Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
VON
The streets of New York pass me in a blur as my driver takes me uptown.
I can’t deny the little pinch of triumph I felt at the way Noah’s eyes popped when he saw me in this dress. At hearing his voice give a little squeak.
I shift in my seat and temper those thoughts. The whole point of this date is to fuck Kent’s brains out tonight and then get to work tomorrow. No more distractions.
Kent is waiting for me at the bar of the Kensington Club.
He looks as hot as ever, white shirt, black jacket, a body chiseled from years working with a personal trainer, navy blue eyes that undress what little I have on as I sashay toward him.
This is my Fuck Me dress, the one I always wear when I have a need to fulfill.
And boy do I have a need.
“Hey, gorgeous,” Kent says, sliding a glass of red wine in my direction as he watches me over his tumbler of scotch. “I hope you don’t mind, I ordered for you.”
“I don’t mind,” I say, smiling. I take a long sip. The wine is rich and smooth, like blackberries and chocolate.
“You look stunning,” he says. He smells like aftershave and Italian leather as he leans in to kiss my cheek. “So, how are things at the firm? On your way to making partner yet?”
I chuckle. “Actually, I’ve taken a case pro bono.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You?”
“Yeah,” I say lightly. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
Kent rubs his angular jawline. “Never would have thought you’d work for free.”
“I can certainly afford to,” I joke.
“True,” he says, grinning. “So, is this some sort of virtue-signaling effort to make Phillips, Brace, and Horowitz get glowing writeups in the liberal media?”
“Why would you say that?” I ask, taking another sip of wine.
“The clientele your firm represents doesn’t need charity.”
I shift in my seat. “Maybe you’re right,” I admit, trying to make light of it. “But it’s kind of nice to feel like the good guy for once.”
Kent chuckles. “The good guy—that’s cute. And what does your father think about this foray into pro bono work?”
I give him a look. “Well, seeing as I’m not a little kid anymore, it really doesn’t matter what my dad thinks.”
“Sure,” Kent says with a wink. I feel a pinch in my stomach—I did look for my father’s approval before agreeing to take this case.
But I like representing Noah. I’ve enjoyed fighting to prove his innocence, using the law for good—certainly more than I’ve ever enjoyed representing executives who stole their employees’ pensions. Maybe I can convince Harold to let me take more pro bono cases going forward.
I don’t say that to Kent though. Instead, I rest a hand on his arm, caressing the hard muscle of his bicep. “Let’s not talk about work.”
Kent’s smile widens. “Sounds good to me.”
“How’s your family?”
“My sister is getting married next year.”
“Oh really? Congratulations. Who’s the lucky man?”
“Bradley Adams. Dad’s thrilled. His family is Boston Brahmin. Old money. Dad’s dream.”
“How nice,” I say.
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew Bradley.” Kent launches into a story about his future brother-in-law coming to visit the family ranch and bringing a pair of cowboy boots that I guess everyone found offensive, though I’m not one for ranches so the story is a bit lost on me.
When Kent asks about my family, I politely tell him about Caden bringing on a new winemaker.
“Oh right, he’s going sustainable.” Kent shudders. “I didn’t have your brother pegged as one of those tree-hugging environmentalists. Dad deals with them all the time. They’d gladly crash our economy in order to save some random bird.”
“Sustainability is good for the environment and business,” I point out. I know Caden did his research on that, and no way Dad would have signed off on this change if it wasn’t profitable.
“Of course,” he says dismissively, then he chuckles. “I hear he’s dating some local chick from your town.”
My back stiffens. “Her name is Isla. She’s nice.”
Kent snorts. “I’m sure she is. They’re all nice at first.”
At first? I can’t imagine a situation in which Isla wouldn’t be nice. She’s like Noah that way. Built for kindness.
“Just tell Caden to get an iron-clad prenup if she tries to lock him down,” Kent adds.
“What?”
“You know how those women are,” he says.
“I don’t,” I say tightly. “You’ll have to enlighten me. ”
Kent looks exasperated. “Oh come on, Von. Those people always have their eyes on the prize.”
My jaw tics. “Isla isn’t with Caden for his money.”
“Right.” Kent smirks as he takes another drink.
“You don’t even know her,” I point out.
“I’ve known a lot of women like her,” he says. “My father always says, money should marry money. Don’t let any women try and steal your heart if she’s not from your class. Because you can bet she’s after one thing, and one thing only.”
I slam my wineglass down harder than I meant to. “My mother always said love can grow in the most unlikely of places. Like a flower breaking through a crack in cement. It is a force to be reckoned with.”
I used to roll my eyes when she’d say that—it’s so cheesy and I always felt it was an excuse for how she could fall for someone like Dad. But maybe I’m starting to understand the power of opposites attracting.
“That’s nice,” Kent says, but the words are laced with condescension. Indignance flames in my chest.
“Isla is a successful baker in her own right,” I say.
