Chapter 2

Chapter Two: The Study

Dinner was a complete disaster.

Amanda spent the entire meal making comments about how small the dining room was compared to their old penthouse in Manhattan. Preston nodded at everything she said like a puppet. Riley looked ready to flip the table. And Nick sat at the head of the table drinking whiskey and pretending none of us existed.

I wanted to disappear into my chair.

"So Zara, Riley mentioned you just got dumped?" Amanda smiled but her eyes were cold. "That must be so hard during the holidays."

I was going to kill Riley later.

"I'm fine actually," I said.

"Of course you are, sweetie. You're young and pretty. You'll find someone new." Amanda squeezed Preston's hand. "When you meet the right person, you just know. Right, Nicky?"

Nick's grip on his glass turned his knuckles white.

"Mom, stop," Riley hissed.

"What? I'm just saying that sometimes we marry the wrong person when we're young. We don't realize our mistake until later." Amanda looked directly at Nick. "But it's never too late to fix things."

The tension in the room could have cut glass.

Nick set down his whiskey with careful precision. "If you're trying to fix something, Amanda, you're about five years too late."

"I'm trying to be mature about this."

"You're trying to make yourself feel better." Nick's voice was ice. "Don't pretend this is about Riley or Christmas. You brought him here to rub it in my face."

Preston looked uncomfortable. "Maybe we should talk about this later."

"Nobody asked you," Nick said without looking at him.

Amanda's face went red. "You're still so angry. After everything, you can't even be happy for me?"

"I am happy you moved on. I just wish you'd do it literally anywhere else."

Riley pushed back her chair so hard it scraped against the hardwood. "I'm done. Zara, let's go."

I practically ran after her, but not before I saw Nick's face.

He looked destroyed.

Not angry. Just tired and sad and completely worn down.

Something in my chest cracked.

***

I couldn't sleep.

At midnight I gave up. I wrapped the blanket from my bed around my shoulders and crept downstairs in my sleep shorts and old college sweatshirt. Maybe some warm milk would help. Maybe I could raid the fancy kitchen for those cookies I'd seen earlier.

The house was completely dark except for one thin line of light under a door at the end of the hallway.

Nick's study.

I should have turned around. Should have gone straight back to bed and minded my own business.

Instead I stood there like an idiot, staring at that strip of light.

What was he doing in there? Was he okay? Did he need someone to talk to?

God, Zara, he's a grown man. He doesn't need you.

I turned to leave.

"I can hear you breathing out there."

I froze.

Nick's voice came through the door, rough and tired. "Either come in or go back to bed, Zara."

My heart stopped. How did he know it was me?

I pushed open the door slowly.

The study was all dark wood and leather, with built in shelves covering every wall. A fire burned low in the fireplace. And Nick sat behind a massive desk, still in his jeans and henley from dinner, a half empty bottle of whiskey next to his laptop.

He looked up at me and something flickered in those ice blue eyes.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

"No," I whispered. "You?"

"Haven't slept properly in five years." He gestured to the leather chair across from his desk. "Sit. Unless you'd rather go back upstairs."

I should have left. Every logical part of my brain screamed at me to leave.

I sat down.

"Want a drink?" Nick asked, already pouring whiskey into a second glass.

"I probably shouldn't."

"Neither should I, but here we are." He slid the glass across the desk.

I took it. The whiskey burned going down but warmed my chest.

"I'm sorry about dinner," I said. "Riley shouldn't have dragged me into this."

"Riley shouldn't have to deal with her mother's drama." Nick leaned back in his chair. "But I'm glad you're here. She needs someone in her corner."

"She has you."

"I'm her father. It's different." His eyes studied me over the rim of his glass. "How long have you two been friends now? Six years?"

"Since sophomore year of college."

"And in all that time, you've barely said two words to me."

My cheeks flushed. "You're kind of intimidating."

The corner of his mouth lifted. Not quite a smile, but close. "Am I?"

"You're Nicholas Cross. You own hotels on three continents. You were on the cover of Forbes last month." I took another sip of whiskey for courage. "And I spilled champagne on your suit."

Now he actually smiled. "I'd forgotten about that."

"I definitely haven't."

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment. The fire crackled. Snow fell outside the window. And Nicholas Cross watched me with an expression I couldn't read.

"Riley said you're having trouble with an ex," he said finally.

I cursed Riley internally. "There's no ex. She made that up so you wouldn't ask why I'm spending Christmas here instead of with my own family."

"And why are you?"

"Because my parents died six years ago and Riley's the closest thing I have to family now." The words came out flat. I'd said them enough times that they'd lost their sting. Mostly.

Something shifted in Nick's expression. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"It's fine. It was a long time ago."

"Grief doesn't have a timeline."

The way he said it made me think he knew exactly what he was talking about.

I met his eyes. "Is that what you're doing? Grieving?"

"Among other things." He poured himself more whiskey. "Mostly trying to figure out why my ex wife thinks showing up with her boy toy will accomplish anything except pissing me off."

"Maybe she regrets it," I said quietly. "Leaving you."

Nick's laugh was bitter. "Amanda doesn't regret anything. She wants something. Money, probably. Or she's bored with Preston and wants to see if I'm still interested." He shook his head. "I'm not."

"Good."

The word came out more forceful than I intended.

Nick's eyes snapped to mine. "Good?"

"She doesn't deserve you." My heart hammered. "The way she talked to you at dinner was cruel."

He stared at me for a long moment. Too long. Like he was seeing something he hadn't noticed before.

"Zara," he said, his voice dropping lower. "How old are you?"

"Twenty four."

"Christ." He rubbed his face. "You should go back to bed."

"Why?"

"Because you're twenty four and you're my daughter's best friend and I'm sitting here noticing things I have no business noticing."

My breath caught. "What things?"

Nick stood abruptly, moving around the desk. He stopped two feet away from me, close enough that I could smell his cologne. Cedar and something darker.

"Things like how you bite your bottom lip when you're nervous," he said quietly. "How your eyes are more silver than grey in firelight. How you look in that sweatshirt."

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think or do anything except stare up at him.

"Mr. Cross..."

"I told you to call me Nick." His voice was rough. "And I told you to go back to bed, Zara. Before I do something we'll both regret."

I stood up slowly. We were inches apart now.

"What if I don't want to go back to bed?"

His jaw clenched. His hands flexed at his sides like he was physically restraining himself.

"Don't," he said. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you want me to kiss you."

My heart was going to explode out of my chest.

"Maybe I do."

For three seconds, nothing happened. Nick just stared at me with those burning blue eyes, his chest rising and falling with harsh breaths.

Then the study door burst open.

"Dad, are you still up? I need to talk about Mom and this whole disaster and..." Riley stopped dead in the doorway, her eyes going wide as she took in the scene. Me standing way too close to her father. His hand halfway raised like he'd been about to touch my face. The tension so thick you could taste it.

"Oh my god," Riley whispered. "What the hell is going on?”