I’m more than ready for a drink by the time we make it to the bar across the street.
After ordering a gin and tonic, I get sucked into a commiseration session with Marianne, Zoe, Nikki, and Ella over the wild things we’ve had to write this week. From unexpected volcanic eruptions to FBI raids of brothels, we’ve tackled practically everything known to man at Naiad.
Our Monday morning team meetings are dedicated to going over what we’ve plotted out the week before to make sure our ideas and scenarios don’t overlap. We don’t need a repeat of the Great Amnesia Scandal, where nearly every story that week had a character losing their memory.
Eventually, Beth from the customer service team joins us, slinging an arm around my shoulders and giving me a squeeze. “I heard you almost fought Daniel today,” she says in greeting.
Marianne shoots me a sheepish grin. She’s the only person I mentioned today’s incident to, so it’s obvious who the source of this gossip is.
I snicker. “News travels fast, huh?”
“In a company with less than a hundred people, that’s a given.”
“As long as he didn’t hear the rumor and hasn’t reported me to HR, then that’s fine.” Sipping my drink, I eye the women around me. “No one has told him, right?”
“No fucking way,” Nikki confirms. “I avoid talking to him whenever I can. And more than anything, I want to witness the moment you deck him and the look of shock on his face when you do.”
Ella clinks glasses with her. “I second that.”
Beth drops her arm and slides onto the empty barstool beside me. “The CS girls are placing bets on when you’ll fight him—either verbally or physically.”
“It’ll probably end up being verbally,” I tell her woefully. “I lost all my upper body strength during lockdown.”
“I lost all my strength. I can’t remember the last time I lifted a weight or went for a run.” She snorts. “Don’t even look at my Peloton stats. I got jealous when I saw you hit a fifty-two-week streak.”
With a grin, I lift my drink in toast. “I’m proud of that one. My roommate and I have a competition going for who can get the longest streak, and I hate losing. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have done shit.”
And then there’s Daniel, who looks like he built his own gym during the months we were stuck at home. I wish I had that kind of dedication, but that’s the only trait of his I’d take.
As more of our coworkers arrive, Marianne, Zoe, Ella, and Nikki move down the bar to talk to them, leaving Beth and me to continue our conversation.
“How often do you plan to be in the office?” she asks. “It’s been so nice having you here. I love shouting about things with you over Slack, but it’s better in person.”
The friendships I’ve developed at Naiad are the second-best part of my job—after writing, of course. I’m surrounded by creative people who appreciate the romance genre and all the things that come with it.
“Just once a month,” I reply with a smile. “But next time I’ll stay for—”
A loud outburst of boisterous male laughter interrupts me. The commotion is coming from the all-male app development team at a table in the corner, currently losing their minds over something it appears that Daniel has said.
“Ugh, those assholes,” Beth grumbles, turning back to face me with a roll of her eyes. “I want to die every time I’m forced to bring another reported bug to their attention. They talk to me like I’m a clueless little girl. Like, newsflash, dickbags, you’re not the only ones who know how to code.”
I grimace. “Guess I’m lucky I don’t ever have to talk to them.”
There’s another round of loud laughter, once again sparked by Daniel.
“Yeah, but you have to deal with Daniel, and he’s the worst of them all,” Beth counters. “I’d take the app development boys over him any day.”
Huffing a breath, I slump in my seat. As nice as it is to know I’m not alone in my assessment, I’m still stuck working with the insufferable bastard day in and day out.
“He’s just so smarmy,” I sneer, my attention flicking to him. I watch as he sips a beer while talking to the guys. The rest of the production and acquisitions team is female, so I guess he has to get his man-time in somehow. “He’s your stereotypical business bro. Dealing with him on the creative side is such a nightmare.”
“Seriously,” Beth agrees, canting forward and dropping her voice conspiratorially. “Did you know that, like, half of our authors hate him? His game of hardball during negotiations is way too intense. CS gets plenty of complaints about him.”
I’m not surprised by that in the slightest. What is surprising, though, is that the other half feels differently. “And everyone else?” I ask, lifting my drink to my lips.
“I think they want to fuck him.”
I nearly choke on my gin and slap a hand over my mouth to keep from spitting it all over her.
“He’s not my type,” she clarifies quickly. “I’m with you on Team He’s an Asshole. But you gotta admit, he’s tall, dark, and handsome. Not to mention that sexy voice. So I get why he’s so successful at wooing potential clients and negotiating contracts. If I were a writer, I’d sign my work over to him, no question. And based on the record number of authors he pulled in last month, I’m clearly not the only one.”