“What like on Instagram or something?” Kent rolls his eyes. “Everyone’s interested in money, Siobhan. I’m surprised you’re defending her. I would have thought you, of all people, would be trying to get him out of that relationship.”
“What are you talking about?” I demand. The only people I’ve met who place money above all else are the ones who already have it. The Kents of the world. Isla seems pretty content to live above a flower shop and sell baked goods online. She’s not suddenly dripping in diamonds and Prada just because she’s dating Caden.
“You know how things work in our circles,” he says, sweeping his arm out at the leather-covered booths and polished mahogany tables surrounding us. “You know how much reputation matters in business. Who we date is just as important as how we dress or where we invest. Image is everything. Sure, you can screw the local paperboy, but you don’t bring him home to meet the parents.”
He’s talking about people like Charlotte, and Mrs. Greerson with all her chutzpah, and Jake just trying to keep his business afloat.
He’s talking about Noah.
Something in my chest snaps. I don’t want to be here anymore—on this date, or at this club, or any of it.
I pretend to check the time. “Sorry, Kent, I’ve got to go.”
He looks shocked. “Wait what?”
“I’ve got a big day at the office tomorrow,” I say. “Thanks for the drink.”
I leave him slack jawed at the bar as I head out into the cool evening air. There’s a buzzing in my ears and my palms itch. How many times have I engaged in those kinds of conversations with people like Kent? Never realizing how condescending or out-of-touch I must have sounded. Like a real asshole. How dare Kent talk about Isla that way, judging her when he doesn’t even know her. I’m about to text for my car service when I stop—a yellow cab is headed down the street and I instinctively throw my hand out to hail it. I give the driver my cross streets and glare out the window.
Just because the people I’ve surrounded myself with my whole life are arrogant jerks doesn’t mean I have to be one too. Not anymore.
I’m still fuming when the elevator doors open, and I storm into my apartment. Noah is on the couch watching ESPN and he looks startled when he sees me.
“Hey,” he says. “You’re home early.”
I slam my clutch down on the island.
“Um, bad date?” he asks, switching off the TV and standing up warily.
“Who is Kent to judge my brother’s choices,” I fume, as I start pacing back and forth across the room .
“I don’t know,” Noah says, taking a few steps closer. “Who is Kent?”
I steamroll ahead. “He thinks women are just after men for their money. What fucking century is he living in?”
Noah frowns. “But you have your own money.”
“I’m not talking about me!” I cry, throwing my hands in the air. “I’m talking about Isla.”
Now Noah looks really confused. “O…kay?”
“Kent doesn’t even know her. So he can miss me with his judgmental bullshit, like Isla is some sort of gold digger. I mean, you said it yourself, right? Caden and Isla belong together. They fit.”
Noah is looking at me with a bemused expression. “Yeah,” he agrees. “They do.” He clears his throat. “I take it your evening didn’t go as planned.”
I storm over so that I’m right in front of him. He must have showered while I was out. There’s a trace of freesia in his sunshine scent and his hair is damp and curls at the ends. “I can’t believe I wasted my time on someone so…so snobby , so cruel, so utterly…” All the fight goes out of me then. I gaze into Noah’s eyes bleakly, feeling an unexpected surge of shame. “That was me, wasn’t it. That’s how I used to be. How I used to think. No wonder you hated me.”
The dent I love so much appears between Noah’s brows. I want to smooth it out beneath the pad of my finger. He’s so much closer to me than I’d realized. I can see a tiny freckle beneath his left eye. “I’m sorry,” I say to him softly. “Noah, I?—”
But I don’t get to finish my sentence because suddenly, Noah’s arms are around me and his mouth crushes against mine.
It’s like suddenly, I can breathe again. Like the air has become fresher and clearer than it was only seconds ago. My lips part and I inhale this man, the scent of him, the warmth of him. I clutch his face in my hands, my fingers raking through his beard, as something primal takes over, the need that’s been writhing inside me freed from constraints, the shackles I’ve bound myself with breaking apart.
I don’t care if this is wrong. I don’t care that I’m his lawyer. I am a vessel of pure need.
My mouth is urgent against his, his lips exploring mine with the same force, as if we’ve both been drawing closer and closer to this moment for longer than just a few weeks. His hands trace down the exposed length of my back, holding me close, enveloping me in his sunshine scent—how can he always bring the sun, even in the darkest of night? I press my breasts against him, shivering at the feel of those vast planes of muscle, my hands knotting into his hair, pulling him close like I can kiss him deeper, like I can consume him. I feel something inside me ease, a tender ache I’d carried for so long finally soothed. In Noah’s arms, I feel safe.
As that realization hits, our kiss shifts, slowing to delicate caresses, shy and sweet, our lips brushing each other softly. Noah rests his forehead against mine and I can feel his heart pounding insistently against my chest.
“Wow,” he murmurs.
I tilt my gaze up to his. Nerves flutter in my stomach. I can’t remember the last time I felt nervous around a guy. “Wow,” I agree.
