Not So Nice by Emma Lyon

1

Nathan

“…are you even listening to me?”

“Of course I am,” I said automatically. Seated on the other side of my desk, the besuited and very blonde Lindsey Byrd, my PR director for the last six years, made an unladylike sound of skepticism. I dragged my attention back to her. “I’ve been listening very closely to everything you’ve been saying.”

I hadn’t been. Instead I’d been staring at my assistant Ryan’s ear through the glass door of my office. Above it was a curl of chestnut brown hair that always stuck out despite Ryan’s best efforts to tame it. I’d caught him several times trying to push it down with his fingers.

It wasn’t what it seemed. It was just that my best thoughts happened when my brain was engaged with something else, and I was bored with the D.C. panorama outside my window, as expansive—and expensive—as it was. The view of Ryan’s head offered a convenient alternative.

Lately, though, I’d been finding his ear weirdly sexy.

Lindsey turned to track where my gaze had been, her eyes narrowing when they reached their target. “Don’t tell me—”

“Of course not.” I might think he had sexy ears, but Ryan was my personal assistant. Most days he was an adequately good one. More importantly, he’d lasted nearly eighteen months without telling me to fuck off or bursting into tears in my office or throwing a water bottle at my head, all of which had happened with his predecessors. More than once.

“I hope not. I happen to be fond of my nephew.”

“Did you really think I would seduce him?” I asked curiously. Lindsey was the one who’d recommended Ryan for the position in the first place.

She shrugged. “I know your reputation. My job is to fix the mess you’ve made with it, remember?”

“I thought your job was to smooth all the ruffled feathers of people who don’t like what I do or who I am. Not to police my sex life.”

“Trust me, I don’t have the energy to police your sex life. Just keep my nephew out of it.”

Lindsey was as good a PR director as Ryan was a PA, and she’d known me long enough to tell me what she really thought, which was a rare quality in any employee and one I valued. I wasn’t about to jeopardize my relationship with either her or her nephew by sleeping with him. They both made my life easier, and I liked people who made my life easier.

“Don’t worry, Ryan is safe with me.”

Lindsey looked unconvinced, but she turned back to her planner notebook where all her PR magic happened and picked up where I’d stopped listening. “As I was saying, I was able to book you an interview with Donnelly next month, though it took some negotiating.”

I hated interviews, particularly ones with puffed-up pompous asses like Brett Donnelly. “Is that really necessary?”

“It is if you want to control the narrative around the Keystone merger. Generally people don’t like it when billionaires buy up companies and then fire all the employees.”

“People don’t like knowing where their meat comes from, either. Maybe more of them should wake up and face the reality of the world we live in.”

Lindsey gave me a look, the one that said I was being an unfeeling bastard. I was used to that look. “Try not to lead with that in the interview, okay? Anyway, I told Donnelly to stick to the merger, but he insisted on leeway to ask about your personal life.”

“The media does love its salacious gay stories.” I’d certainly been the subject of enough of them.

Lindsey looked up from her notebook and tapped her pen against her lips. “It would help if you settled down with one of your conquests already. Start cultivating the image of a family man.”

I held back a snort. Settling down was so far off my radar it might as well be a blip in space. I didn’t see the point. I’d long since come to terms with the fact that my conquests, as Lindsey put it, were far more interested in my money than me.

Not that I didn’t have anything else to offer. I hadn’t made People’s top ten sexiest men three years in a row for nothing. But looks always took a back seat to wealth, when you had enough of it.

“If I made your job that easy, where would be the challenge?” I ignored the sound she made. “I promise to behave myself with Donnelly, but you have to admit, ruthless playboy gets a lot more clicks than stay-at-home family man.”

“Your image can’t handle any more clicks.” She sighed. “Speaking of, I was finally able to get through to SandBox.”

I sat up straighter in my chair. This I actually cared about. “Did you talk to Lorde? What did he say?”

“That there’s no way in hell he’s selling you the company.”

Huh. “Did he actually use those words?”

She consulted her notebook. “I believe his exact words were, ‘Tell Graham it will be a cold day in hell before I let him destroy everything I’ve built.’”

