Nichheart: Enchanted by Nicholas

The cold laminate under my bare feet felt slightly warm at eight ten in the morning, as I dragged my feet from the bedroom to the kitchen. My head was heavy as if someone had stuffed chunks of concrete into it after yesterday's noise, bass and lights at the club. My mouth was a dry nightmare, and my pulse was still hammering some strange, quickened rhythm that made me feel out of place in my own body. Everything in me was rebelling against the early waking and against the feeling that I had once again fallen into the same stupid trap of my own impulses.

Celine was standing with her back to me by the stove, flipping a golden pancake in the pan with incredibly annoying calm. She was humming a Taylor Swift song streaming from her phone on the kitchen counter, as if it were a carefree Sunday and not a tense weekday morning. Her striped pajamas and messy red hair made a sharp contrast with my inner chaos and fatigue. I froze for a second in the doorway, pressing my fingers to my temples, trying to gather the pieces of my thoughts before she turned to me.

— Your cutie left a little while ago. He gave me a note with his number. He wants you to call him.

I felt warmth instantly flood my cheeks and travel straight down to my neck. My parched lips moved soundlessly as I tried to grasp how exactly things had gotten to this point. Why did I always manage to get myself into such awkward situations? Why did someone have to leave notes with his number as if we were characters in a cheap novel? My inner voice was screaming at me about how absurd all of this was, while my chest tightened with mild panic and self-mockery at my own gullibility.

I took a few heavy steps forward and pulled one of the tall bar stools up to the kitchen island. My legs weakened for a moment, so I sank onto the seat with relief that at least I wouldn't have to stand. My fingers immediately wrapped around the cold metal edge under the counter, gripping it tightly as if that would give me the support I needed. I stared at the floor, trying to gather the remnants of my composure before looking at her.

— I have no intention of calling him. You know very well that I don't keep in touch with men I've slept with for one night.

My voice came out a little sharper than I wanted, but at least it stopped Celine's humming and smiling. She turned halfway with the spatula in her hand, and I kept staring at the empty coffee cup on the counter, displeased with myself and with this whole morning comedy.

— Are you serious, Addie? In your place I'd jump on him. Did you see how sexy he is?

I rolled my eyes at her. Celine has always been the more serious one when it comes to men, while I just fuck them and that's it, without looking for romantic dramas or hidden messages in morning coffee. While she wants to meet her prince charming and buy wedding magazines, for me every such case is just a way to chase away my demons for one night and nothing more. She, however, was looking at the piece of paper in her hand as if she had just found the winning lottery ticket, which made me feel even more awkward on the tall stool.

I ran my palms over my face, trying to wipe away the remnants of fatigue and yesterday's noise that still echoed in my temples like a dull drum. I didn't want notes, or numbers, or new headaches to shake my fragile inner world and the rules I had built around myself. But Celine wasn't giving up so easily and kept smiling devilishly.

— We had sex and that's it. If you want to go out with him, I don't mind.

— Wait a minute, are you completely crazy? How am I supposed to go out with him when he was in your bed just a few hours ago?

Celine blinked at me, leaving the spatula on the kitchen counter, which splattered some oil.

— I'm completely serious, take his number and call him, you like him so much, for me he's a closed chapter.

I propped my chin in my palm, staring at the white tiles under my feet to avoid her curious gaze.

— You're impossible, you know that? The man leaves you his phone, obviously he's fallen for you or at least got interested, and you're sending him to me like an old dress that doesn't fit you anymore.

Celine crossed her arms over her chest in her striped pajamas, shaking her head.

— I'm just saving my nerves and free time, Celine, nothing more. I don't need complications, nor will anyone be calling me to look for me, since we both know perfectly well what the purpose of those Friday night gatherings is — I answered sharply, feeling the warmth creeping up my neck again.

— Fine, you know best, but don't come crying later that you're missing the hot guys in this city.

Celine took the note and dropped it demonstratively into the small plastic basket by the fridge before turning back to the pan.