“I wanted to kiss you before, you know,” Noah admits. “In the kitchen.”
Even though I suspected as much, it thrills me to hear him confirm it out loud. “I wanted to kiss you too.” His face relaxes like maybe he was just as nervous as me. My expression turns sheepish. “I thought you were dating Charlotte.”
Noah’s eyes pop. “ What ? No. I mean, Char is great, she’s one of my closest friends but…no.”
“That was Charlotte’s reaction too.”
One of Noah’s hands is firmly planted at my lower back, keeping me grounded. I lift my fingers to stroke the coarseness of his beard.
“I probably need to shave,” he admits.
“Mm,” I say. “But not yet. I like this.” I grin. “Shaggy. Bearded. A mountain man.”
He cocks one eyebrow. “Mountain man, huh? Didn’t know you were into that sort of thing.”
I give a half chuckle, but his words pinch, reminding me of my own revelations tonight. Noah must see my face fall.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say, too quickly.
He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t think you can lie to me, Blofeld,” he says in his terrible Connery impression.
I let out a watery laugh and clutch at the fabric of his tee. Another zip of nerves runs through me and I focus on the feel of cotton, rubbing it between my fingers.
“It’s like I’m seeing things I can’t unsee,” I say quietly, keeping my gaze trained on the dip at the base of his throat.
“Like what?” he asks.
“Your kindness,” I admit. “It always used to chafe at me. But maybe it was never about you. Maybe it was always about me—because I was raised by a man who has always valued cunning over kind.”
Noah doesn’t say anything to that. He seems to know that I need to work these thoughts out on my own. Has he always been so intuitive? Has he always had grace for everyone—even me?
“I’ve tried so hard,” I continue, my throat tight. “All these years, trying to impress Dad and the people in the “right” circles. To be the best. It’s never enough. I don’t even know if I like my job. I mean, I like being a lawyer. No, I love being a lawyer. But the people I work for, the people I represent…” My mouth twists for a moment. “What would Mom say?” My voice cracks. “Do you know what I was doing that summer, the summer she died? ”
I feel, rather than see, Noah shake his head. I’m still staring at his collarbone.
“She encouraged me to get an internship with the public defender’s office in the city. Some dingy little building with piles and piles of cases and overworked lawyers in frumpy suits who had more passion than all the junior associates at my firm combined. I was helping ordinary people, just trying to survive, navigate this insane criminal justice system we have. And you know what else?”
“What,” he asks softly.
I take a breath and finally meet his eyes. “I loved it ,” I say vehemently. This may be the first time I’ve admitted that out loud. “I loved fighting for people who couldn’t fight for themselves. I loved using my knowledge of the law to help. To feel like I was doing something worthy. And Dad hated it—he never said so, but I could tell. There was no glory to be had in that work, no ladder to climb, no connections to be made. But he’d never go against Mom. And then she died. And I only had one parent left…” I take a deep, shuddering breath. “So I did what I knew Dad wanted. I quit.”
I turn my face away from him again, blinking quickly. “I started interning with Harold instead. That made Dad happy. But his happiness was short lived. Because Caden wasn’t here. We all knew that getting Caden back was Dad’s number one priority. I worked myself into the ground to excel. To shine. To be noticed. And I’m suddenly realizing it never even mattered. I abandoned what I wanted and for what?”
My breath catches in my throat, and I will myself not to cry.
“Hey,” Noah says softly, tilting my chin so he can see my eyes. “You shine, Von. You shine so fucking bright you could light up this whole city. Don’t let anyone ever make you feel otherwise.” He strokes my cheek, and I melt into his touch. “I wouldn’t want anyone else in my corner. ”
My laugh comes out more like a hiccup. “Kinda strange huh? Considering we used to hate each other.”
His mouth quirks up. “I never hated you, Von.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“I’m serious,” he says. “I always thought…” His lips curve and his fingers trace a pattern down the nape of my neck. “You were just so rigid in your thinking.”
“Oh, I was rigid in my thinking,” I reply. “You were the one with this black and white view of the world. Still think the cops are always the good guys?”
“Still think Magnolia Bay is full of dumb hicks?”
I open my mouth, dumbstruck, then burst out laughing. Noah laughs too. The tension eases, and I nestle my cheek against his chest. I fit perfectly in his arms as he wraps them around me.
“I don’t think I’m ever going to forget you defending Isla so vehemently like you did just now,” he says.
“Don’t tell her,” I warn him. “Blofeld needs to keep up appearances.”
He chuckles. “Your secret is safe with me. I don’t want to get fed to the sharks.”
I nuzzle into his neck, feeling more content than I have in years. “I don’t think I acknowledged how alone I’ve felt,” I admit quietly. “How isolated I’ve become. How my life has only revolved around work.”
There’s a slight pause.
“You’re not alone now,” Noah promises, resting his cheek against the top of my head.