Dirty Filthy Fix: A Fixed Trilogy Novella (Fixed #5.5)(19)

My body reacted in some strange, inexplicable way when he said “our.” Goosebumps ran down my arms, and I shivered. It had been a long time since I’d been part of an our, and even back when I had been, I’d never really liked it much. The word always felt like fetters, like bondage. Not the good kind of bondage.

But somehow when Nate said it, it didn’t feel like he was trying to trap me into anything. It felt like he was exactly right. This wasn’t “our” type of place.

“Well, it’s just dinner,” I said, trying to be polite. It was easier now that he’d acknowledged having similar feelings.

“All we’ve ordered is the wine,” he said. He caught the eye of our waiter and gestured him over. “We’d like our tab, please.”

“Sir? Is there something wrong?” The waiter seemed distressed at the suggestion that we’d leave even before our meal.

“We just realized we had somewhere else to be,” Nate said, meeting my eyes. “Can you recork the wine for us? We’ll take the bottle.”

A little more than an hour later, we were sipping wine and eating pizza at a bowling alley on my side of town in Greenwich Village.

“I can’t believe you got three strikes in a row,” Nate said admiringly.

“I can’t believe I’m bowling in my work clothes.” I could barely move in my tight skirt, but I’d managed to bowl a good game so far.

“I think it’s hot,” he said around a bite of pizza.

I blushed and looked away, embarrassed by the compliment. “You’ve been rolling a pretty good game yourself,” I said, nodding at the scoreboard, though I was secretly pleased to be in the lead.

“I’m not a bad player, I won’t deny it. But you’re really good. When did you learn?”

I shrugged. “I’m one of nine sisters from Long Island. Bowling was one of the few family entertainments we could all agree on that didn’t involve fighting over clothes.”

“Nine sisters?” He nearly dropped his slice of pizza.

“I’m second to last.” And maybe that was why I didn’t care about bringing a husband and babies into the family. There were already more than enough of them to make my mother and father happy for the rest of their lives. I’d spent enough time feeling crowded and overlooked.

But it wasn’t just feeling neglected. I just hadn’t ever wanted in on the traditional family style that everyone else seemed to be drawn to. When my sisters were playing “bride” with their Barbies, I was playing “orgy.” When they were playing “mommy” with their baby dolls, I was off making mud pies with the boys or sneaking my aunt’s trashy romance novels.

For years I’d been dragged to church, been made to feel by the nuns that my lack of desire to grow up to be a wife and mommy were failings to be overcome. Thankfully I had parents that understood and encouraged my individuality. They didn’t understand, but they loved me despite my unwillingness to conform. And as soon as I was old enough, I was the only child of theirs they supported living on her own in the city.

And, thank the lord, because that’s when my life finally began. My adulthood was for me. My space. My time. I lived the kind of life I’d always dreamed of, and I never regretted it.

Well, almost never.

“Nine sisters? That’s insane!” Nate exclaimed.

“They were trying for a boy,” I said, rolling my eyes. “As all good Italian Catholics do.”

“I’m glad they kept trying.” Our eyes met and I felt a wave of heat crash into me. There was so much tension between us. Good tension. The kind of tension that I knew how to work with. I moved a little closer so that my knee would press against his, accidentally of course.

“What about you? How did a millionaire ad executive become so good at the game? This doesn’t look like the type of environment where I would think Reach execs would hang out.”

“Some of them would,” he said, considering. “Cade plays a pretty good game, but he’ll hustle you. Unlike most of the rest of them, I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. This was my type of thing growing up as well.”

“You’re from New York City?” I couldn’t hear any accent in his voice to tell for sure.

“Southern California.”

“How did you end up here?” I didn’t know a lot about the ad firm he worked for, but I knew some. Like that there were five men who owned the worldwide conglomerate, and most of them had been well-bred financial moguls, carrying on their family traditions. It was easy to see how they’d all met and ended up working together, except for Nate. How did he fit in?

“Well, that’s an interesting story,” he said. “I met Donovan Kincaid a while back, when he was looking for someone to be in charge of Creative in the company. At the time I was an art dealer.”

“An art dealer.” Explained his eye for detail. “That sounds sexy. How did you get into that line of work?”

“I kind of fell into the business after school. I was good with art. Always had an eye for it even though I wasn’t the best artist myself. I worked at a gallery for a while learning the ins and outs, met the right people, then got hired by a private donor. Soon I was dealing in high-priced art. By the time I met Donovan I’d made a fortune in the biz.”