That felt excessive. I wasn’t planning on destroying his company. I just wanted the imaging software at the heart of it. Once I had that, I didn’t particularly care what happened to the company. I could leave Lorde in charge if he wanted.

“Tell him I want to talk. I’m willing to negotiate for whatever he wants.”

“I’m not sure that’s on the table,” she said frankly. “He doesn’t want to sell you the license or the company. I don’t think you’ll change his mind.”

If Lindsey believed that was enough to deter me, she didn’t know me as well as I thought. “What’s his schedule for the next few weeks?”

She sighed, conceding defeat. “I’ll get it to you by the end of the day.”

I smiled. “Excellent. Was there anything else?”

“Nothing that can’t wait.” She rose from her chair, and because even unfeeling bastards could be gentlemen, I stood and walked her out of my office.

Ryan looked up when we went through the door, giving his aunt a smile and me an inquiring look when I lingered at his desk after she’d left.

I didn’t actually have a reason for hanging around. “Did Slake finally stop calling?”

Ryan’s brows crinkled in a frown. I’d put him in charge of monitoring the phone number I gave to the men I took home, because inevitably they didn’t get the message that it was one night and no more. That I had no interest in being the billionaire jackpot they were hoping for.

Some were more persistent than others, even after the flowers and the apologies and the firm refusals—all of which Ryan excelled at. Really, he should be a professional relationship breaker with all the practice I gave him.

“He has, actually,” Ryan said, pursing his full lips. I knew he found this part of the job distasteful. I admit, I enjoyed seeing the irritated frown line appear between his brows. With most people eager to kiss my ass with lies and flattery, it was refreshing. “Stopped calling, anyway.”

He held out the phone, then flushed when I perched on the edge of his desk and leaned in close to take it. I wondered if that was the reason, or if it was simply his disapproval further manifesting itself.

I held the phone in one hand and thumb-scrolled through the many pictures Slake had sent. He was a model—thus the idiotic moniker—and he really did have a nice body, which I vaguely remembered from our night together. I wondered if Slake had had the shots professionally taken, and if he’d fucked the photographer after.

I held the phone back out to Ryan. “What do you think I should do?”

By the hot pink flush of his ears, Ryan knew I was teasing him. He snatched the phone from my hand. “I think you should call him.”

“And say what?” I asked, curious.

“That you’re not interested. And you’re sorry for dicking him around.”

“You’re the one who’s been corresponding with him,” I pointed out. “Have you been dicking him around?”

“You know what I mean.” Ryan bit his bottom lip. I stared at the red dent his teeth made. “I’ve broken up with him every way I can think of, but he won’t quit.”

“Then I think that makes him the dick, not you. And certainly not me.”

Ryan snorted. “I’m not the one who slept with him in the first place.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Last I checked, that wasn’t a crime.”

Ryan flushed again, probably because he’d just been called out for slut-shaming his boss. “Of course not.” He shoved the phone in a drawer of his desk. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

His sheer sincerity still stunned me sometimes, like a slap to the face. I was being an ass, and he was trying to reassure me he didn’t think any less of me for it.

Sometimes Ryan fucking terrified me.

In the lull of my silence, Ryan said awkwardly, “Don’t forget you have the Pryor party tonight.”

I had indeed forgotten about Grace Pryor’s party. I considered skipping it, but Grace had a long memory. “Is my Brioni suit—”

“The service dropped it off at your place this morning,” Ryan said, because he was in fact a good assistant.

“Thank you.” I slid off his desk to go back to my own, ignoring my reluctance to leave. I clearly needed more to do if I could waste time chatting with an employee.

Still, I hesitated, curiosity winning out. “What are you going to tell Slake?”

Ryan didn’t toss his head, exactly, but it was close. “That he’s hot and deserves someone better.”

I suppressed a smile. “He is hot. And he probably does deserve someone better.”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. At which part, I didn’t know. “Hopefully he’ll see that too.”

I wasn’t so sure, but it wasn’t actually my problem. That was why I had Ryan. “I trust you’ll handle it beautifully.”

