“I’m just a little worried.” He was circling, Duncan always did that. The predator sniffing around, checking to see if I was full or juicy enough to warrant an attack. But Duncan was a player of the game I was trying to learn. He was better at it than me, we both knew it, but he still fronted like he was only concerned for me, not the buckets of cash my program would make him one day. The laugh was gone, so was the smile and Duncan pulled his eyebrows together, forcing mock concern I knew wasn’t real. “It’s been a couple of weeks now and you’re still working on the same code. And you missed the meeting on Wednesday morning…”
“I can’t oversleep?”
He waved, ignoring my question, speaking over me. “And then I pass by here this morning and you’re staring off into space, completely zoned out.”
“Maybe I was thinking.”
The head nod was slow, his eyes cool, as if he wanted to swish around his words in his mouth, like a shot of bourbon that would burn. The buzz was worth it and Duncan knew it. He had me. I had been zoned out, plagued with Willow and the damn crazy dreams that wouldn’t back off.
“Daisy tried buzzing you three times.” There was a lot of accusation in his tone, and I stood, meeting his stare with a head tilt that let Duncan know I wasn’t going to back down like a punk. Still, he watched me as if my bluster didn’t matter, moving his teeth together like he wasn’t sure if he should let the words on his tongue fly. “Weird, isn’t it? Her calling, you here and still you didn’t answer.”
“Maybe I was thinking hard.”
He didn’t buy it, not when I sat back down, tired already of the interrogation. In fact, he actually thought getting angry would raise my hackles maybe, because he let his temper flare, knocking a fist against my desk. “Man, what’s going on with you? You… you thinking of signing up with someone else? Because if you are…”
Here we go. This mess again. What an asshole. “Give me a break. No, I’m not going anywhere but even if I was, what of it? We got no contract.” Duncan stepped away from my desk, scrubbing his chin as he moved around my office. He looked like a tiger itching to pounce but I wouldn’t let it get that far. When I spoke, I made sure it was with less attitude, that my voice was lowered, calm. “Is this your way of getting me to sign a contract? If it is then...”
“No, man…” he started, a quick, hurried laugh moving from his throat as he holds up his hands. “Of course not. I’m just concerned, is all. I know how hard all of this can be.” He waved to my monitor, adopting a worried expression that might look sincere if I didn’t know the man. “I don’t want you to burn the candle at both ends, Nash.”
I slumped in my chair, beyond tired of the interruption and the distractions keeping me from my work. “I’m not burning anything.” Even as I said it, I knew it was a lie.
The dreams were consuming me, taking over my thoughts, making me wonder and worry about things I couldn’t change. Who was this girl and why the hell were the dreams so vivid? Like they weren’t dreams at all?
“Look,” Duncan said, moving back to sit on my desk, “Maybe Vegas isn’t right for you, but I think I know something that is.” He pulled out his phone, a smile twitching over his mouth as he texted.
“Why do I get the feeling I’m going to regret whatever the hell it is you just texted?”
“Relax,” he said, shoving his phone in his pocket. “I’ll give you an hour.” Duncan stood, buttoning his jacket before smiling at me. “Then we’re having lunch and we won’t be alone.”
“Man, I got no time to entertain your country club friends-”
“Not today, Nash.” He moved to the door, pulling it open before he grinned at me over his shoulder. “She’s far more beautiful than any of those assholes.”
The restaurant was bougie. There were white linens over the tables and places settings that I got a little scared to touch. China like that would likely cost a mint and I barely had enough in my bank to keep Nations floating. Duncan was buying: he always insisted but I knew his end game. At least, I thought I did when we walked into this place with its waiters decked out in black vests and bowties, carrying pressed napkins over their arms as they moved around the tables in well-practiced choreography.
“Mr. Shannon, good afternoon,” the maître d' greeted us, barely glancing at me as he waved Duncan to a table at the back of the room. “Your guest is waiting.” The grin on the man’s face worried me. Made the guy look like shit was being plotted and I was the only one not in on it.
“Thank you, Vincent.” Duncan was smooth, slipping the guy something, probably large and unearned with the handshake he gave him. “Keep the scotch coming.”
“I told you, man,” I started, coming to Duncan’s side when the maître d' left, a complaint circling in my mouth, “I don’t have time to kiss your country club friends’ asses today.”
“Good thing I’m not his friend then, isn’t it?” I heard, stopping when the high-pitched tone caught me off guard.
The rich scent of expensive perfume kept me frozen, like some fool drunk on dime-store wine. I’d only smelled the scent once before in my life—the first time I’d been around people like Duncan. “Old money folk,” my gramps called them. That first time for me had been when my boy Wills brought a few of us from MIT to meet his folks on Martha’s Vineyard. I’d never seen people so rich in my life. Wills’ sister had been put together like she was prepping to be a congressman’s wife, maybe gearing up to hop the pond and pull a Meghan Markle. Either way, those people looked and smelled hella rich, like the woman sitting at the table grinning at me like I was on the menu and she was hungry.
I knew better than to open my big mouth. If she was Duncan’s woman, I wouldn’t offend her. That would do me no favors. The man was eager to invest in Nations and even if I wasn’t sure I wanted him backing me, that didn’t mean I was willing to burn any bridges. Besides, this chick was fine. Beautiful even, way the hell out of my league.
“Nash,” Duncan said, reaching down to the woman to kiss her cheek, “this is my niece, Harmony.”
I blinked, eyes getting wide for a couple of reasons, mainly that jacked up name. Sounded like something someone on a psychic hotline would call themselves. But, I’d been around enough rich people to know they had their quirks.
“How you doing?” I said, reaching a hand toward her as she stood. She took it, held it a little longer than I expected, long enough that it caught my attention. It could have been five seconds or ten minutes. I got a little distracted by the soft, delicate set of her features and her pale skin colored only by the faint freckles across the bridge of her nose. Like Duncan, Harmony’s Irish ancestry showed up in her auburn hair and lashes, but unlike Duncan, Harmony seemed to take greater care in her figure. She was trim, her body athletic, toned but still curvy. It was hard not to notice her. Hell, a glance around us and I spotted the woman pulling the attention of half the man in the room.
“I’m well, Nash, thank you for asking.” Then Miss Harmony gave me a smile that reminded me of a cat—not like that busted up, half-dead alley cat I tried and failed to rescue for Willow the other day. Nah, that smile was smooth, a little shifty, something I knew should scare the hell out of me but kept me standing next to her, staring as she waved me toward the chair at her side.