Work For It (Naiad Novels Book 1)

“So, how did you learn to move your hips like that, Selene?” an amused voice asks from behind me a few minutes later.

I scowl into my drink. Why can’t he just leave me alone? I need a chance to regroup and collect the pieces of my hatred for him. Otherwise I’m afraid I’ll do something stupid. Like accidentally nurture a passing fancy into something more. But, of course, he’s come to antagonize me.

“Can you just not?” I snap.

Daniel slides onto the stool next to me and rests his forearms on the bar top. His sleeves are rolled up, and the corded muscles move as he laces his fingers together. He searches my face in return, his gaze leaving my skin heated, but I refuse to meet his eye.

“Are you upset?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.

As if you don’t know. “I’m not upset, I’m—” I cut myself off. I don’t need to explain myself to him. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” He shifts closer, and I’m once again surrounded by his scent. It’s more than just cologne. It’s him—warm and masculine and intriguing. “You’re acting like I ruined your evening. All I did was ask you to dance. If you weren’t comfortable, you could have said no. I wouldn’t have been offended.”

I finally turn to look at him, blinking in disbelief. “You called me a coward,” I bite back. “What did you expect me to do?”

“I didn’t expect it to get to you that much,” he says, shrugging, but he’s still searching me for something. “I should have known, though. You never back down from a challenge.”

“Damn right, I don’t,” I mumble as I lift my glass again.

“But that’s not the only reason you agreed.”

I freeze. The ice from my drink hits my teeth and shocks me back out of it. I refuse to believe he’s figured me out and discovered my undercurrent of attraction to him. There’s no way I could tolerate that level of mortification; I would have to hand in my resignation right this second and never return to New York.

“It’s clear that you hate me,” he continues, and I breathe a small sigh of relief. “It drives you to be competitive.”

Daniel has never alluded to knowing my true feelings for him. And to hear it in such plain words… Maybe I have been obvious about it. Especially tonight.

“I don’t hate you,” I lie.

He chuckles and drags a hand through his hair. Gone is the out-of-character neatness. In its place is the sexy disheveled look that haunts me. “For a writer, you’re a very bad liar.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I accuse.

“You tell lies for a living, and yet you can’t do it well when having a face-to-face conversation.” He shrugs as if he hasn’t insulted me. “I know you don’t like me, Selene. You don’t need to keep badly attempting to hide it anymore.”

God, this man. He never lets up, never lets things go. But I suppose, in that respect, we have something in common. Like him, I can’t help but press on the same bruise and ask if it still hurts.

“Okay, fine.” I set my now empty drink down with an exaggerated gentleness, even if I want to slam it. “I’ll admit it: I’m not your biggest fan.”

“Why?”

Turning to the crowd that’s reconvened on the dance floor, I pointedly ignore him. He asked me to simply admit it, but that’s as far as I go. I won’t give him the satisfaction of anything more.

“Come on,” he urges, low and persuasive. It’s his contract negotiating voice with a hint of something slyer, darker—hotter. “Tell me why you hate me so much.”

I nearly scoff, trying to tamp down on the simmering heat in my belly. “We don’t have enough time for that.”

“I have all night.”

“Well, I don’t,” I shoot back with a glance at the expensive watch on his wrist. “I’m leaving soon. My feet are killing me, and I can’t wait to get out of this dress.”

His dark eyes flick up and down over me before settling on my face again. I do my best not to overanalyze it, but what the hell was that?

“Where are you staying?” he asks.

The question distracts me from the visual assessment he just gave me. “At a hotel near Times Square, unfortunately.” I wrinkle my nose. “I didn’t want to be far from the office, but that’s the tradeoff.”

“I’m headed to Penn Station. I’ll walk with you.”

“Why?” I ask, a thread of disdain mixed with dread weaving its way through me. “So you can hear all the reasons why I can’t stand you?”

“What can I say? I’m dying to know.”

