Untied: A Mastermind Novel Read online

  “Sure. I could do that.”

  The moment he agreed his heart murmured and he sucked in a strained breath, a prerequisite to what usually ended with him breathing into a paper bag. He forced himself to remain calm. He was getting a chance to talk to Nadia. Nadia.

  Her brown eyes lit as her smile showed genuine relief. “There’s a little place around the corner. Walk with me?”

  Unable to find his voice, he nodded, falling into step beside her. She was tall, matching his height within a centimeter, but she also wore heels.

  He kept his focus on the pavement ahead despite her distracting presence. He was walking with Nadia. They were going to grab a drink.

  Hardly a fan of alcohol, he rarely patronized bars. His mind was suddenly preoccupied with feasible drink orders. What would be palatable yet manly? The thought of bitter beer turned his stomach and wine usually gave him a headache. Perhaps the effect would be minimized if he ordered something with seltzer or club soda? What did people generally mix with—

  “You do not talk much, do you?”

  His gaze jerked to her and back to the pavement as they rounded the corner. The lit awning of what he assumed was their destination hung at the end of the block.

  “Not unless I have something to say.” He mentally grappled with topics of conversation, knowing people generally took his reserve as rudeness, which it wasn’t.

  She nodded, the soft click of her heels tapping a delicate pattern on the footpath. “I didn’t realize anyone was watching me. I’m not sure how much you overheard.”

  Though he didn’t want to intrude, he needed to talk, so he went with what he witnessed. “Was that your boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  He frowned. “I thought…” He let the comment drift away, accepting her relationship with her dinner companion was none of his business. Maybe they could find something else in common to discuss. Not likely.

  “He was my lover.”

  Blurred eroticism flashed through his mind saturated in Nadia’s essence but too far out of reach to depict clearly. Breath weighed heavily in his lungs taking so much space he had to concentrate on exhaling. He hadn’t realized there was a distinction between the two terms but suddenly hated his logical mind for immediately noting the difference. “I see.”

  She shook her head, laughing quietly. “I was foolish to assume he was anything more than cold company. It’s probably best we ended things.”

  Slowing her steps, she approached the entrance of the pub and he shifted in front of her to grab the door before she had a chance to touch it. She smiled as he stepped aside to let her enter first.

  “Thank you.”

  The tavern was dim, lit by accent lights and votive candles distributed on each table. A few men sat at the bar, focused on a sports game playing on all three flat screens while a couple dined in the far corner. Following her lead, they settled in at a tall bistro table by the front window.

  “Do you mind the window? I like looking at the street lights and people going by.”

  “That’s fine.” He liked looking at her and was still processing the anomaly he’d be able to do so for however long people typically grabbed drinks.

  She scooted onto the tall stool, her long legs crossing gracefully at the knee. Throat parched, he swallowed and took the chair across from her.

  She tucked her purse beside the standing menu and rested her elbows on the table, folding one arm elegantly over the other. Realizing he still wore his shoulder bag, he lifted it and hung it from the back of his chair. When he faced her she smiled and he stilled. Was he supposed to do something?

  Say something. Talk about the weather. “Summer seems to be dying down.” Could there be a more hollow topic?

  “I like your glasses.”

  He blinked trying to recall which pair he wore and alarmed she was looking close enough to notice he wore glasses at all. “Thank you.”

  “I used to have a pair like that, but they broke.”

  “You wear glasses?” He couldn’t imagine her in them, but the idea turned him on. Flashes of her standing in a library, glasses sliding down her thin nose while looking over the teachings of Pythagoras filled his head. He was instantly hard. Fuck.

  “I’ve needed glasses since I was a kid.” She pointed at her eyes. “Contacts. I wish I could wear the colored ones. A blue would be nice, don’t you think? But I have a … stigma and the colored ones are hard to find for that condition.”

  His brow creased. “You mean astigmatism?”

  “Yes. Sorry.” She shrugged. “English words. Sometimes I fumble them.”

  He found her attempt unguardedly charming. “I think your eyes are pretty the color they are.” They were brown, but the most shimmering shade, a deep agate with flecks as vibrant as tourmaline and quartz.

  Her head tipped to the right, the candlelight reflecting in the dark highlights of her ebony hair. “You do? They are too dark, no?”

  “Not at all. They’re so dark they’re almost crystalline. They’re … exotic.” The moment the words left his mouth mortification choked him. What was he doing? He didn’t flirt.

  Clearing his throat—a nervous tick he wasn’t used to—he reached for the drink menu. God, he didn’t know what half these things were. “What do you like to drink?”

  Steepling her fingers she laughed, the melodic chortle drawing his body to full attention, every decibel an erotic stroke up his spine. “I think tonight is a night for tequila.”

  Shit. If she was going with hard liquor he’d have to keep pace. “Sounds good.” He placed the drink menu back where it had been.

  His neck heated as he searched for a waitress. Maybe the bar was out of tequila. When he spotted a server he raised a finger catching her attention. As the waitress approached, his drink order played like an untried script in his head and he prayed not to botch his words.

  “What can I get for you?” the waitress asked, dropping two cocktail napkins on their table.