I’d never admit it to her—or anyone, for that matter—but I fell prey to that magnetism at first too. “I would call what he did to me less wooing and more you’ll never get an offer better than this, so sign our contract. He essentially played on all of my insecurities as a writer to get me to sign.”
Beth winces. “Ouch. I didn’t know your experience was that bad.”
“Worse,” I say, feeling that familiar bitterness well up. “I renegotiated the entire contract, and I still got screwed in the end.”
“That’s shitty,” she murmurs, squeezing my arm in solidarity. “But look on the bright side: that contract landed you a full-time job at Naiad. None of our other authors have been given that opportunity. Maybe you got screwed for a reason.”
I snort and down the rest of my drink. “Don’t you dare tell me I should thank him. It will be a cold day in hell before that happens.”
Beth grins as she sets her empty glass on the bar and waves for the bartender. “I’d never suggest such an awful thing.”
Once we’re sipping fresh drinks, Beth launches into a tale about the ridiculous emails she gets from app users, and has us laughing so hard we can barely breathe. I’m dabbing at my eyes with a cocktail napkin when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, greeted with a notification signaling I have an Instagram DM waiting. I swipe it open without thinking twice and scan the message.
Feeling buoyed by the content of it, I fill Beth in on the conversation I had with Daniel about the e-book distribution deal and my desire for physical copies of my books. Then I show her the message I just received from a reader who’s pleading for physical copies and swearing she doesn’t care about the cost as long as she can have them on her shelf.
“Daniel doesn’t believe me when I say people actually want physical copies of my novels, but this is the third DM I’ve gotten this week alone from readers asking for them.”
Beth nods at my phone. “So show him the proof. Show him you’re not the only one who wants this.”
Huh. That’s not a terrible idea in theory, but it would require talking to Daniel, and I’ve already had enough of that today.
“Ooh, he’s on the move,” Beth says in a stage whisper. “You should do it when he passes by us.”
Fuck it, I may have already had my daily dose of Daniel, but a little more might be worth it to get my point across.
“Okay, fine.” I spin on my stool and prop my elbows on the bar behind me, watching for him.
Across the room, he maneuvers through the crowd, flashing easy smiles to the people who look his way. I snake an arm out as he approaches, waving to get his attention. “Hey, Daniel!”
He glances in my direction, not quite surprised that I’m actively seeking him out, but he raises a brow when he catches sight of me.
I ignore it and shove my phone toward him. “Look at this. More people begging for physical copies of my books.”
Before I know what’s happening, he’s wrapping his fingers around mine to steady my phone so he can read the message. The touch sends heat coursing down my arm, but I do my best to ignore it. It’s got to be the alcohol hitting me at the most inopportune moment.
“Show this to me again when I haven’t had a few beers,” he says, still not letting go of my hand, even though he’s no longer looking at my phone. No, he’s fixated on me now.
A little stunned, I don’t pull away. “I’ll screenshot this and send it to you in the morning. So you remember.”
“You’re determined to do this, aren’t you.” It’s not a question. And his hand stays curled around mine.
I look him straight in his dark eyes, unable to discern iris from pupil in the low light. “Just trying to give the people what they want.”
“So thoughtful,” he murmurs. Then, finally, he pulls his hand away, his fingertips trailing down my wrist as he does.
He walks on a moment later, and I resist the urge to turn and watch him go.
“How does he always manage to sound so damn condescending?” Beth asks, a note of disgust in her voice. “So thoughtful. Give me a freaking break.”
But I’m still hung up on the way he wrapped his hand around mine. The way his touch lingered. “Did you see that?” I blurt as I turn back to her.
She squints, her brows drawing together. “See what? If you mean how much of a dick he is, then yeah.”
Scanning her face, I nibble my bottom lip. If she didn’t see it, then…then maybe I imagined it. Maybe I’m reading into things that aren’t there. Maybe it was a simple touch and nothing more.
After a beat, I shake my head. “Nothing. I think I hallucinated there for a second.”
“After two gin and tonics?” Beth grins and knocks my knee with hers. “You lightweight.”
“Let me order one more, then you can cut me off,” I declare, lifting a hand and grinning at the bartender.
We laugh together, but I know I’m going to be thinking about Daniel’s hand wrapped around mine for the rest of the night.
“Paging Dr. Haddad to the operating room. Paging Dr. Haddad.”
The page comes across the hospital intercom as I sort through the patient files on my messy desk. I sigh, setting them aside. Then I roll back from my desk and brush off the front of my scrubs. I need to get going. There are lives at stake.
