The Lost Beat

“Nice to see you again,” comes a familiar, deep voice—and every hair on my body instantly stands on end. How is that even possible? In front of me, in a perfect gray suit, standing as solidly as my entire apartment with my MacBook, is a guy whose name I’ve shouted at least fifteen times all night. Nate freezes with his hand outstretched and stares at me in astonishment. His gaze skims over the hair pulled back into a ponytail, slightly lifts the hem of his skirt—and stops at the heels. His Adam’s apple twitches. I can’t breathe, because I’m shamelessly staring at him. Not only is he beautiful, like a Greek god—he also had to put on this suit and style his hair just to make sure every single female present would want to climb on him like a monkey on a palm tree. “This is my assistant Taylor Chelsea,” Tate presents me. My face turns crimson. “Nice to meet you, Mr…” “Lautner,” he finishes, gently wrapping his hand around my palm. “I see you’ve found work after all, Ms. Chelsea.”