Nicco

Ch. 9: HR Won't Be Happy

ARIA

I'm still sitting in Nicco's bed with a monster-sized hangover.

He's still standing before me with only a towel around his waist.

At this point, I'm pretty sure that we didn't sleep together, but did something else happen?

I have my suspicions, but I can't remember.

Ugh.

The situation I've landed myself in should be awkward as hell. Yesterday evening remains such a blur. But, surprisingly, I'm not mortified in front of Nicco. Maybe I actually feel okay because of the familiarity that comes from interacting with him, day in and day out, as his assistant. Or maybe it's the fact that he stood up for me against Manning last night.

I trust him now.

Nicco might be an arrogant, unmotivated son of bitch in the office, but he's a good guy when shit matters.

I promise I did not touch you.

I observe him closely, trying to get a read on him.

I slept on the couch and let you have the bed.

It doesn't seem like any lines were crossed between us. I may not recall the play-by-play details from last night's shenanigans, but I do remember a distinct feeling that stayed with me all night long. I remembered feeling safe. Protected. I felt it around Nicco, like he had my back, watching out for my stupid drunken ass, so I could continue acting stupid and drunk to my heart's content without consequences.

In comparison, I'm pretty sure that Chad and the Beard were only interested in getting in my pants. Just like I was only interested in getting in theirs.

I'm glad I went home with Nicco instead.

I grimace. "Thanks for bringing me back to your place, Nicco. Definitely owe you one."

"I will be sure to collect your debt at the earliest opportunity," he says shamelessly.

I make a face at him.

Nicco chuckles. "To be honest, I enjoyed watching you make a fool of yourself. I like this side of you."

This side of you.

God.

If only he knew how unhinged I used to be. I've worked so hard to convince the world that my shit is together. That I'm a good daughter. A top student. A competent bitch. It's all smoke and mirrors, though. Last night, the alcohol flipped a switch in me. Pieces of my old, broken self snuck out to play. I blink several times, feeling dazed. Unpleasant memories start whispering through my mind. Memories—that I'd rather not revisit.

They come, anyway.

They always come after I drink too much.

He muses, "I imagine you do not let your guard down often."

Instantly, Nicco's remark strikes a sharp chord in me. I smile and try to keep my expression neutral. "Not too often."

Little does he know, I used to let my guard down. Too much and too often. Especially around him. From day one, he scared the shit out of me. He came from a family of power. From old money. Dark money. He made my life at Hawkins Prep a living nightmare.

You belong to me, Ari.

After Hawkins, I tried to distance myself, to escape him, but he wouldn't let me go.

Your answer to me should always be—yes. You can't deny me, Ari. I won't allow it.

For a while, he did own my ass.