Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Chase
On my way up in the elevator, I give myself a stern lecture.
No matter what is said, you will not ask about Noah. Even if he comes up in conversation, you will be normal about him. You’ll focus tonight on asking Nate and Ru about their honeymoon and not on the conversation about your meeting with Noah.
I feel somewhat ready when the elevator doors open right into their foyer.
London’s night skyline greets me, and maybe it helps me calm down more than the pathetic pep talk.
“Chase!” Nate’s loud voice comes from the entrance to the kitchen just off to the left. He opens his arms wide for a hug as he walks over, and pulls a chuckle out of me when he hugs me as if it’s been years since I’ve seen him and not only a month.
“Hello, Nathaniel,” I say just to annoy him.
His exaggerated huff tells me I only succeeded a little bit. When I get a good look at him and see his wide smile and tanned face, I figure there’s few things that would truly annoy him right now.
“Come to the kitchen with me, they’re just nerding out over some of the books Ru has here.”
Equal amounts of dread and hope fill me.
“They?” I ask, and I don’t manage to keep the emotions out of my voice. That’s more than apparent when Nate turns back to look at me with a confused raised brow.
“Yeah, Ru and Noah.” He shrugs and keeps walking like he didn’t just ruin my plans for a normal evening—an evening where I act like a human who knows how to interact with other humans.
Noah’s been on my mind for days on end.
Not only because of the possibility of signing him on as my agent, and though that shames me just a little bit, no one but me knows, so who really cares?
There’s no reason why anyone should know how much I wanted to take his hand and tell his awful boss off.
Or how much I wanted to kiss him goodbye.
I haven’t had much time to research the ghostwriters or read the samples Noah sent my way, so there’s been no rational reason for me to contact him beyond an email where I promised to do so as soon as I had more of an idea of what I want to do.
So I’ve been reduced to pining in the very few free minutes I have every day.
Between one investment falling through and another one having gotten into a few problems with their supply chain, I really haven’t had the time for anything else.
That doesn’t mean I don’t offer Noah an apologetic smile when he and Ru enter the dining room.
“Nice to see you again,” I start, and hate that I have to offer him a hand to shake. It seems so . . . banal.
“You too,” he says, and doesn’t look or sound like he’s bothered by my extended silence at all.
“Work has been insane,” I explain anyway. “I promise I’m still trying to look into all the ghostwriters to move everything along.”
He waves a hand carelessly.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be ready when you are.”
“Ghostwriter?” Ru asks, turning to me. “So, you will be writing that autobiography?”
“Looks like it.” I do my best not to sound put off by it, but the idea still doesn’t sit perfectly with me.
I have no idea why, though.
“Talk about it when we’re all sitting and eating, please,” Nate says with an air of impatience, as he carries a big platter to the table.
We all dutifully move back and then help bring the rest of the dishes over.
“Okay, now you can talk about it,” Nate says, with an air of arrogance he always manages to pull off as endearing instead of assholish.
“I think Noah’s best to explain it, actually.”
It not only gets me out of talking about something I’m unsure about, but also has the added benefit that I get to hear Noah’s excited and confident explanation.
Soon enough, though, he changes the subject to the happy couple’s honeymoon.
“It was amazing,” Nate gushes. “Ru finally got to be a tourist in Sydney and Melbourne since he couldn’t when we met, and then I took him to all my old haunts back home.”
“It was . . . enlightening,” Ru says. His extra wide eyes betray his seriousness, but Nate still swats at his shoulder playfully.
“I made it up to you by making Spain the last stop.” He turns to us then. “We went to this vineyard we like, Gran Amor. We’ve gone before, but it was still amazing and we got to have a lot more alone time.”
He leers at Ru in an overly suggestive way that has me shaking my head at him.
Dinner’s delicious since it was catered, and of course I enjoy catching up with them, but throughout it all I’m overly aware of Noah’s presence just a foot or two away from me.
I pay enough attention to him to memorize his laugh, to notice how it’s only halfway through their tale that his shoulders really drop and he allows himself to be present and enjoy the time with friends.
By the end of the night, the thought of being Noah’s friend is both a dream scenario and my worst nightmare.
I’m aware that my thoughts are insane, and I feel like it too, but nothing I do helps. No matter how many glasses of that Gran Amor rioja, how many funny stories are passed around, or how at home I should feel, I’m still . . . twitchy.
It’s annoying.
So I try to compensate for my weird mood by thanking Nate and Ru profusely for the invite, for dinner, and promise to do this again soon.
While Noah and I wait for the elevator, I wonder why they invited the two of us together after they got back from their trip. Why not invite us individually, or a larger group of friends?
It dawns on me too late.
The elevator doors close on Nate’s knowing smirk and Ru’s pinched brows and I have my answer.
I don’t love their meddling, but since the air turns charged as fast as a lightswitch once we’re alone, it’s not like I can proclaim they’re wrong now, can I?
First, I wonder if it’s just me.
I know when Noah’s taking a deep breath, or he shifts ever so slightly on his feet.
It’s not a minutes-long descent, so I know that if I’m going to do anything, it has to be like, now.
I turn before I can even decide if it’s wise, and I must’ve done it way too fast, because Noah’s eyes, wide and surprised, peer up at me with an almost scared anticipation.
There’s desire in them, and that’s the only reason why I have the fucking audacity to close the space between us. Or why I dare lift my hand and cup his jaw.
“Noah,” I whisper, asking for . . . something more.
“Yeah?” he asks, just as softly.
It’s not the confirmation I was looking for, but then his eyes turn downward to my lips.
I don’t hesitate, really, I just go right in, but I can see how he jerks back in slow motion.
I register every painful millisecond of the stinging rejection, and shame fills me with a vengeance.
I close my eyes, turn away, trying to breathe enough oxygen into my brain so I can come up with something to say.
But then the doors open, and the escape route is too tantalizing to turn away.