  “Two tequilas, please.”

  The waitress raised a brow as if waiting for more information—information he didn’t have. Damn it. He was definitely sweating.

  Nadia leaned in, all charm and grace as if she and the waitress were old friends. “Make it two Patrons on the rocks with a splash of water and a twist of lime, please.”

  The waitress nodded in complete understanding. When they were again alone, Nadia smirked. “Not a tequila drinker?”

  His face heated. “Not usually.”

  “You could have ordered something else.”

  But he didn’t have a clue what something else might be. Better to trust her taste. “I’m not opposed to trying new things.” That was a lie. But for some reason, when it came to her, he’d try almost anything.

  The waitress returned with two stout cocktails, clear liquor frosting the glass.

  Nadia lifted hers. “Egészségére. Or ... to health, as you say.”

  Lifting his glass he tapped it to hers. “Cheers.”

  She took a long sip, giving the misleading impression of smoothness. Tipping his glass back he balked as the sharp, putrid burn hit his tongue. Disguising his dislike, he closed his lips and lowered the drink. Hers was a quarter empty while his looked untouched.

  “Do you like it?”

  No. “Sure.”

  She laughed. “You don’t have to lie, Elliot. We can get you something else.”

  As she turned to find the waitress he snatched up his glass. “No, it’s fine.”

  His esophagus scorched as the fiery liquid burned its way to his belly. Oh, God… Everything inside of him wanted to send it back up.

  “You have a reckless side to you, I think,” she teased and smiled, her full lips pursing. He’d drink poison to keep her looking at him like that.

  She sipped her drink again and he did the same, forcing the swallow of what might as well be battery acid down his throat. Silence hung heavily with every passing second. Within a minute the conversation had gone from cordial to
complicated. That quickly, they’d run out of things to say.

  He had to keep it going before she finished her drink. “So that man,” he hedged, refusing to use the term lover. “How long have you known him?”

  Her thumb dragged over the frost of her glass leaving a dewy trail. “A few months. We were never supposed to live together, but…” She shrugged. “I suppose it’s pointless to live somewhere else when you wake up in that person’s bed every morning.”

  His knuckle brushed his Adam’s apple as he loosened his tie. His mind fumbled over images of Nadia in a bed. Did she wear pajamas? What color were her panties? He wasn’t sure if he was even blinking.

  “Did you love him?” he rasped.

  She laughed dryly. “No.”

  “But you were … lovers.”

  Now she was really laughing. “Didn’t you ever have a lover just because they were good in bed? Satisfied an itch?”

  His face burned. There had been that horrid episode on his twenty-fifth birthday when Jet sent a woman to his hotel room.

  Flashes of how fast he’d humiliated himself made him shove the memory back to the farthest recesses of his mind. The only purpose that night served was to get the guys off his back about still being a virgin. Little did they know the only thing that woman left with was a stain on her skirt and pity in her eyes. He refused to address the subject when they asked about it in the days that followed.

  Glancing at Nadia, her flawless skin, and those full lips, he couldn’t imagine ever embarrassing himself like that in front of her. The other woman meant nothing—a stranger. But Nadia… She was the only woman who ever made him lose sight of his limits long enough to consider the possibility of something more. Foolish. Part of him hated that she tempted hope where there was none.

  A dark sense of inadequacy blanketed him, snuffing out all ambition where she was concerned. His gaze dropped to his barely touched drink. This was a mistake. “It’s getting late. I should go. Do you need a ride?”

  “We just got here.”

  He shook his head, unable to catch his breath or meet her gaze. His tie was choking him and he had no business speaking to her about such personal matters.

  Itching to leave, his hand brushed the strap of his bag hanging from his stool. “Will you be okay?”

  “Did I offend you?” Her voice turned low as she eased closer, not helping matters.

  “No, but you’re probably tired and—”

  “Please don’t go.” Her fingers brushed his and he stopped breathing, blinked at her perfect nails. “You haven’t even finished your drink.”

  His neck prickled. Why did she make him so self-conscious? He was Elliot Garnet, co-founder, and CEO of GeekPeek. His net worth left men like Warren Buffet jealous. Yet, he was absolutely powerless when it came to her.

  Easing his weight back into the chair, he nodded and brushed away the trace of perspiration gathering beneath the rims of his glasses. She slid his cocktail forward, suggesting he take a sip without speaking a word.

  Ice rattled as he lifted his drink to his lips, draining it with a swallow so large it hurt his throat. He sputtered, welcoming the burn and praying it might fortify his courage—or knock him out.

  As surreal as her presence was, it was equally painful. The bizarre circumstances that led him here were unprecedented and too improbable to ever happen again. Leave it to him to spoil a once in a lifetime opportunity.

  Her eyes studied him as he set the glass of ice on the table. Her chin dipped, commending his effort, just before raising her own glass and emptying it as well. Suddenly, the whole situation seemed comical, so he chuckled roughly.

  She laughed as well, soft and delicate. Her posture relaxed as her long arms draped over the edge of the table.

  “I like your laugh. It’s deep the way a man’s laugh should be. Tell me about yourself, Elliot. I think I want to know you better.”

