Work For It (Naiad Novels Book 1)

New York in the winter is a miserable place.

Honestly, any northeastern metropolis during this time of year is gross. They’re all full of dirty snow, puddles big enough to dive into, and bitter winds that whip around the buildings. It’s bad enough in Baltimore, but there’s something about New York that’s just…worse.

And I’ve missed it so damn much.

I’m undoubtedly an introvert, but I’ve missed getting out of my house and being swept up in the crowds of the city. Do I feel completely comfortable? Absolutely not. But the thrill of it is kind of addicting.

I’m shivering by the time I push through the doors of the Naiad office building and wipe my feet on the oversized mat. As I venture through the small lobby toward the elevator, I exchange pleasantries with Rolando at the front desk. Once inside the stainless-steel car, I tap my key fob against the sensor and hit the button for the seventeenth floor, then prop myself up against the back wall and check my phone.

As the doors slide toward one another, a hand darts between them, then a man slips through. It’s not until the scent of his cologne wafts toward me that my head snaps up.

“Good morning, Selene,” Daniel says, low and warm.

My mouth immediately goes dry, and words fail me. This isn’t the first time I’ve had this reaction in his presence. The second time I saw him in person, all I could do was grunt in reply to his greeting, mostly because I was holding back the words go fuck yourself. But it was also because I’d forgotten how tall he was. So when he stood from his chair to greet me, I had to crane my neck to make eye contact. I had a brief is he actually attractive, or is he just tall? moment and unfortunately concluded that the man was handsome in addition to being a giant.

Some fuckers have all the luck.

This time, I pull myself together. I swallow past the lump in my throat and mumble, “Good morning.”

The doors finally shut, and then we’re alone. I don’t know where the conversation is supposed to go from here, but I’m leaving it up to him to decide. The last time we were in an elevator together, we ended up tangled in bed shortly after. Truthfully, I don’t trust myself not to blurt out something aggressively forward like so, what are you doing after work?

“What are you doing after work?”

I go rigid, trying to comprehend how the words I was thinking just came out of his mouth. Is he…is he a mind reader? I look him up and down, searching for signs that he’s a witch in disguise, but Daniel keeps his eyes trained on the doors.

“I don’t—” I begin, but cringe at how weak my voice sounds. I clear my throat and try again. “I don’t have any plans.”

“Are you staying at the same hotel as last time?”

I frown, suspicious of his line of questioning. “I am, yeah.”

He gives a murmur of acknowledgment. He still isn’t looking at me when he says, “I’d like to see you again.”

“You’re seeing me right now,” I reply, my stomach lurching up into my throat. Yes, I’m playing dumb. But if he wants something from me, he’s going to have to say it flat out.

“Funny.” The word rumbles through the small space like distant thunder. “Have a good day, Selene.”

For the first time since I started here, I curse how fast the elevators are in this building, because before I can retort, we’ve reached our floor and the doors are opening. He exits without looking back, greeting our office manager with a nod before heading to the main office space.

I’m slower to move, still reeling from our interaction. Did I blow it? But what was there to mess up? All I did was point out the glaringly obvious, once again daring him to clarify his intentions. But this time, he didn’t rise to my challenge. Instead, he left me to wonder if he was implying what I think he was.

There’s no way he wants to fuck me again. No way.

I mumble a hello to our office manager as well, then head down the short hall to the rest of the office. Daniel is already settled at one of the ten long communal tables set up in the massive open space. There are a few other people around, and I greet them as well before dropping into one of the rolling chairs on the opposite side of the room. Here, I can face the tall wall of windows and keep my back to him. If I sit on the other side and face him all day, I’ll never get any work done.

Even still, my mind will be racing from our thirty-second conversation for entirely too long. And I hate him a little more for it.

At four o’clock, when I’ve hit a slump after the heavy pizza lunch Jim organized, a Slack notification pings in my earbuds. Assuming it’s one of the production girls, I don’t think as I swipe over to the application. But instead of seeing a notification next to Ella’s or Nikki’s name, there’s a little red 2 next to Daniel Santiago’s name, indicating that I have unread messages from him.

My heart thuds so aggressively I worry that Zoe can hear it from where she’s set up beside me. With trembling fingers, I click on his name and wait for the messages to load.

The first is a link to a cocktail lounge’s website, located a few blocks south of my hotel. The second message is a time: 7 p.m.

There’s nothing else. No formal invitation. No do you want to meet for a drink? Just a location and a time. God, the audacity.

I’m tempted to stand him up since he’s obviously incapable of asking me properly, but…why not, right? It’s just a drink. What harm could it do?

A lot, the little voice in the back of my head warns.

I choose to ignore her.