It’s Been Two Weeks...
The thing about that kiss was it wouldn’t get out of his goddamned head. Which, albeit, made one on one time with Nathaniel Plimpton Jr. much more efficient and he was all about efficiency, but it was still torture.
Because the other thing about the kiss was that it had happened one month ago. Normally, he would have moved on by now, forgotten all about that weirdo Bunch and could at least be enjoying all the other no-strings-attached ass he was getting. But something about her and her fucking Ravenclaw-but-really-Gryffindor way had snuck its way under his skin like that time his father told him he would never be the son his father deserved. Okay, different than that, because that particular memory didn’t give him an erection every time it came up, but you know, kind of the same thing.
Let’s lay out the total timeline here, for the idiots in the back.
The kiss had happened a month ago, and Rebecca had been left at the altar two weeks ago. As a semi-professional bridesmaids banger, Nathaniel didn’t exactly know the protocol on a proper mourning period for being left at the altar, but when a woman almost throws herself off a cliff when she realizes her groom isn’t showing, he thought maybe two weeks was a little short.
Although, he thought as he sat at his desk unable to focus on the case prep in front of him, the only reason the wedding was rushed in the first place was because of their night in the elevator. So, maybe two weeks was actually too long. Straight white male logic, gotta love it.
He grabbed his cell phone from the desk, shoving aside the case files and leaned forward in deep concentration.
“Hey Bunch,” he typed quickly, brow set in determination, “I can think of a few ways to get back at your ex for that shit he pulled….”
Backspacebackspacebackspace. Rapidly he erased the text and started over.
“You. Me. My private plane.” he started. “We can get back at water cooler and your dad in one fell swoop.”
Backspacebackspacebackspace. A low groan emitted from his throat as he deleted that text faster than the previous.
“U OK?” he typed, shaking his head even as he hit the question mark button. Backspacebackspacebackspace.
He looked up and caught his reflection in the mirror wall he’d had installed across from his desk so he could see his running form.
You are Nathaniel Plimpton. You are strong, you are sexy and you are a goddamned demi-god. Get it together. Her nipples are probably weird anyway.
Ok, thinking about her nipples was getting him nowhere…
“He was a douche. You deserve better.” he typed and sent it before he could stop himself.
Maybe that was the sort of thing you’re supposed to say to someone’s face, but sincerity in person had never really been his thing.
A minute later Rebecca was in his office, shutting the door behind her and looking at him with all that strange feminine fury that freaked him out but also kind of turned him on.
“What the hell is this, Nathaniel?” she said, waving her phone spastically in front of him.
“What?” he asked defensively, raising an eyebrow at her and crossing his arms.
“Two weeks of actually really weirdly contrived silence from you and then this? I mean, yeah, it was cool of you to not let my asshole of an absent father use your private jet —“ she paused, a new fire lighting behind her eyes. “Actually no, that wasn’t cool, it was pretty much basic human decency for people who have private jets to loan out. Yeah I’m pretty sure it’s in the rich guy handbook that if someone is just the worst ever after you gave them a private-jet-related chance to redeem themselves that they no longer get private jet privileges. So I take back my semi-compliment - you did the bare minimum there, whoop de freakin do.”
Small pause, big breath. When she inhaled her whole bosom rose, which he 100% stared at and she, thank God, was 100% to preoccupied with her current stream of angry screaming to notice.
“So you did the bare minimum after I was left at the altar and nearly flung myself off a cliff and then you actively avoided me for two weeks, making things pointedly weird in the office because we work on literally all the same cases. Do you know how uncomfortable it is to address your boss in a meeting and have him whistle loudly to the tune of the A-Team theme song and look at everyone at the table besides you before finally just answering the question with a weird sweeping arm motion and addressing the whole table rather than acknowledging you asked the question to begin with?”
“I did that one ti—“ he started, but she cut him off - “No, no no, I am talking. If you have something to say why don’t you just text it you egotistical, pathological, there’s more -icals in the dictionary that describe you I’m sure but I am too furious to think about them right now.”
“Are you done?” Nathaniel answered cooly.
“Actually, yes.”
“Great. Now, if I may in my defense, that text was waaaaaaaay better than the first three I considered sending.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Oh, solid defense.”
“Also, I don’t really know how to, you know, do this,” he added, shrugging and sitting back in his chair, spreading his arms wide. Manspreading, he was pretty sure Rebecca would call it. And whatever, it made him feel powerful. What was wrong with that? After all, he was powerful.
“Do what, exactly, Nathaniel?”
“You know, like, check in on your feelings,” he said, shuddering a little in disgust at the word “feelings.”
“Wow,” Rebecca said, her eyes widening as she raised her hands up, clearly mocking him, “Wow, I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“I mean,” Nathaniel said, standing up and walking to her side of the desk now. Nathaniel Plimpton did a lot of things well in life - well, most things, really - but being mocked was not one of those things. “I stand by what I said. He was a douche. You do deserve better.”
“And what, you think better is you?”
“Do you really want me to get started on the many, many ways in which I am far superior to the human flip flop who abandoned you on your wedding day?” he said, folding his arms across his chest and suppressing a laugh.
“Josh Chan is a good man, he just -“ this time it was Nathaniel who cut Rebecca off.
“Oh no, no no. Nope. You are not still defending this asshat after he left you at the altar to become a goddamned priest. Flip flop is not a good man. A good man hears the call of God before the day of the wedding and has the decency to let you know that before you’re wearing a veil and a white dress waiting for him to pledge his forever to you. Water cooler is a lot of things, but a good man he is not, that I promise you.”
“And you think you’re some knight in shining armor?”
“Now I never said that,” he said, his voice dripping with confidence, “Though I would look pretty fantastic in a suit of armor. Remind me to order one later.” He ignored the confused look she flashed him in that moment. Clearly she had no concept of the depth of his riches or his one-two punch combination superiority/inferiority complex.
Easily distracted by the idea of himself in a full suit of armor, Nathaniel snapped back to the conversation at hand. “I didn’t say I was a hero, except for that one time when I totally was. Hell, I didn’t even say I was a good man. But I sure as hell wouldn’t leave a woman at the altar.”
“You’d never get to the altar.”
“Ah, yes, but see therein lies the beauty of it. At least when I know what I don’t want, I’m honest about it. And when I know what I want, I’m honest about that too. Rebecca Bunch, I would still like to have sex with you. See? Honest. I have zero interest in marrying you or even being exclusive with you because monogamy is a social construct that is far too constraining for a man of my physical prowess and quite frankly I’m hoping you go back to weirding me out after a good bang session. But definitely we should get it on. Maybe more than once, if you’re good.”
“That’s offensive and inappropriate on so many levels,” she said.
“Sure, but it was honest and you kinda liked it.”
“You are so wrong, mister. So wrong,” she said and walked back toward the office door.
“Hey Bunch,” he said as she was leaving. She turned back but just barely.
“Don’t forget - you’re totally free now. To do whatever you want, with whomever you want.”
And if he wasn’t mistaken, the fire in her eyes shifted just a bit when she left and she was definitely suppressing a flirty smile. Game on, Plimpton.