74. Nate

SEVENTY-FOUR

NATE

I send the text, then lower my forehead until it's resting on my desk.

My heart has been racing for the past forty minutes, waiting for Rosie to reply.

I'm not this person.

I've never felt so irrationally worried in my life.

I inhale slowly.

I was in the breakroom filling my coffee when one of my employees mentioned a big accident on the highway.

They didn't know anyone in the accident. They hadn't even heard anything about anyone being hurt. They were just sharing the news.

But that didn't matter.

My brain instantly went to Rosie.

I tried to shake it off on my walk back to my office. There was no reason at all for me to think she'd be on that stretch of road. But with every second that passed, my nervousness increased, and I ended up sending off a string of messages without a single thought as to how I sounded.

There's a knock on my doorframe.

"Come in," I call, forehead still attached to my desk .

"Uh, Mr. Waller." Blake sounds like he's never seen a man having a mental breakdown before.

I sigh, keeping my face where it is. "Whaddya need, Blake?"

"He doesn't need anything." My best friend's voice booms into the room. I roll my eyes, even though no one can see it. Maddox is as quiet as a stampede. "Except maybe a drink."

I lift my head to look at him, but my view is blocked by a piece of loose paper stuck to my forehead.

I swat it away.

"I have no idea why you'd think that." I sit up straight in my chair. "And this isn't a TV show. I don't keep booze in my office. If I want to drink, I'll just go home."

Maddox grunts as he drops into the chair opposite my desk, Blake already out of sight. "It's nice to be in charge."

I reach into my desk drawer and pull out a miniature bottle of bourbon. "Cheers to that."

Maddox shakes his head, looking up at the ceiling as I take a pull off the bottle. " If I want to drink, I'll just go home ." He mocks me.

I try not to cough as I swallow down the mouthful.

"Want some?" I set the bottle on the desk.

Maddox leans forward and grabs the bottle. "Of course I do. I'm not going to let you drink alone in your misery."

Maddox, owner of his own whiskey label, doesn't so much as clear his throat after taking a pull.

I take the bottle back from him. "What makes you think I'm in misery?"

"Well, Hannah told me you were sweet on a girl. Then I come in here and find you trying to osmosis your face into your desk." He lifts a brow. "Doesn't scream of a real good time."

"I want you to know this next shot is because your wife has a big mouth, and since I have no recourse against her, I've been pushed to drink." I tip the bottle up.

Maddox smirks. "Her mouth is the perfect size."

I yank the bottle away from my lips, another cough building.

Maddox takes the bourbon out of my hand and sits back.

"You did not just say that." I pound a fist against my chest to get the alcohol out of my lungs. "I don't want to hear that shit about my sister."

Hannah isn't my sister, but Maddox is closer to me than my own brother, so she might as well be.

Maddox replaces the cap on the bottle, essentially cutting me off. "If you don't want to talk about my wife, let's talk about yours."

He's just trying to get a rise out of me by throwing out the W word.

But that's fine. He can be a dick. Because while he's smirking, I'm thinking about the fact that I fingered my girl in his pantry, next to his favorite hot sauces, and he has no idea.

Something must show on my face because Maddox narrows his eyes.

I lean back in my chair, pretending my throat isn't still seizing from the straight booze. "Was there an actual reason for your visit?"

"Lunch." Maddox lifts a shoulder. Since his wife works for me—long story—Maddox spends half his lunches over here at my company. "And… I was told to find out the backstory between you and the caterer."

I let my shoulders slump. "Can't you two find something to talk about other than me?"

"Sorry, but it's because we love you," Maddox says with a completely straight face.

I throw the piece of paper at him.

But it's still a flat page, so it goes about four inches before it floats back to my desktop.

"That should cost you at least one of your rings." Maddox shakes his head like he really believes it.

"I was a wide receiver, not a fucking quarterback." I push up to stand. "And if you agree to wait to ask me about the caterer until next week, I'll pay for lunch today."

Maddox stands too. "I didn't say you were invited."

I roll my eyes. "I'm always invited."