Tim was a vulture and the worst possible person to send to deal with Nathan. I looked over at the person in question and he glanced back at me with a smile. I tried to smile back, but I knew that things were about to change. For the worst.
“What wrong?” Nathan asked as I dropped my phone into my purse. The pleasant tingle of desire and need had faded and now I was just filled with frustration and anxiety. Tim. Of all the people they could have sent, they decided to send Tim. He was literally the worst. The fucking worst.
“They’re sending another journalist,” I told Nathan, burying my head in my hands. Perhaps I should just pack and leave, obviously no one at the Register had any faith in what I was doing and my own confidence had taken a serious blow with the news.
“Another journalist?” he asked.
“Tim Malis.” My voice was muffled through my hands, so I lowered them but kept my head down. “He has a lot of experiences with articles like this.”
“Does that mean you’re going back to Houston?” The disappointment I heard reflected my own.
But I shook my head. “They want me to stay, to work with Tim, get him up to speed. But he’ll probably take over.” And take credit, I thought. Not that I was going to want my name on anything that he wrote. I lifted my head. “He’s not a nice guy,” I told Nathan.
He nodded but said nothing.
“He’s going to dig. He’s going to look for dirt. Is there anything he’s going to find?”
I was attempting to be helpful, but I could see Nathan’s face go dark.
“Hoping to get the scoop before this other guy arrives?” he asked, the nasty tone in his voice surprising me.
“It’s not like that,” I tried to tell him, but the look indicated that he had already shut down. We sat there for a moment, the tension in the car now one that was deeply unpleasant.
“I think you should go.” Nathan’s voice was flat.
I held my chin high as I untangled myself from the seatbelt and climbed out of the car. I didn’t look back as I walked away, telling myself not to cry.
Chapter Eighteen
My eyes were puffy and red the next morning. My self-will wasn’t what it used to be, apparently, since I had spent three too many hours crying over Nathan. I felt truly foolish, allowing my hormones to get the best of me. Guys aren’t the only ones that get led by their pants, I told myself, as if it would make me feel better. It didn’t. Because it wasn’t just my hormones that were muddled. I was afraid my heart was starting to get involved and I was not comfortable with that. I had never been the kind of girl to put a guy before my career. Even with Nick, I had made it clear that my job was important. I tried to ignore the voice that told me that maybe that same mentality had been the death knell for that particular relationship.
But Nick was a jerk. Nathan, well, Nathan was not. Or so I had assumed. Guess I just had really shitty taste in guys. Thanks, Mom, I thought. Why couldn’t I have inherited your giant boobs or your perfect skin? Why did I have to get your taste in men and your tendency to drink when things go shitty?
No, I was being unfair. Nathan wasn’t a bad guy. It was just a bad situation. I stared at my tired, sad face in the mirror and took a deep breath. Nope. I wasn’t going to let some fucking guy ruin this for me. Not Nick, not Nathan, and certainly not Tim, who had left a message saying he was going to meet me in the lobby at ten. I glanced at the clock and grimaced. The last person I wanted to see looking and feeling like this was Tim fucking Malis, but at this point I didn’t have any choice. I squared my shoulders and prepared for battle.
When I got to the lobby, Tim was standing at the reception desk yelling at the person behind the counter.
“I told you I just wanted whiskey in my room, but when I checked the mini bar this morning half of it was tequila.”
As I approached the desk, I saw that the person he was screaming at was the kid from the day I had arrived. Greg. The poor kid was practically white, cowering in fear. I couldn’t blame him. Tim knew how to make a scene.
“I’m sorry sir,” the receptionist said, flipping through the notebook on his desk. “I was sure that I had made a note of it. Usually we keep the minibar stocked with an equal amount of both beverages, but I’ll make sure to have the cleaning person replace the tequila with whiskey.”
“Better make a fucking note,” Tim said, leaning over the counter. “And if I don’t get comped for my trouble, you are going to hear from me. And your boss will too.”
“Yes, sir.” The kid was trembling at this point. I knew I had to step in.
“Tim,” I said, walking over to them. “Good to see you,” I lied through my teeth. God, I hated this fucking guy.
He glanced back, and when he saw it was me he made sure to give me a good, long, inappropriate leer. He had a special talent of making me feel like I was naked even when I was wearing a coat in the winter. My current outfit provided very little protection from that feeling.
“Saucy Sophie,” he said, stepping away from reception, much to the kid’s relief. “Looking good.”
I had done my best to look as unadorned as possible, barely any make-up, hair pulled tightly back and my most professional outfit —a suit and jacket that would be murder in this heat but provided decent coverage for my boobs and butt, the two parts of my body that Tim enjoyed ogling. Not that having it hidden would protect me from his lusty stares. I wore a version of this each day to work and I still felt dirty every time he walked by. He had a special knack for making the workplace especially uncomfortable. What a fucking slime ball.
“Hi Tim,” I said, dodging the arm he reached out. He always wanted a hug. A hug that always turned into a grope. It helped to keep my arms crossed around him, though I couldn’t always protect my ass from his wandering hands. He had pinched me so hard once that I had had a bruise for a week. I complained to HR but they all said that getting him fired was nearly impossible. It was his word against mine and he had been there far longer than I had. Plus, the rest of the staff—mostly men—loved him. They would eagerly gang up on me and say that I was lying. Anything to get a guy from their alma mater, or a woman who wouldn’t take such offense to what they considered “harmless jokes,” hired instead of me. I was just a humorless bitch, according to them.
Tim glanced back at the kid behind the desk.
“I’ll be back at three,” he snapped. “And there better be a fridge full of whiskey upstairs. Getting you fired is easier than getting laid with the help of a roofie.”
I cringed. Who allowed this asshole out in public, let alone on a campus to interview college-aged students? I could only imagine how Nathan was going to react to him. In short—not well.
Tim wrapped his arm around my shoulders and led me away from reception before the kid could answer.
“Fucking idiot,” he said with a smirk.
“I’m sure he just forgot,” I told him, reminding myself to include as big a tip I could manage to the receptionist before I checked out.
“Of course he didn’t.” Tim waited until we were outside before bursting into laughter. Thankfully he let go of me at the same time. “I never told him to put only whiskey in my room.”
I gaped at him. “What?”
“Yeah.” Tim slapped his leg with glee. “Oldest trick in the book. Make them think they made a mistake so they’ll always get you what you want and they’ll comp half of it. It’s the only way I’d drink something from the mini-bar.”
I was speechless. He frowned, clearly not pleased that I was disapproving of his scam.
“Oh come on, sweet cheeks,” he sneered. “They jack up the prices anyways. It doesn’t matter to them if they lose a few bottles to a guy like me.”
It matters to the kid at the front desk, I thought, but said nothing. That was usually the best method with Tim.