops his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know. I’m sorry, Zel. Orchid is important to all of us, and you know how antsy I get around launch time, even when you have everything under control.”
“Around launch time and when you haven’t had your coffee.”
Nate flashes me his beautiful smile, and the relief of us relaxing is palpable. “Thanks for bringing me a cup.”
“Go drink your coffee, sign the documents I sent you, and go to the gym. You need to release some energy. You’ll feel a lot better.” I tug on his hand. “Everything will be okay. I promise.”
“Thanks, Zel. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.” The way he looks at me suggests something has changed. Oh, his gaze is still full of reverence and love, but it’s different somehow. “But I don’t want you taking over the launch. Ashton and I have it.”
“Are you—”
“I’m sure.” He pulls his hand from mine.
Yes, something is definitely up, so I might as well ask. “How’s your love life going?”
He startles at my sudden change of subject. “Erm, good. Why?”
“No reason.” I return to my emails and grin. It must be going better than “good,” given the changes I see. Maybe this woman is the one, or maybe she isn’t, but either way, he’s over me, and I’m so glad. I love him too much for him to be wishing for something he doesn’t really want and will never happen. “Now go. Do what has to be done, then head to the gym before I fire you.”
“Like you could fire me,” he scoffs and walks out. A second later, he’s back. “I thought you’d be interested to know Sam invited me to his book signing when he comes to Seattle.”
My mouth drops open. I’m stunned but pleased. “That’s fantastic news.”
“It is.” Nate brushes his hand through his hair. “Never thought it would happen.”
“Well, given your stupid matchmaking attempts…”
He shrugs. “I only gave them a nudge with a little white lie.”
A little white lie! He told Sam that he’d slept with Hildy, Sam’s ex-wife. No wonder Sam had hated Nate for so long. “In case you forgot, you did it twice.”
“And it worked better the second time,” he counters without missing a beat. “And now, it appears I’m forgiven.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but this is a solid first step.” And much better than the previous situation of Sam and Hildy using the words douche, dick, and motherfucker to describe Nate.
He smirks. “You’ll see. Maybe they’ll name their firstborn after me.”
With a shake of my head and a chuckle, I click on another email I need to deal with. I’m halfway through a proposal for a new access control system, which we neither want nor need, when my cell phone vibrates on my desk.
Nigel’s name illuminates the screen. Yes, I unblocked him so he wouldn’t keep spoofing Zentello’s number. As my heart beats a weird rhythm that would intrigue cardiologists around the globe, I contemplate ignoring him, but deep down, I know that would be the wrong decision, given my excursion to his parents’ house with Jack.
I accept the call, stabbing at the button, and raise the phone to my ear. “What do you want, Nigel?”
He makes a strange noise—a mixture of frustration and anger. “How dare you fucking break into my parents’ house?”
“How dare you fucking steal my private property?”
The line goes silent. I wait for him to deny it. Not that he can. I have the pages in my possession and found them hidden behind the photograph of his mother. Not to mention the taunting note he left me.
“You think you’re so clever. You and the ginger halfwit that calls himself a journalist.”
“He is a journalist. You should know, since you’ve been selling his magazine enough stories about Zentello for years.”
“Maybe so, but you should know something about that boyfriend of yours.” A warning echoes in his voice. “I’m not the only one who likes to sell things.”
“He’s a journalist. His stories sell magazines.”
