Finding Willow I (Nicholas POV)

Nicholas POV:

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

One of my hands gripped my hair and I didn't even realize it until I felt the tugging. I'd been trying to break myself of that bad habit since birth, but it always came out when I was stressed.

Or pissed.

Or angry.

And today I was all three.

A huge deal had fallen through because of someone else's incompetency, I'd ruined my favorite tie from a coffee spill, and I hadn't had sex in over six months.
I was ready to blow something up.

I turned back to the conversation in my ear when the voice kept droning on.

"Francis, shut the fuck up with your psychobabble bullshit and fire his ass. Today. Or I will."

I slammed the phone down, knocking files and papers off the edge of my desk. I glared at the resulting mess all over the floor, taking a few deep breaths before I truly lost it. No sooner had I calmed down somewhat when the nasal voice of my secretary came through the intercom.

"Mr. Rowe?"

"What?" I snapped.

"You told me to remind you to leave at 7:45 today because of your dinner meeting."

I rolled my head, trying to ease the knots in my neck. "Fine. Thank you. You are finished for today."

I glanced once more at the strewn papers and sighed before picking them up and throwing them back on my desk, deciding to go through the pile tomorrow. After gathering what I wanted to look over that evening, I put on a new tie from the wardrobe I kept in the private bathroom attached to my office.

I checked my watch and called John to make sure he had the car ready. I scowled as I exited my office, noticing Julia loitering at her desk. I quickly strode to the elevator and jabbed the button in irritation.

"Care for some company on the way down?" she asked, coming up behind me.

If she wasn't a good secretary, I would have fired her. Instead, I grunted and ignored her, pulling out my phone and checking stock movements of the day. It had been a while since she'd been blatant about offering more than her typing skills, and I'd thought she'd gotten the hint that I was not interested.

Sure she had a decent body and a nice rack, but the calculating look in her eyes was too reminiscent of another. Besides, I didn't dip my pen in the company ink.
My recent string of sexless days was definitely not for lack of willing participants. I knew I could have just about any woman out there, and I had for a long time.

But I was tired of that shit.

I wanted more.

Only I was having trouble finding it.

I'd tried to start relationships with a few women over the last couple of years. Generally, they had been nice, recommended by a friend or my mother. But unfailingly, I just couldn't commit, regardless of my desire to be attached.

I wanted a wife.

I wanted a family.

I wanted someone that would never leave me. Never steal the rug from under my feet.

Like she did. I still hated her with the fire of a thousand suns.

Yet none of the women I'd met made me care enough to really put myself out there again. I was beginning to wonder if it would simply be better for me to embrace eternal bachelorhood and throw away my hope for the more that I craved.

The elevator door opened and I moved to the corner, hoping Julia had the sense to stay away from me in my current mood. Luckily she did, and I continued ignoring her presence while trying not to gag from being confined in a steel box with her perfume.

My phone buzzed with an incoming text.

[I need to talk to you.]

I frowned at the message. It was an unfamiliar number, but I recognized the area code from somewhere. I shrugged it off, assuming someone had dialed the wrong number. As soon as I was off the elevator and away from Julia's cloying scent, I sent Virgil a wave before exiting and finding John waiting.

After giving him the address of the restaurant, I got in the car, taking a moment to lay my head back against the seat and clear my mind. It suddenly dawned on me why the area code had been familiar.

I used to live there. It was from Atkins.

I glanced at the message again, wondering if it was possible an old friend or classmate had gotten my number somehow. I supposed it wouldn't hurt to find out if the call was really meant for me or not.

[Who is this?]

The answer came back quickly.

[Willow Taylor]

However coincidental, she obviously thought she was contacting someone else.

[I think you have the wrong number.]

I put my phone in my pocket and closed my eyes. A few seconds later it buzzed again and I groaned. ‘Would this day never end?’

[I have the correct number if I reached Mr. Nicholas Rowe.]

What the fuck? I racked my brain trying to place the name she'd given me. I rarely gave this number out, so it didn't make sense for some random person to call it looking for me.

Before I could type out a response, my mother called. I debated letting it go to voicemail but decided to go ahead and get it over with.

"Hello, mother."

"Nicholas! It's good to hear your voice."

She made it sound like I hadn't spoken to her in years. I pinched the bridge of my nose, wondering if all mothers had the ability to lay down the passive-aggressive guilt trips.

"It's nice to hear your voice, too. Although we talked just a few days ago."

"Your brother calls me every other day."

That's because he's a needy mama's boy who constantly seeks approval.

I kept those thoughts to myself, watching the lights of the city pass by.

"I'm actually on my way to a dinner meeting. Did you need something important?"

She ignored my short tone. "It's nothing major. I was hoping you would be available this weekend to meet for dinner?"

I had a feeling this was another set-up and I just didn't have the energy at the moment. What I needed was a vacation. "I'm going out of town for a few days, so I'll have to take a rain check."

"Oh? Where are you going?"

I narrowed my eyes but chuckled. "Aren't I a little old to need a signed permission slip?"

"Now, don't take that tone with me. I was only asking. I love you and I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine. It'll be a couple of days on a beach somewhere. I need to unwind."

"Are you taking anybody special?"

I sighed. "No. Just me."

She remained silent for a minute. "Okay, I know you're busy. I won't keep you any longer. Have fun on your trip, honey."

"Thanks, mom. I'll talk to you soon."

After our goodbyes, I remembered the text I hadn't answered. I should have asked my mother if she recognized the name. She had a photographic memory for shit like that. I typed back a quick response.

[Ms. Taylor. Do I know you?]

Hopefully, I'd find out who this mystery woman was before we reached the restaurant.

[I wouldn’t say so, but it is imperative that I speak with you.]

If this ended up being a telemarketer, I was going to combust.

[I don't have time for this. I'm late for a dinner meeting.]

She needed to get to the damn point. And quick. My patience was hanging on by a fucking thread.

[May I call you, then?]

I growled. She wants a call? She's going to get one. I dialed her number, tapping my fingers on my knee as I waited for her to pick up.

"Hello?"

Hmm. Nice voice. "Hello, Miss Taylor. Can you tell me what this is about?"

"I… uh… I…"

I had to admit I was slightly amused by her fumbling. People were often intimidated by me, but it usually didn't happen over the phone. There was also a warring part of my brain that wanted to make her comfortable. Something about her voice was soothing and made me want to calm her down in return.

I shook my head. The stress of the day was clearly messing with my sanity.

There was a loud noise and a crash in the background, and I sat up straight, immediately alarmed that something bad had happened to her. "Hello? Are you alright, Miss Taylor?"

"Yeah… um… I'm all right. Sorry. I slipped."

I breathed out a gust of air, uneasy with the fact my heart was racing. My agitation caused me to snap back a response. I was already going to be late, and the car stopped in front of the restaurant.

"Look, Miss Taylor. I must hang up. Please tell me what this is about without wasting any more time."