I glanced at the clock on the wall, noting how quickly these morning minutes were passing while memories of last night's club and Celine's annoying words still echoed in my head. Today I have to go to a new hotel, for its renovation, and I hadn't even gathered my thoughts, nor had I decided what to wear for this first site visit.

— Celine, I'm going to take a quick shower. A new hotel is waiting for me.

— Wait now, what kind of hotel and whose project is this anyway?

My best friend turned from the stove with a raised eyebrow and awakened curiosity in her eyes.

I froze for a second in the hallway, running through my mind the scant information I had from the agency, without finding any specific details that would satisfy her curiosity.

— I don't know. I only know it belongs to some billionaire, that's all they told me at the firm.

— A billionaire, you say? Well then, I hope at least he's some guy with a nice car and not some old man with a belly who'll just wreck your nerves with his stupid demands for luxury curtains.

I raised my hand toward her in a sign to shut up and pushed myself toward the bathroom, trying to chase away thoughts of money, hotels and notes before the hot water could wash away at least some of my accumulated tension.

I came out of the bathroom after ten minutes of showering, feeling the steam still clinging to the tiles as I wrapped the towel around my hair. I opened my closet, staring at the neatly arranged hangers with the empty gaze of a person who has no idea what they want from their day. For a first impression I need an elegant dress. Or a suit.

My fingers passed over several strict trousers, but I quickly rejected them, because today I definitely didn't feel like wearing a corporate uniform that would make me feel like a walking paragraph of a contract. Behind them, however, hung a dark grey wool dress, knee-length, clean and slightly fitted, which I had bought months ago for some random cocktail party and had never worn. I pulled it off the hanger and pressed it to my chest, assessing it critically in the mirror on the door.

It was probably a bit too formal for a first entry into a hotel under construction or renovation, where dust and hard hats are usually the main characters, but it looked good and I wouldn't have to spend half an hour figuring out what to pair it with. I threw it on the bed to put on later, wondering whether my black heels would be too much after all this sleep-deprived chaos, but I had no time for new hesitation.

I let the towel slide off my shoulders and fall to the floor in the bedroom, while the cool morning air immediately touched my damp skin. The chill of the temperature difference made me shiver for a moment, but I quickly reached for the small drawer by the bed where I kept my underwear. I pulled out the red lace set I had bought for no particular reason some time ago, simply because I liked the color. I slipped my legs into the panties and pulled them up, then snapped the bra clasp, feeling a hidden dose of confidence that the bright color always gave me, even if no one else would see it all day.

I looked at the bed where the dark grey wool dress was waiting for me, laid out. I approached it, took it by the edges and pulled it over my head, careful not to ruin my freshly styled hair. The fabric enveloped me with its dense weight, falling neatly just below my knees. I headed to the large mirror by the closet to see how I looked full-length.

The dress fit well — fitted just right, without being too pretentious, but elegant enough to show that I was in place. I ran my palms over the smooth fabric of my thighs, smoothing out non-existent creases on the dark material, while my inner voice criticized me for once again fussing so much over some rags. Why did I care so much about how I'd look in front of some billionaire and his sites, when my head was still hurting from last night's alcohol and lack of proper sleep?

I put on my black heels, which always told me "enough nonsense" from the first step, and slung my bag over my shoulder. The aroma of coffee that Celine was still finishing was already in the hallway, but I had no time to waste if I wanted to arrive on time. I took one last look at my reflection, trying to arrange a slightly more confident expression on my face before taking a step toward the exit.

I went outside. New York is bustling early in the morning, and the sidewalks are already overflowing with people rushing to work or school, clutching cardboard cups of coffee and talking through wireless earphones. The same routine, as always, while the asphalt under my heels still held the chill of the night, and the air smelled of baked goods from the nearby bakery.

I raised my hand to the first yellow taxi that swerved sharply toward the curb and screeched to a stop right at my feet. I climbed into the back seat, feeling the sticky smell of cheap pine air freshener that literally tightened my chest. I gave the hotel name to the driver, whose gaze watched me suspiciously in the rearview mirror.

