Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Chase
If the only good thing that comes out of writing this damn thing is having endless excuses to be around Noah, it’ll be completely worth it.
Obviously, telling him that I’ll choose him as my agent takes a weight off his shoulders, but I honestly didn’t know he thought I’d pick anyone else.
He goes off to get his laptop so we can officially get to work after lunch, and that gives me a good few minutes to think about it from his perspective.
If someone who I was trying to go into business with tried to kiss me, and I flinched away so hard they felt like they needed to run away, I guess I’d have some doubts too.
So I’m glad that’s out of the way and hopefully out of his mind.
We spend a few hours in the library, talking about what’s normally expected in an autobiography. I grumble each time he points out stuff that Gab’s autobiography had that was simply brilliant, but it’s good-natured and Noah giggles every time I do, so I’m obviously not going to stop.
After a few hours, I have a handful of new biographies on my e-reader and Noah has promised to stay a few days more so we can figure this out.
But then we have dinner and I rejoice every second.
He talks about books like they’re the most fascinating thing to ever exist, and as words spill out of his mouth, he has me agreeing.
The passion and intelligence he speaks with is enough to have me creeping dangerously close to the line that separates infatuation and attraction from more.
I ask every question I can think of, trying to extend our time talking, but soon enough we’re both yawning.
The reluctance I feel to separate has me opening my mouth to ask him to sleep next to me, or maybe for a nightcap, but I snap my lips shut and nod a wordless goodbye.
He’d for sure tell me no, and it would probably sting worse this time as well as make him uncomfortable.
Noah’s made his limits clear, and I don’t only have to respect that, but I want to.
Lying in bed, I come to the conclusion that respecting him and his choices doesn’t mean I can’t try to . . . woo him.
In small non-invasive and non-aggressive ways.
Like making sure his tea is exactly right the next morning when he joins me for breakfast.
Like thinking about a dozen more questions to ask him when we get back to brainstorming.
Like reading the damn biographies because I can obviously see it’s important to him that I do.
I start taking the project more seriously than I ever thought I would, even while I still feel like it’s a bad idea, like it’s all going to come bite me in the ass the way few things ever have.
“This one . . .” I show him the cover of the book I started reading last night. “Doesn’t really touch on any family ties. Is that why you recommended it?”
I know the answer already, but again, I love to hear him speak. Sure enough, he sits taller in the armchair by the fireplace and his whole face brightens.
“Actually, all of them are kind of like that, and they were all hugely successful.”
“That was clever of you,” I murmur, and a thrill goes down my spine at how pleased he is at the praise.
“I think if you start off with a quick introduction where you explain why you studied business at uni, then you can move straight to when you founded Knight-In. There’s no need to get personal there, except if there are any experiences or lessons you had when you were younger that gave you this idea.
Maybe someone you admire talked about venture capital? "
“I studied business because that’s what was expected of me,” I grumble, my voice slightly petulant. Noah doesn’t mind, he just builds on my words.
“You could touch on that, on the expectations you grew up with, without going into personal or emotional details regarding your childhood.”
My childhood isn’t really the problem, but I don’t say that. Instead, I think about what experiences actually impacted my decision to start Knight-In.
“My grandfather loved investing in small businesses in his spare time during his working life,” I confess.
“ And then more as a hobby when he retired and my father stepped up as the head of the family company, which worked with exported and imported goods and had nothing to do with investing at all.”
I take a moment, wondering whether I can get through explaining this part of my story to Noah without mentioning the falling-out with my brother. If I can, then maybe I can do it in the book as well.
I choose each word carefully, and watch his face closely. If there’s any hint that he can tell there’s more hidden between the lines, then I’ll just avoid the topic of family altogether.
“I don’t think there was a specific moment or conversation where it was made clear that I wouldn’t be the one to take over the company after my father.
It was never a surprise, never something I wished for.
It was always going to be my brother at the helm of Knightly & Co.
, and I was honestly fine with that. Before going to college, and even the first year or so, I was studying with the clear intent of still working for our company, taking some high-ranking position and just helping grow it however I could.
“I did have that loyalty to it, and to some degree I still do. It’s still one of the top export companies in the world for a reason.
But my grandfather got sick during the summer between my freshman and sophomore year, and I spent a lot of time with him.
He always talked about those small businesses he helped when they needed capital or were going under.
That’s what he remembered the most and was the most excited about in his last few months.
I guess that did change something in me.
“When I eventually graduated and my father died unexpectedly, I decided it was time to try and make my own mark in the world, and I thought doing it like Grandpa did was the best way to honor him.”
There’s a stretch of silence once I’m done—not an uncomfortable one, not really. It’s more like the room is settling again after a purge.
My sight comes back to focus on Noah, on his slightly parted rosy pink lips, on his soft eyes.
I spaced out so hard that I don’t know if he caught on to how much I didn’t say, and it feels wrong to ask now for some reason.
One thing I do know is that I don’t want to be the first to break the silence.
I want to keep looking at Noah, in my home, comfortable and lost in his own head.
He fits here.
Among ancient things, I think to myself, amused.
It’s easy to imagine a life where I get to come home to this, to picture endless days of conversations by the fireplace in the library that enticed him.
Those pretty eyes shift, like he’s surfacing, and my gaze shifts to his lips again when he closes his mouth.
His throat bobs with a hard swallow, and then he licks his bottom lip delicately.
I bite my own without even thinking about it, without the intention, and his eyes go dark with clear desire.
Oh, he’s interested.
I don’t know what’s holding him back, why he’s reserved and so obviously hesitant to accept any moves from me.
But he’s interested.
And that I can work with.