Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Chase
“Thank you for making me the luckiest man on the planet. I love you. And I promise to love you for the rest of my life.”
“And every one after this one,” Nate adds softly to Ru’s vows.
I know I’m not the only one sniffling, but I think I might be the only one actively holding back a humiliating sob.
These two are just so ridiculously perfect for each other, you can see it in how natural they look standing in front of hundreds of people and still kissing like no one’s watching.
It’s a beautiful ceremony.
It sucks that the main emotion it brings out in me is envy, but it is what it is.
As Nate and Ru walk down the aisle together, hand in hand, I stand and clap for them like everyone else. I smile and shout in congratulations.
I bury that envy and that longing so no one can possibly see it.
And when people begin walking out behind the happy couple, for a moment, my gaze collides with sweet brown eyes, and for that miniscule moment, I can’t hide.
I honestly wish I could say I’ve been nervous all day, thinking about the moment Noah’s going to walk through the frosted glass doors of my office and render me speechless with one of his smiles.
That was today’s plan.
But nothing went according to plan from the moment I woke up.
One of my investments, Rosy Cheeks, went viral. It’s an amazing company, owned by two retired sisters, which makes specialized sunscreen that has the added benefit of working as skincare.
I love it when one of my little companies goes viral.
Normally.
Today it meant spending two hours with the Norwood sisters, talking them down from a panic.
Getting over a hundred thousand orders overnight isn’t all fun and games, they actually have to deliver.
They also, suddenly, need media training.
My team is great, and they’re on it, making sure we’re doing everything we can to support their new, bigger production chain, while my PR department is putting together a plan and a packet for the press.
But talking to the sisters is my job. Reassuring them, talking them through this huge change in their lives, that’s all up to me.
They’re the only company I’ve invested in that’s not tech, boating, or utility based, so I’ve got a lot riding on this too.
I’m the general partner of Knight-In—yes, the name of my company is a pun, but it was right fucking there—and in more than two decades of business, I’ve never needed limited partners.
I’ve always put up my own money to finance smaller businesses, and thanks to Ru’s company, my personal wealth keeps growing steadily, which means I can stay as independent as possible with Knight-In.
Even with a huge portfolio of investments, I still make sure to be the person of contact for my investments for at least five years.
I don’t offer my money to just anyone, I’m actually rather conservative when it comes to our business, which makes some of my directors twitch, but fact is we’ve never been in the red.
All of this to say that when Noah does step into my office after being led in by Elsa, the best assistant in the world, I know my hair is a mess, my tie’s askew, my shirt is wrinkled, and my eyes are probably beaming with an insane glint.
Not my best impression.
He stops one step into the office, looking adorable and awkward but still too beautiful to do him justice with simple words.
His curls are somewhat tame, his glasses just a tiny bit askew, but his navy blue jacket looks perfectly pressed. His crisp white shirt also doesn’t have a single wrinkle, but I’m surprised he’s wearing jeans.
When he shifts the strap of his bag on his shoulder, I realize I’ve been staring, drinking in every detail of him, for who knows how long. I snap into action and walk around the desk.
“Yes, that’s fine. More than fine,” I correct myself. Am I speaking too loudly? Too fast?
Yeah, probably.
I stop moving and suck in a deep breath, trying to calm my mind and . . . arms. God, why are my arms twitching?
“Hello, Noah.” That’s more like it. “Thank you for coming. I’m afraid my day has been hectic, so I haven’t had any time to order lunch.
Can you tell me what you’d like so I can ask Elsa to fetch it for us?
” After so many years living in the UK, there are some things I’ve picked up, just a few words here and there that don’t sound foreign anymore.
I shuffle the million papers on my desk until I find the menu for the cafeteria in the high-rise that houses Knight-In, and realize Noah’s still stuck in place when I find it.
More hesitant than I have any right to be, I walk over and hold it out for him.
He stares at it like it’s about to explode, until he too inhales sharply and takes it.
I gesture to the round table I have in the corner of my office, right by the windows, and nod at him.
“Please, make yourself at home.”
“Thanks,” he says, his voice so soft I have to strain to hear it.
I hurry back to my desk and wake up my computer, find the file with all the publishing offers I’ve gotten over the past few years, and send them over to the printer that’s hidden in the cabinet on the far left wall.