To be honest, I don’t completely mind his offer to walk with me. I’ve never felt unsafe in this part of Manhattan, but as a woman anywhere, I know to be extra careful once the sun goes down. Even though this city never sleeps, it’s almost eleven, and the streets will be a little emptier than they were when I arrived. I’m better safe than sorry, even if being safe requires me to spend more time in Daniel Santiago’s presence. I guess that means, in some way, I trust him more than most men out there.

“Okay, but I need one more drink before we go.” I’ve got a buzz going, but if I’ll be forced to endure more time with him, especially after that dance and conversation, I want the liquid courage.

Before I can order, he’s already doing it—signaling the bartender and requesting another gin and tonic with extra lime for me and a rum rocks for himself, top-shelf. I want to make a comment about how he knows my exact drink order, but I don’t dare strike up another conversation. Instead, I remain silent as we watch the bartender work his magic.

Once our drinks have been deposited in front of us, Daniel lifts his rocks glass and tips it in my direction. “To your hatred of me.”

I roll my eyes but tap my highball glass against his. I’ll certainly toast to that.

We sip in silence, letting the minutes tick by as we watch the rest of the party rage on around us. It’s still going strong, but I’ve had my fill. I’m no longer interested in the loud music and screeching laughter. A quiet night in my hotel room, watching Netflix while shopping for more lingerie no one else but me will see, is far more appealing.

Once our glasses are empty, Daniel nods to me and stands, offering me a hand. I ignore it and stand on my own. I sway a little in my heels, but I’m not interested in his help. I’m just tipsy enough to feel flushed and relaxed, though I know as soon as we’re out in the truly frigid air that buzz will disappear.

We wander over to get our jackets from the coat check as the party carries on, not bothering to say goodbye to our coworkers. As we wait, I pull up the group chat and send a quick text to Zoe, Ella, and Nikki to let them know I’m heading out. They’re all still dancing with abandon, so none of them will likely see it until later. I lock my phone again, then step up to the clerk. But Daniel snags my coat first and motions for me to turn around.

I do so without protest, because the cold of the night air is quickly sinking into my bones now that we’re away from the heaters. Once my arms are in the stiff, wool sleeves, Daniel runs his hands over the fabric that covers my shoulders, smoothing it out as he moves down. His touch falls away when he reaches my waist. The loss of contact makes me shiver and wonder what it would be like to feel it lower.

And then I want to slap myself. Yes, Daniel is hot. And yes, his voice sets off something inside me. And, okay, yeah, maybe I’ve fantasized about what he looks like out of his clothes. But none of that makes up for what he’s done to me. Sexy or not, he’s the cause of so many of my professional troubles. I have to stop this.

We’re quiet as we wind our way to the elevator, and once inside, we settle on opposite sides of the metal box. Soon, we’re pushing through the front doors and into the night, the street sounds and bright artificial lights hitting me all at once. The frenzy is amplified by the gin, forcing me to pause for a moment to get my bearings.

Daniel puts a hand on my shoulder to steer me in the direction of Fifth Avenue. I consider shaking it off, but he drops it once we settle into the flow of foot traffic on the sidewalk.

I don’t know what to make of all these little touches. He kept his hands in all the appropriate places when we were dancing and kept just enough distance between us to be proper, and yet the connection ran deep. Even now, accidentally bumping arms as we walk, shifting closer to avoid running into others, it’s like our bodies know each other.

Oh my God, stop being weird. There’s literally nothing going on between you. That’s fake romance novel shit.

I keep my lips pressed firmly together to prevent myself from saying something I’ll regret, refusing to give him more than glances out of the corner of my eye. His shoulders are relaxed, hands tucked into his coat pockets. It’s like we’re friends out for a nighttime stroll, not coworkers who barely know each other and happen to be walking in the same general direction. It’s terribly awkward, and yet I can’t bring myself to do anything about it. I just want to get to my hotel and end the night that started out so wonderfully but wound up weird as hell.