Ryan gave me a look, one of long-suffering…fondness, almost, though that couldn’t be right, not with the amount of shit I put him through daily. Even people who liked me for reasons outside my money—and there weren’t many, people or reasons—weren’t actually fond of me.

Despite what I’d told Lindsey, I’d wondered more than once what it would be like to seduce him. If he’d even let me. I wasn’t entirely sure. He could be surprisingly unpredictable. Take his reaction to Slake, for instance. I hadn’t expected him to care so much about the feelings of a one-night stand.

It was a moot point. Because the real reason I’d never tried to seduce him? The one I’d never tell his aunt? Was that I’d just end up ruining him.

Like this, he was perfect.

* * *

“Darling, I’ve found the perfect man for you,” Grace said after air-kissing my cheek. She smelled like champagne and expensive perfume, and looked like a million dollars in her floor-length metallic Saint Laurent gown. Five hundred and seventy-three million, to be exact.

“His name isn’t Slake, is it?”

“What?” Her nose wrinkled. “God, no. What a dreadful name.” Grace peered around the crowd. “Anton was just over there. Oh, well, I’m sure he’ll show up.”

I was sure he would too. Strategically, seemingly accidentally, and with the right amount of brilliant smile and so you’re Nathan Graham to entice the unwary.

I was possibly a bit cynical these days.

“How have you been?” I asked Grace. “Eat any small children lately?”

She smacked my arm and smiled. She might not look a day over forty, but she was old enough to be past pretending to be anything other than what she was, which was a shrewd, often ruthless businesswoman after my own heart. “Shame on you, Nathan. You know how the press likes to demonize me.”

“And you like telling them to fuck off.”

“I like making money,” she corrected me. “Telling the world to fuck off is just a bonus.”

No wonder she was one of the few people I could relate to.

“There he is.” Grace waved and called across the room, “Anton, over here.”

The object of her attention turned to us and smiled, then said something to the group he was with before making his way through the crowd toward us, a glass of champagne in one hand and a look of surprised pleasure on his face that I was sure was rehearsed. He was maybe mid-twenties, with brown hair and a pleasant face transformed to good-looking by an engaging smile.

He reminded me a bit of Ryan, actually, though the resemblance faded as he approached and I saw the bespoke suit and fifty-thousand dollar watch that caught the light when he touched Grace’s arm in greeting.

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Grace said, happy now her matchmaking was done. “Nathan, don’t leave without saying goodbye.” She sailed away in a cloud of gold sequins and perfume.

Anton smiled at me. “So you’re Nathan Graham.”

I forced a smile. Flirting with attractive men used to be part of the game, one I enjoyed playing, but lately it felt rote. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

“Of course.” Anton held out his hand, and I shook it. He had a good grip, his palm the right degree of warm. “Anton Pierre. My father is—”

“Augustin Pierre.” I remembered the name now. Anton was heir to the Pierre steel empire, which made him far from a gold digger. Though rumor was, Anton wasn’t much interested in the family business, preferring the lifestyle over the actual work. To be fair, Augustin was a bastard who kept a tight lid on his business and probably saw his own son as competition.

Anton’s smile was brittle. “That’s the one. He’s here tonight, in fact.” He leaned forward. “To be honest, I wanted to meet you because nothing pisses him off so much as when I flirt with handsome men at parties. Even more when I go home with them.”

I sipped my drink and contemplated him. Anton certainly fit my type. Attractive and charming, a nice body under the tailored suit, with extra points for being independently wealthy and cocky enough to suggest leaving the party together in the first five minutes of meeting.

Maybe it was because of my recent experience with Slake, or maybe it was because I had no desire to deal with someone else’s daddy issues, but I didn’t feel a whit of interest. “I’m happy to oblige the first. As to the second, I have an early start tomorrow.”

Anton shrugged, not looking put out. “My loss. Or so I’ve heard. Word is you have a monster cock and know how to use it.”

I nearly spit out my drink. That was a new one. “Flattering me in the hopes I’ll change my mind?”

Anton grinned. “Trying, anyway.”