“Uh, I—” I whirl around at the sound of his voice, stronger now, and wait for him to speak when he cuts himself off.
He looks painfully awkward, and I know it’s my fault.
I know I didn’t greet him like I should’ve, that I’m a huge mess, and that’s probably the last thing he needs from a potential client.
“Should I go out and tell Elsa what I’ve chosen or . . .”
I barely resist smacking myself in the face.
“Yes, sorry.” I push the intercom button. “Elsa, sorry, can you come in here for a moment?”
She doesn’t answer, she never does. Instead, the door opens a few seconds later, and she stares at me with an exasperation and fondness she doesn’t bother to hide.
“Can you get us some lunch? The usual for me, and Mr. Ellington has chosen what he wants.”
She nods once at me and walks over to where Noah’s sitting at the table.
“What would you like, young man?”
I hide my smile by staring at my monitor. She’s such a mother hen, in the best of ways, and I’m not delusional enough to believe I’d be anywhere near where I am without her.
I silence all notifications from both my computer and phone, and leaving the phone on the desk, I walk over to the cabinet and get the printed offers before going over to Noah.
Every step is an opportunity to overthink where I should sit, and I choose to leave one chair between us. That seems best.
Elsa takes her leave to commandeer one of her own two assistants to get lunch for us—her included—so I know I have at least twenty minutes where I won’t have the reprieve of an outside interruption.
Twenty minutes. I can do that.
I can ignore how gorgeous Noah is for a third of an hour. I’ve done harder things.
“Thanks for meeting me here,” I start, desperate to regain some composure. “I apologize for not being ready for our meeting, I promise I’m more put together most days.”
His smile is just a little tense, but it’s a smile nonetheless.
“I work with authors who don’t know what day of the week it is most days.” He waves a hand carelessly. “I’m not under the impression that running a company like Knight-In is stress free, so no worries at all.”
I clear my throat, happy to have that out of the way, and pass him the offers.
“Here are the offers that I’ve gotten in the last few years. I think turning fifty was like a Bat signal or something.”
My shoulders relax at his amused chuckle—it doesn’t sound fake, thank God—and he spreads out the five papers on the table to look them all over.
“The big five,” he murmurs. “I didn’t expect any less for a man of your stature.”
I decide to take it as a compliment, and not something to be alienated for—even if I would understand that.
“Yes, well. I didn’t go looking for them, and I understand that’s more than likely a good thing, but I never imagined myself writing a book, let alone an autobiography.
I’m positive I’m not qualified in any way, shape, or form except that the subject is my life.
I’ve never believed my existence has been all that interesting either, but all five publishing houses have stayed in contact since each made their first proposal, so it’s something that’s been on my mind.
In all honesty, I’m still not sure this is something I want to do, but I figure it’s worth talking about it with someone who knows more about this business than I do. ”
“That’s smart,” he murmurs, and looks up once he’s seemingly done reading the offers. He sits up straight and nods once before leaning in a little, and this, I realize, is Noah the professional, Noah the agent.
I don’t know why, but that just made him ten times more attractive—I didn’t think that was possible.
“A lot of autobiographies are actually written by ghostwriters. It’s a standard enough practice that it wouldn’t necessarily surprise anyone.
What’s more important here is that most of these offers are carte blanche.
Yes, there’s the implication of the book being an autobiography, but from what I can see you can write about any part of your life that you want.
“I can certainly put together a list of ghostwriters who’ve been great collaborators on best-selling autobiographies for you, and you can do your own research. But what I think might be more important in the meantime is that you think about what story you want to tell.
“By story, I don’t mean fictitious in any way.
I mean, do you want to tell the world how you built Knight-In?
Or maybe the more important lessons you’ve learned about business?
If you do this, it’s going to be something that will forever be linked to your name, to your legacy.
I suggest you treat it like you would a potential investment, and look at it from all angles. ”
I’m speechless for a long moment. I hadn’t thought of this as something that could be a part of my legacy.
I hadn’t thought of it at all beyond how everyone around me seems to think this is something I should do.
I’m not particularly malleable, or easily manipulated, but I know that when the people who know you best all agree, you should probably listen to them.
“All right, talk me through some options please.”
Suddenly, twenty minutes doesn’t seem like nearly enough.