We’re nearly halfway to my destination when Daniel finally breaks the silence. “I’ve given you long enough,” he says, his attention burning into me, though I still refuse to turn his way. “If you don’t start talking, I’ll have to assume you’re too afraid to tell me why you hate me.”

I bristle, wishing his little provocations didn’t get to me so much. This time, I can’t hold back the surge of anger it brings up. “You should stop goading me.”

“Why?” he pushes. It’s like he’s spoiling for a fight. “What are you going to do?”

I grit my teeth, silently talking myself down from the ledge. It takes all my focus to hold back the venom ready to spew.

“Tell me, Selene,” he coaxes with that honey voice. “Tell me why you hate me.”

“No.”

“Does that mean you don’t hate me, then?”

“I don’t think about you either way,” I say breezily, though that’s the last thing I feel. No, I’m trapped, cornered, like a small animal forced to choose between backing into the hunter’s snare or moving straight into the wolf’s snapping mouth.

“Liar.” I can see him grin from the corner of my eye, bright in the darkness. “I know I haunt your dreams.”

I almost trip over my own feet, horrified that he somehow knows about the dream. Finally, I turn to him, my heart in my throat. But his eyes are alight with humor. He’s teasing me.

“So funny,” I say, deadpan. “You should consider a comedy career.”

“Someone’s deflecting.” He shakes his head, letting out a sigh. “You’ll tell everyone else why you hate me, but you won’t say it to my face? I expected more from you.”

He’s provoking and prodding, making shitty assumptions, all to get a rise out of me. And this time, I’m not strong enough to resist it. I’m a fire sign; it’s not in my nature to back down. The challenge makes me hot—in anger, but also, shockingly, in a way that sparks a fire in my core.

And he knows it, the bastard.

There’s no holding back the inferno raging to be let out. “All right, you really want to know why I hate you so much? Fine.” I stomp ahead of him and whirl around so I can jab a finger into his chest while I walk backward. “You, Daniel, personally screwed me out of so much money when Naiad bought my books. You made it seem like my contract was such a fair deal, but come to find out, you offered other authors—less successful than me, mind you—twice the royalty share.”

I scoff, the words bitter on my tongue. “Then you put me in an impossible position creatively. You failed to mention that I would have zero creative control over the continuation of my books, forcing me to fight tooth and nail for it. I had to prove that I knew best for my own stories. And if Naiad hadn’t hired me, I have no doubt I’d still be fighting. If they—if you—had listened to me from the beginning, I wouldn’t have had to go through all that turmoil. You made my life miserable.”

Daniel’s expression doesn’t change as I rant, and when I stop to suck in a deep breath, he’s silent for a few beats, his expression unchanged.

When he finally opens his mouth, he has the audacity to say, “It’s just business, Selene.”

I throw my hands up, wishing he’d walk in front of a speeding taxi.

“Of course it’s just business,” I sneer. “But every time I advocated for myself, you were a condescending dick who gave me nothing but roundabout answers!” I let out a strangled scream that gets lost in the sound of honking car horns passing by us. “It made me want to choke you!”

“Sounds like you still want to,” he tosses back with far too much indifference.

I shoot him a glare, stumbling backward in my heels. Without hesitation, he grasps my elbow to steady me and maneuvers me until we’re walking side by side again. I don’t thank him for it, but I don’t think he’d want me to anyway.

“There’s a running joke in the office that I’ll fight you one day,” I tell him, no longer caring if he reports me to HR. Let him fucking try. “People are literally taking bets for when I’ll deck you and get fired for it.”

“Based on this conversation, I’m surprised you haven’t yet,” he says, sounding vaguely impressed. “But come on. You want to hit me?” He shifts so I can see him better, spreading his arms to make himself a target. “Hit me. I can take it.”

I snort. “I bet you can, but I’m not trying to get slapped with an assault charge in exchange.”

Daniel laughs as he drops his arms again, his breath creating a white cloud in the frigid air between us. “What if I promise I won’t press charges?”