The car pulled into the morning traffic, and I pressed my forehead against the cold window glass, watching the grey blocks and shop windows blur into one greasy, fast stripe. Thousands of people in suits, students with backpacks and couriers on bicycles were jostling through the streets, dangerously weaving between the huge delivery trucks stopped at the traffic light. Everyone was running somewhere with Manhattan panic in their eyes, as if stopping for even a second would make the whole city collapse on them, and I watched them from the protected space of the taxi, feeling terribly tired and detached from this insane rhythm.

The ride to the hotel didn't take long. After ten minutes the taxi was already in front of the large, renovated hotel. I paid the driver and got out of the car, stepping onto the wide sidewalk in front of the glass doors, where the shiny building reflected the morning sun.

I pushed the heavy glass door and entered the spacious lobby, which smelled of fresh paint, expensive parquet and renovation dust. As I looked around at the high ceilings and the furniture still covered with protective plastic, a man with dark hair and green eyes approached me, wearing a casually unbuttoned shirt and a sport jacket. He looked at me with a curious gaze, stopping a step away from me, while my pulse slightly quickened at his unexpected appearance in this empty space.

— Mrs. Ashmore?

— Yes, that's me.

The man relaxed his shoulders and smiled broadly, while I watched him step confidently across the still dusty parquet, carrying a self-assured note in his presence that immediately reminded me why I never fall for corporate types.

— I'm Kieran, by the way, nice to find you on site, though you probably thought you'd be greeted here only by concrete pillars and empty rooms. Kieran stood very close to me, scanning my dark grey wool dress with a quick but distinct look that made my skin prickle slightly.

I bit my lip and shifted my feet in my black heels.

— Well, I assumed we wouldn't be drinking coffee on finished sofas, but that's why I'm here, isn't it? I raised my eyebrows at him, crossing my arms over my chest in an attempt to look more confident than I felt at that moment.

— Exactly, here's the idea.

Kieran spun on his heel toward the large lobby, pointing with his hand at the demolished walls and hanging cables in front of us.

— This hotel needs to become the chain's newest jewel, which means you need to redesign the entire room layout, touch up the lobby and make guests spit out their coffee with delight when they walk in here.

I had to swallow dryly as the scale of the hotel, which was yet to take shape under my hands, spread out before my eyes.

— So you want a completely new look, without following the old blueprints?

I looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes, wondering if this junior boss had any idea how much work awaited us here.

— Absolutely everything goes to the trash, we want style, class and something that screams luxury on every square meter, and you're the one who'll draw it on paper and realize it here.

— Honestly, it'll be hard. But I'll manage. I love hard challenges.

Kieran smiled broadly, and at that same moment the door at the far end of the lobby opened and another man walked toward us, at whose appearance my breath literally stopped in my chest. He was tall, with broad shoulders, dressed in an impeccable dark suit that perfectly outlined his powerful body and muscular chest. His hair was blond, and the sharp features of his face, his pronounced masculine jaw and deep ocean-blue eyes nailed me to the spot, making my legs weaken in my high heels.

I watched him approach with slow, confident steps, and my whole body blazed with some wild, animal hunger that hit me right in the lower part of my belly. Every cell in me reacted to his raw masculinity, to the weight of his presence and to that dangerous confidence written all over his aura. My pulse hammered wildly in my temples, my lips instantly went dry, and the heat between my legs became so unbearable that I could barely keep my balance on my heels. This man looked as if he was created only to be undressed, touched and mastered, and the sight of his broad shoulders and toned body under the expensive fabric of his shirt made the moisture in my underwear intensify in the most shameful way.

— Miss Ashmore, right?

His voice sounded so sexy, deep and authoritative, that at that very moment I felt faint from sudden excitement. If he kept talking in that tone for a little longer, I would surely have a real orgasm right here, in front of all the workers in the half-demolished hotel lobby. I imagined him as a man who makes women scream with pure pleasure in bed, a true sex god who knows perfectly well how to fuck a woman without wasting time on empty talk and unnecessary pleasantries.