My phone buzzed, saving me from having to reply. Lindsey, texting me Lorde’s schedule. “I’m afraid I have to go.” I scanned the crowd until I landed on a familiar face. “Try the blond over by the crudites. He loves pissing off homophobic fathers.”

I didn’t stay to see Anton’s reaction, already absorbed by the information Lindsey had sent. She was as thorough as always, and Lorde’s schedule was detailed. I skimmed the list of dates and places until a familiar place name caught my eye.

I frowned.

Lorde was attending a tech summit there this weekend. I’d received an invitation to it myself. Until now, I hadn’t planned on attending.

For one, the true tech moguls despised me. They saw me as a scavenger, not a creator. Personally, I thought combining technologies to make something better was a worthwhile goal, and it was certainly one that made me an inordinate amount of money, which was the real reason for their dislike.

Second, I’d sworn years ago never to return to that part of the country. As far as I knew, she still lived there. I gave her money, of course. Not out of any sense of filial duty. I wanted her to rely on it, to grow accustomed to her monthly check. To know exactly what I could take away from her.

Still, for a chance to woo Lorde, I could suck up being in close proximity to my mother for a weekend.

I closed the schedule and called Ryan.

The line rang for a while on his end before he answered something unintelligible in a muffled voice. I looked at my watch. Nearly midnight. Oops. It wasn’t the first time I’d called him late at night for things that theoretically could have waited, but talking to him was a bit like a nightcap before bed. Soothing.

“It’s not that late,” I couldn’t help but tease. “Were you really sleeping?”

“Yes.” His sleep-graveled voice had an irresistibly sexy edge to it. “What time is it?”

“Too early to be in bed already.”

“I have to work tomorrow,” he said, irritation giving way to the dry humor he showed occasionally.

It sent an unexpected flush of heat through me. I was already more interested in this inane conversation than I had been in Anton. Maybe I was losing my touch. Or my mind. Had I actually called my PA just to flirt with him?

I got to the real reason. “What does my schedule look like this weekend?”

“Mm. One sec.” More rustling. When Ryan got back, he sounded more awake. “You have a meeting with the New York investors Friday and a charity gala Saturday night.”

“Reschedule the investor meeting for next week.” They wouldn’t be happy, but I didn’t actually need their money. “What’s the charity?”

“Um, the Washington Ballet. Some special performance.”

I was just as happy to miss that. “Cancel and send them double the price of the tickets.”

A pause. “Chantell’s a ballet fan. You could give the tickets to her.”

I frowned. “Who?”

“Chantell, from HR.” Ryan’s voice took on a tinge of amusement. “She works right down the hall from your office.”

I’d tell Ryan I was too busy to learn the names of the people who worked for me, but that was the kind of thing that had given me my reputation as an asshole boss. Which was well-earned and not something I cared about, but the job market was brisk these days and I didn’t need anyone leaving in a huff.

“Give her the tickets, then.” It would earn me some points in HR, at least. “And tell the InnovaTech people I’ll be attending their summit in Ithaca after all. Block off Friday and the weekend for it. Oh, and make a reservation for me at the hotel.” Ryan knew to get the best suite they had.

“Is that all?” Ryan very politely didn’t point out that all of this could have waited until the morning.

“That’s all.” I added, “Sleep well.”

Ryan huffed a laugh as I ended the call.

I stared out the windows onto Grace’s dark lawn. An idea had sparked when I’d mentioned the hotel. Gabriel Lorde had made no secret he detested me. He was exactly the type Lindsey was trying to turn me into, the committed family man with his perfect husband, peering down at me from his self-righteous high horse. Clearly it was getting in the way of Lorde’s business sense, or else he’d know that what I was offering for his company was more than it was worth.

To get him to play, I’d have to convince him I wasn’t anything like my reputation. That I could commit as well as anyone.

The spark of idea grew and took shape.

It would require delicate handling. Ryan wasn’t the type to take to deception naturally. But he’d been privy to almost every part of my life for the last eighteen months, and no one else knew me well enough to be believable.

There wasn’t anyone I trusted more.