But…wait. I cock my head in confusion and scan the office. I’m not a doctor. I don’t save lives. I’m—
An abrupt knock sounds on the closed door before it flies open and a man barges in, a determined expression on his face. He slams the door behind him hard enough to make my desk drawers rattle.
I know that face.
“Dr. Santiago,” I say, disdain dripping from the words as I lean back in my chair. “Shouldn’t you be out there crushing the hopes and dreams of your patients? Breaking the news that they’ll never play professional soccer again because you botched the surgery?”
“It’s called football,” he shoots back in that beautiful accented voice. “And don’t you have a patient waiting to be left paralyzed after an unsuccessful tumor removal, Dr. Haddad?”
Shoving up from my seat, I snatch my lab coat from the back of my chair and glare at him. “Get out of my way. I’m being paged.”
He doesn’t move. “You’re not going anywhere.”
I’m hit with an overload of déjà vu as I stare him down. Oh, fucking hell. I know this dialogue. I wrote this dialogue—and now it’s playing out in my dreams, starring the last person I’d ever willingly choose to fantasize about.
“Get out of my way,” I demand, my chest heaving from fury. And maybe something else.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he repeats, stalking toward me, his dark chocolate eyes going molten. “Not until you let me touch you again.”
I inhale sharply at his boldness. He’s always been blunt, but this is so forward it makes my knees wobble.
“This is unprofessional, Dr. Santiago,” I warn him, though I don’t move.
He takes another step, crowding me against my desk until I’m forced to sit on the edge. “Daniel,” he reminds me, his breath stirring my hair as he leans in. “Call me Daniel.”
I say nothing, only keep my head turned as he brings his hands to my thighs and drags them up to my hips. When his fingers slip into the elastic waistband of my scrubs, a soft gasp leaves my lips.
“We can’t,” I whisper, finally turning to look at him. All I see is pure, unadulterated lust burning in his eyes. “Not here.”
But he doesn’t stop. No, instead, he slips a hand into my soaked panties, discovering the evidence of just how much I want him, and when the heel of his palm brushes my clit, I practically collapse in his arms.
“Say my name,” he orders.
I shake my head, refusing to give in.
He grasps my chin with his free hand. “Such a naughty girl. I’ll have to punish you for that.”
He presses harder against my clit, dragging a moan out of me, but he covers my mouth with his to mute the sound, sweeping his tongue against mine, stealing all my resolve.
“Say my name,” he whispers when he pulls back. “Say it.”
“Daniel—”
Gasping, I wake with my fingers between my legs and his name threatening to leave my lips.
For a moment, I’m lost in the sensation of it all—his touch searing every inch of me, his voice in my ear, the hard edge of the desk pressed against my ass—before I remember where I am: alone in my hotel room, still a little drunk on gin.
Yanking my hand up over the covers, I squeeze my eyes shut and try to push away the unwanted lingering desire. Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me? I hate this man, unbidden attraction or not. I’m not supposed to let anything get in the way of that. But my subconscious seems hellbent on changing things.
I press my head back into the pillow and turn my face to one side. I’m greeted by the dim screen of my laptop on the mattress beside me. Once again, I fell asleep editing. And what do you know, the last page was a sex scene from Under His Care, our sexy doctor serial. Apparently, the content was a little too fresh in my mind when I dozed off.
At least, that’s what I tell myself. I’ve written and edited millions of smutty words in the years I’ve worked at Naiad, and I’ve never had a dream like that. Especially one where Daniel Santiago was the star.
But brains are strange creatures, so I’ll chalk it up to that. The dream didn’t mean anything, even if I do find myself frustratingly attracted to the man.
This was nothing more than a fantasy. If, someway, somehow, Daniel and I ended up having sex—about as likely as a snowball’s chance in hell—it wouldn’t be anywhere near as hot. That mouth of his is only good for talking people into shitty contracts.
And the rest of him…
No. I refuse to let myself think any more about it. It was a dream for a reason. It will never happen.
I’d like to think that I have too much dignity to fuck a guy I hate. But even if I didn’t, I’ve never gotten any indication that he’s into me. We don’t talk about anything outside of work matters, and that’s okay, because we’re coworkers and nothing more. Except I consider most of the other production leads to be close friends, so maybe it is strange.
God, I don’t know. What I do know is that I need to be careful around him from now on. I can’t let myself get caught up in the attraction I can’t seem to shake.
Because if one touch is enough to reduce me to this, then I’m in big fucking trouble.