Wild and dirty pictures began to spin in my head, and I felt my whole body heat up to red. I saw him completely naked, looming over me, with those muscles hard as stone and broad chest, as he rubbed against my skin with no clothes between us. I imagined his strong palms gripping my thighs so hard that blue marks would remain, how he turns me over and takes me with such animal passion that I completely forget my own name. Every single millimeter of his male body screamed of sin and insatiable pleasure. His broad shoulders seemed made only for me to dig my nails into while he pressed me against the cold wall and took my breath away.

The only thing I wanted at that exact moment was to fall at his feet. Men like him don't just enter a room, they conquer it entirely and take your mind with a single glance. I felt how between my legs everything had become so wet with lust that every step seemed like a trial. My heart was beating wildly in my chest like a prisoner trying to escape.

My whole world had shrunk to just this tall and dangerous man. I had come here for serious work, for new contracts and room design, and instead my brain completely blocked and started dreaming about his nakedness. Self-mockery hit me with a delay, but even it couldn't chase away the heat spreading down my body.

— Yes, that's me.

I managed to mumble these short words in the most neutral tone I was capable of, even though inside everything was shaking from my heels to the top of my head. How was I even expected to tour the site and discuss interior projects with a man who made me think only about sex? I wanted to sink into the ground from the huge shame over my own vulgar thoughts, but at the same time I couldn't tear my eyes away from his perfect lips.

— I'm Nicholas Layton. Nice to meet you, Miss Ashmore.

After all these dirty and completely indecent thoughts that had passed through my head a second ago, now I looked him straight in the blue eyes and prayed it didn't show how flustered I was. My head was buzzing with stupid embarrassment, and my palms had become slightly damp with anxiety. The man was standing so close to me that I could feel the warmth of his body, and I couldn't come up with a single normal sentence to answer his formal introduction.

He, however, wasn't waiting for a long answer from me at all, but tilted his head slightly and moved his gaze to his brother with that businesslike tone that made it perfectly clear who exactly was commanding the parade in this building.

— I want this hotel to become the best in all of New York, so I have no time for empty talk and unnecessary delays.

His words sounded cold and authoritative, but nevertheless I kept looking at his broad shoulders and the perfectly tailored dark suit that suited him devilishly well. Everything about him radiated money and absolute power, and at the same time I was wondering how exactly I would endure months of working here, given that this man fills my head with nothing but nonsense and takes my breath away with his presence. Kieran just nodded his head, shrugging at his brother, while the tension between the two became quite visible to any outside observer in this half-empty lobby.

Nicholas didn't even look at me again before deciding that their meeting here was over, which on one hand relieved me completely, and on the other angered me more than I was ready to admit to myself. He took a step back, adjusted the lapels of his expensive jacket and turned to Kieran.

— Kieran, I'm leaving, I have important meetings at the office.

His brother just waved his hand goodbye and answered him something very quickly, and I no longer heard his words, nor any other sounds around me, because my eyes were glued firmly to his back. I fixed my gaze right on his ass as he walked away with that smug gait of a man who knows very well what he owns and what he wants from life. My dress seemed too tight at that exact moment, and my cheeks were burning with shame over my own behavior, but I simply couldn't tear my eyes away until the heavy glass door closed behind him.

— Easy. Don't worry about my brother. He won't bother you. I'll help you if you need help.

For a moment I thought how easy everything would be if I had gone to an ordinary job in some small architecture firm instead of here, where every man makes me freeze. My head was still buzzing from that brief clash with his brother, and I felt a heavy knot of nerves in my stomach. I stood here, in this dusty construction site, and realized how ridiculous I looked in my dark grey dress and black heels among the dust and construction bags.

— Thank you very much, I'll keep that in mind, but I manage on my own.

Kieran nodded, accepting my answer without unnecessary drama, which calmed me at least a little. I grabbed the strap of my bag tighter and turned to the first room that needed urgent corrections according to the old blueprints.

I looked around the room with empty walls, hanging cables and no flooring whatsoever, swallowing dryly another dose of anxiety. I took my small notebook and pen out of my bag, starting to write down the dimensions and my first ideas for the layout, to make my brain stop thinking about nonsense. Routine work has always helped me escape from the chaos in my head, so I fixed my gaze on the paper and rushed full speed into the plans.