It would likely be best to walk away, free him from his worry that those gossiping people would go on fussing at him for the company he kept. But something inside my brain niggled fierce and persistent; it was the constant refrain that this man needed me, and louder still, that I needed him. Something beyond a whim, something familiar, something deep beyond reason.
"Well, then, Miss Riley, I suppose I'll see you next week, if you still want to meet with me."
He nodded when I smiled, taking two steps back to watch me before he moved down the stairs and I watched him a good thirty seconds longer, until I couldn't hear his boots on the marble steps anymore; until I knew it was safe enough to sit back down at that table and let those poorly disguised tears fall.
Nash
The dreams felt real. Too damn real.
"Mr. Nash?" my assistant asked. "Mr. Phillips is on his way up."
"Fine."
They'd seeped into my head, interrupted my sleep and now had taken root in my daily life, working their best to keep me from the things I needed finished. Like, you know, my damn job.
I loved what I did. I loved what we were trying to do with Nations, our company. I loved the planning, the programming, the stretch of time it took to finalize the source code and rework the software. I loved the late nights, the impossible deadlines and the way total strangers looked at me and saw dollar signs. It made me feel good, better than any female ever had. Hell, better than almost anything.
Desire, drive, ambition got me up every morning, hopping the bus to the city to work on making Nations a reality. It held me up late nights at my office as I tweaked and molded my code into something unique. It had me putting up with Duncan and his slick tactics I knew would someday pay off in stupid amounts of cash.
But the dreams that felt like memories? They were chipping away at my drive. They were turning my ambition, my desire into stupid, simple things.
Two taps on the door and Duncan was barging into my office. "There he is!"
It was going to be one of those mornings where Duncan said a bunch of nonsense he must have thought I'd believe. Most of it would be flattery. It was how he rolled. He did this, I guessed, to show me he still was in; he didn't want me rolling out on him, especially since he hadn't convinced me to sign that little non-compete contract sitting on his desk.
"Man, have I got some good stuff lined up for us." He sat on the corner of my desk, folding his fingers together as he watched me. It was a tactic he used-give off that 'I'm your buddy' expression even though I always called him on his bullshit.
I'd stopped paying attention to him the second he'd knocked on my office door. "No idea, man."
"Vegas." Even the way he said the word sounded filthy, like he thought throwing money at me, getting me laid, getting me drunk would ease me into his contract. No denying it wouldn't put me in a good mood. It would damn well keep my mind off those crazy ass dreams, but I doubted it would get me to change my mind.
Duncan's smile was tight, a little forced and I had to refocus on my monitor and the loop of code blinking back at me. This guy's excitement was fake, just like everything else about him. Like his veneers and how wide and toothy his smile was because of them or the perfect fit of his suit, the gold and diamond tie pin he wore, part of a set as far as I could see, all with diamonds, all too much for our small office.
He had a square jaw, something that reminded me of a Marine recruitment poster but his eyes were too narrow and his mouth too thin, both of which gave him the air of a weasel, sneaky, preying with a simple smile that never lit his eyes.
Duncan had snooped around an MIT alumni meeting, something he'd begged off an invite from a guy he claimed was a friend but who hadn't bothered to talk to him the whole night. Duncan had ditched him right away, I bet, listened in on conversations, trying to pick up a tidbit of info, anything that would finagle his way into an introduction. He must have liked the way I'd called him out right away. Must have liked my moxie, thought it meant I cared.
"You're coming off as a poser," I'd told him as I'd handed over my glass to the bartender.
"Excuse me?" He'd held onto a half drunk glass of Scotch that looked to be more water than whiskey. "Do I know you?"
"No," I'd said. "You don't, but I'm gonna do you a favor and let you know you're spooking the programmers. They don't like the eavesdropping, and it's pretty damned obvious that's what you're doing. You're not nearly as smooth as you think you are."
A warning. A small one and I'd landed the shark, even though I hadn't been trolling. He stayed and talked to me for an hour that night then found me on Facebook, brought me to lunch the next week. Squirmed his way into my life and I was still trying to figure out how I'd let that happen. I didn't really like Duncan, but at least he did have a little imagination. He wanted Nations to succeed as much as I did. And to be honest, he was willing to handle the things I was not.