“I don’t trust your promises. Or contracts.”

“You really are mad about that.” He smirks and shakes his head. “You should be grateful I even found your work. Your books were popular, yes, but they never made it anywhere near the top of the charts. Still, I hand-picked you out of thousands of self-published authors.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand and continues before I can cut in.

“I was the one who saw your potential. I reached out with the opportunity to continue your books exclusively with Naiad,” he asserts. “Then I pushed for you to be hired full time, especially once you started putting up a fight about having control over how they were continued.”

I bristle at the reminder. He’s not wrong. I do have him to thank for my position, but there is no doubt in my mind that I would have found success without him or Naiad. Hell, I may have found more success without them. I’m a talented writer, and I give romance fans what they want to read. I know that now. Unfortunately, when I let him talk me into signing exclusively with Naiad, I was struggling with confidence in my ability. And when Daniel spoke as if he would be doing me a favor by offering as much as he did, I let my insecurities convince me he was right.

But still, to hear this man claim that he’s essentially handed me all my success sets my teeth on edge.

“You are so fucking full of yourself,” I snap. “But if you want a thank you, then thank you, Mr. Santiago. I’d be nothing without you.”

“I never said that.” Somehow, despite the fury rolling off me, his voice is still maddeningly light. “You’d still be a phenom, but I made you Naiad’s phenom.”

“Sounds like you’re firmly riding Naiad’s dick.”

He laughs again, deeper this time, like he truly finds humor in my response. “Maybe I am,” he admits. “But they pay me to take it.”

“Whatever you’re making, it’s not enough,” I shoot back. “They should give you a raise from the royalties you cheated me out of.”

Daniel is grinning, entirely too pleased with himself, as we weave around slower pedestrians. “God, you’re bitter,” he says. “But I get it.”

I shoot him a sidelong look, nearly tripping in my heels. Again, he reaches out to steady me with a hand on my elbow, and I have to ignore the heat that shoots through me. “You do?” I ask, squinting in suspicion.

“I do.” He slides his hands back into the pockets of his coat, depriving me of his warm touch again. “You want more money. Who wouldn’t? But you’re being a little dramatic about it.”

“Dramatic!” I scoff. “Right, of course you’d write off a woman’s concerns as histrionics.”

He chuckles, bumping against me as we dodge a heap of trash bags spilling out into the middle of the sidewalk. “I’m not writing them off,” he says, still ever so calm. “I’d never do that to you. But the ink on the contract has been dry for years. There’s nothing to be done at this point. Feel free to continue complaining, though. I enjoy the passion.”

I suck in a breath, and as much as I don’t want to be, I’m a little turned on by our back and forth—especially knowing that he likes it too. “Is my anger entertaining to you?”

“Incredibly.”

Again, something wild shoots through me, all the way down to my toes. He only said one word, and yet—and yet—it’s got my insides fluttering. It’s a good thing we’ve turned onto slightly quieter 36^th Street, because I don’t need everyone on Fifth Avenue witnessing my reactions to him.

“Well then, take comfort in the fact that there’s so much more I could yell at you about,” I huff, “but this is my hotel.” I wave a hand at the revolving door of the building we’re approaching.

I almost wish I’d walked slower or maybe taken a less direct route so we could keep arguing, because I’m beginning to realize that I don’t want the night to end. I won’t dare tell Daniel, but our verbal sparring match and his unwavering confidence has somehow made me even more attracted to him.

It’s so goddamn stupid, and yet here I am. I might as well be wearing a sign around my neck that says dumb bitch right here!

“It’s been nice shouting at you,” I tell him, and I truly mean it. Then, before I can think better of it, I tack on, “I wish it didn’t have to end.”

“It doesn’t have to, you know.”

I frown and study him. “I’m not going to stand outside in the cold with you all night.”

That brings a hint of a smile to his lips. It makes my stomach twist in anticipation.

“So invite me up,” he says. His eyes lock on mine, and I swear they ignite. “Keep yelling at me.”