Into You Series: The Complete Collection

11. Nia

CHAPTER 11

NIA

Seven years ago

I t just wouldn’t be a proper employee termination if we weren’t slapped with a lawsuit a couple weeks later.

I’m in my office, court order in hand, sifting through older emails and trying to pick through documentation when my door is kicked open by Ian. In one arm, he balances two coffees, and in the other he holds a box, lid open and revealing donuts.

Today he’s wearing a suit, which normally dictates the worst days. It means he’s going to court later. The only plus side to this is that I am graced by his presence in a tailored suit. It’s like sex just wandered into the room. With donuts.

Be still my heart.

“Morning, Nia,” he says, gearing his leg up to knock the door shut again. He places the items on my desk, on top of papers that definitely did not need donut glaze on them. I dig them out from underneath the sticky box and put them aside. “Whoops,” he says with a shrug.

“Thanks for that.” I take a strawberry-coated donut from out of the box and then look around for somewhere to put it. Finding nothing convenient, I place the glazed treat on a blank piece of paper next to me. “Did you forget plates?”

“Can’t have it all,” Ian says with a chuckle before settling himself down on the chair across from me.

“And you didn’t bring your laptop?” I ask. I shouldn’t be shocked he comes unprepared, as this is not a new thing. At least he brought breakfast.

“Nah,” he says before poking his index finger to his temple. “It’s all in here.”

“Every single law?” I deadpan. He smirks, slightly lifting the corner of his mouth. It creates a small crease beside his lip.

“Try me.”

I roll my eyes and print out a few emails I’ve saved, walking him through the evidence I’ve accrued for the case so far and communicating potential risks and items of concern. His head is angled at the wall beside him as he nods slowly, soaking all the information in. I can see the wheels turning in his head. I can also see that his hair is perfectly curled at the ends with a hint of styling gel still in it. He’s started trimming it shorter on the sides. And did he shave today too?

“So, what are we concerned about?” he asks after a moment of silence.

I exhale. If only he could pay attention. “Were you even listening?”

“I heard every word, but my question is, what is the concern? He has no case.”

“He was terminated with a disability,” I say, repeating myself with irritation. “We have paperwork from his physician a week before he was terminated. We also have performance reviews stating he’s been underperforming and unreliable, but they’re outdated.”

“But he wasn’t fired for the disability,” he corrects. “And that’s the case his lawyers are presenting.”

He’s smart, and it’s so darn attractive that I might curl into a ball and die.

Ian’s eyes shift to the wall behind me, and after a moment, he leans forward. “Is that your name?” he asks, pointing. I turn around to see that he’s looking at my college diploma. I framed my Bachelor of Arts in Sociology, as well as my Master of Science in Human Resource Management. On both of them is my full name: Apollonia Smith.

“Yes,” I say, turning back to look at him.

“That’s Greek,” he says. I nod. “But you’re not Greek.” I nod again. “Doesn’t that name mean ‘destroyer’?”

“Okay, why are you analyzing my name?” I ask.

He shrugs and sticks out his bottom lip. “No reason. Just seems weird you’d have a Greek first name. Although—” he laughs, “the meaning is accurate.”

While my parents may have pegged my future controlling personality with absolute accuracy, I’m pretty sure my very non-Greek mother simply lost a bet to my also incredibly non-Greek father when it came to naming their bouncing baby girl. By the time you’re birthing your fifth kid, I guess you run out of ideas and disregard compassion for your child’s elementary school well-being, but hey, I’m not bitter or anything.

“Thanks?” I say. “My dad is a history teacher. He thought it was a good, strong name for a woman.”

“I like strong women,” Ian says, picking out a donut for himself and taking an arrogant bite out of it. How can a man take an arrogant bite, you ask? Just trust me. He does.

“That’s inappropriate,” I say, reaching to take the printed emails back from him.

“How so?” He cocks his head to the side in innocence and tightens his grip on the papers, causing me to jerk it out of his hand.

“We’re co-workers,” I say.

“I wasn’t talking about you, though,” he responds. “Plus, I have a girlfriend, so that automatically negates any additional connotation.”

I feel sorry for the sad girl who’s stuck with Ian and his personality, but my stomach also shifts a little. Maybe it’s because I notice that, yes, he did shave. I want to run my hand over his jawline…

“Who’s the lucky lady?” I ask.

“Well, now, that’s inappropriate,” he says with a smile.

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He laughs. “Lighten up, Apollo.”

“Never call me that again.”

“I’ll try something different next time.”

I think he throws me a wink, but honestly, I’m unsure. I clear my throat and stack the papers, setting them to the side.

He picks up his coffee to sip it and hisses as it hits his lips. “Too hot.”

This elicits a small smile from me—completely involuntary—and I pick my own coffee up, cradling it in my hands and lightly blowing on the lid’s opening.

“Are you dating anyone?” he asks over the top of his cup. I can see the edge of his smile peeking out, and I want to change the subject. In fact, I know I should. Talking about dating situations is a big no-no. Additionally, talking about dating situations with a good-looking, confident man like Ian is completely off limits. Well, maybe my HR training didn’t exactly specify that, but I’m drawing my own line in the sand.

“Let’s get back to the issue at hand, shall we?” I say, narrowing my eyes, but he leans forward, and I can tell he has a different idea in mind.

“You aren’t, are you?”

“I am not talking about my dating life”— or lack thereof —“with you.”

“What happened, Apollo? Who hurt you?”

“This isn’t appropriate.”

“Apparently nothing is.”

“Nothing with you.” The statement slips out before I can stop it, which catches me off guard. But, true to form, Ian doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” he says.

“Can we please focus on this case? I’m busy today and can’t deal with you this early on a Monday.”

He chuckles. “Sure thing, Apollo.”

“What did I say about calling me that?”

“Right. Sorry, Polly.”