  His humor vanished, as did his hard-on. He had a Googleplex of questions for her, but not one interesting thing to share about himself. Shit. “How about another drink?”

  He needed time and alcohol to ease the sting of what was likely going to be one of the most humiliating evenings of his life. He flagged down the waitress and pointed to their empty glasses then turned his attention back to Nadia. “What do you want to know?”

  Chapter Two

  “I like to go dancing, have a few beers. I like being alone, too. I have days where it's ‘God, get me a shot of tequila.’”

  ~Justine Bateman

  Nadia studied Elliot, finding his peculiar mannerisms refreshing and honest. Her anger toward Ian quelled as the alcohol slowly relaxed her temper.

  She had no idea what she’d do about her living situation. Two days—what could anyone do in two days?

  Right now she didn’t want to think about that. She wanted to escape her problems—how nice that Elliot had offered to help her.

  “You work with Asher, right?” she asked, hoping to keep him invested in their conversation, as she didn’t plan to leave until the tequila soaked up the last of her troubles. Not to mention she had absolutely no idea where she would go.

  He nodded, his neatly parted brown hair catching the light. Every strand was combed into submission and her fingers itched to rumple such calculated perfection.

  “Our company turned thirteen years old this June, but I’ve known Asher since kindergarten.”

  Asher’s success loaned itself to Elliot, making him a safe distraction but far out of her league. Perhaps that’s what put her so at ease. Men like Elliot Garnet didn’t date women like her, so there was no threat she might ruin the last salvageable shred of her self-esteem.

  “And you do computer stuff?”

  He smiled, but the motion seemed tense. “I design monolithic applications based on binary coding that operates via BitTorrents and HBase data storage. I also do some of the in-house accounting.”

  Her eyes widened. “That sounds very intellectual.”

  “It’s rather simple. Data’s read from log files, separated and clustered every one-point-three seconds. The more popular a piece of data becomes the less real time it is. If a bit becomes raw it’s removed.”

  She sipped her drink, not sure what he was saying and certain if she made any comment she’d sound foolish. Maybe she should change the subject. “What do you like to do when you’re not working? I assume you don’t like to dance since you never returned to my class.”

  A tinge of color darted over his cheeks as his gaze dropped to the table. “I’m always working.”

  “You must have a hobby.”

  Rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, he mumbled, “A few, but they’re not worth mentioning.”

  “But I want to know.”

  Dropping his hands into his lap, he glanced away and hesitated. “Okay.” He looked around and stood. Moving to the bar he grabbed something and returned to his seat. He held out a fogpiszkáló.

  “Your hobby is toothpicks?”

  “No,” he said, snapping off the sharp ends and breaking the wood in half so he had two small sticks. “You take this one.”

  She cupped the small shard of wood as he pinched the other half between his index finger and thumb. “Hold it like this, tight so it doesn’t slip.”

  She pinched her half just as he held his, the wood tips forming divots in the pads of her fingers. “Why am I doing this?”

  “Do you have it tight?”

  “I think so.”

  He took her hand holding the half toothpick and pulled it close to him. “See how there is no way for anything to get past your grip?”

  “I could let go.”

  “Don’t let go.” He held up his fingers pinching the other half. “Watch.” Turning his fingers so the two sticks crossed like a T, he tapped his piece against hers. “One,” he whispered, liquor scented breath teasing her cheek. He tapped again, slowly. “Two.” Her eyes strained, anticipating something great to come. “Three.” Another tap.

  She ga
sped, as his fingers, still pinching the wood, were now linked with hers on the other side of her toothpick.

  “How did you do that?” She pulled and the pieces wouldn’t give, their fingers latched together as the wood held.

  “Magic.”

  Her lips parted, as she laughed a bit breathless. “Amazing!”

  “Now, you count.”

  As he tapped her piece from the inside of her fingers she said, “One. Two. Three.” She gasped again, as their fingers were unlocked, his toothpick back on the outer side. Impossible.

  He smiled and flushed, tossing the wooden piece onto his cocktail napkin. “It’s just a parlor trick.”

  She picked up his half of the toothpick and compared it with hers. There were no splits, no soft spots, yet he somehow made it slide through hers. She pinched them in both her hands and tried to repeat the trick, but couldn’t figure out how he did it.

  Frustrated, she tossed the pieces on the table and smiled at him. “Can you do more?”

  “Sure.” He glanced at the bar. “Hold on.”

  She waited as he left the table to speak to the bartender. He returned a moment later with an unopened beer bottle and a straw. He ripped the top of the wrapper off the straw. “Do you like magic?”

  “Yes.” Not that she’d ever met a real magician until now, or given such talents much thought, but she couldn’t stop smiling, both anxious and enthralled to see what trick he would do next.

  “Are you familiar with Star Wars?”

  She cupped her hands over her ears, mimicking the shape of side buns. “Princess Leia? The girl with the buns?”

  “Yes, well, she’s one character. The Jedis—the good guys—believe in a power called The Force. It’s a sort of telekinesis.”

  “What is telekinesis?”

  “The power to move objects with your mind.” He withdrew the straw from the wrapper and centered it on the cap of the unopened beer. “Watch carefully.”