Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Chase
Grant parks on the departures level at the airport and gets out to get Noah’s suitcase from the back.
I tighten my grip on Noah’s hand to get him to stay in here just for another second.
I’m hoping he’s going to take the news that I’ve upgraded him well, but since we’ve been official for not even twenty-four hours, there’s no way to know for sure.
He might be one of those people who genuinely hates surprises, but he hasn’t given me that impression.
I’ll find out as soon as I gather the courage to actually tell him.
I suck in an audible breath then finally look him in the eyes.
“After we signed the contract yesterday and we went by your place so you could pack, I upgraded your flight.”
“Wh-what?” he asks quietly, but I still can’t get a gauge on how mad and or happy he is about it.
“I was doing your checkin, remember? While you were packing. And I saw you had like, the worst possible seat. Dead last row, in the middle of the middle seats. I know not asking you was probably not right, but in the moment, I just wanted to surprise you and help you to have a good flight so you’re ready to work once you actually get to the States. ”
“Chase,” he whispers, then trails off. His mouth opens and closes a few times while I wait with bated breath and my heart in my throat.
He throws himself at me, climbs fully into my lap.
The five minutes we spend making out in the back of the car is what I remember the most when I get back home late every night for the next ten days. It’s what keeps me going when I inexplicably miss Noah like a limb while he’s away.
I’ve known him less than six months . . . three actually, if you want to be generous, but he’s already the one thing I think about most on any given day. And if I’m honest with myself, he has been for almost as long as I’ve known him.
Reminding myself of our age difference helped right up until the moment when I realized it doesn’t matter.
He’s not only a capable, responsible man, but he’s also so aware of who he is, so incredibly passionate about his work, that I know he’s capable of understanding how I feel about my own work.
Yes, we’ve joked about his love for ancient things, but that’s yet another thing I never thought we’d have in common when Nate first introduced us in Ibiza.
So while he’s away, we of course stay in touch, text as much as possible with six hours’ time difference—sometimes seven or eight—and two busy schedules.
As per our agreement, I make sure one office in my building is set up for him. It’s one of the smallest units, but it’s on the floor right below my own headquarters, and it has a functional kitchenette, a spacious meeting room, and plenty of space for an assistant.
Which is the second thing I tackle with the help of Elsa—she really is the most valuable employee I’ve ever had.
She helps me shorten a list of potential assistants for Noah, and vets them while we wait to set up dates for interviews with them when he gets back.
My operations department gets the licensing and all that bureaucratic bullshit done in record time, so by the time Noah gets back, his agency—Ellington Literary—is registered, and it even has a bare-bones website.
Most importantly, Noah now has an official email, and everything else he needs to send out contracts to the four authors who were already his clients.
His eyes shine with unshed tears of pride when he finally gets back and sees all the progress we’ve made.
The first order of business is a shiny literary representation contract with both our names on it. It’s waiting on his new glass desk.
A single tear escapes when he picks it up and reads through it.
“Ready to do this?” I ask, holding out a pen for him when he looks back up at me.
“I’ve never been more ready.”
We both sign, and then seal it with a kiss that starts to get out of control way too fast.
Sadly we don’t have time to christen his office—though I’ll be sure we find the time, and soon—so I pull back, but I have to kiss him just one more time before finally stepping back fully.
Setting up his office has taken a lot of my time the past week, so I do have to get back to work.
“There’s a file with all the CVs of the candidates we found for you, but of course you can look for other options if that’s what you want.
” I ramble on. “I think it’s really important that you hire someone to help out soon, even if you think you have this handled by yourself.
It’s always good to have someone here to at least bring you lunch, remind you of appointments, that sort of thing.
It will also help when you have to call the publishing houses, you know? Make it sound all official?”
“Because it is official,” he says with a huge smile pointed up at me. Then he looks around in amazement at the admittedly bare office. “I’m going to order some bookshelves,” he declares, and I know he’s got it under control.
As per our agreement, he has access to our IT, HR, operations, and financial department to help him out. He has to familiarize himself with our systems and finally get those other contracts signed, so I leave him to it.
I do make sure he knows how to call directly up to my office, or to Elsa, if he needs help with anything before I leave.
Six hours later, I’m still buzzing with the thrill of a new project being underway, and feeling like being a little cheeky, I call down to his office instead of just going down.
“Mr. Ellington,” I say, voice mock serious.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Knightly?” he asks, trying to sound serious too but failing just like me.
“I’m hoping I’m catching you at the end of a productive workday?”
“You are,” he says smoothly. “I just received the signed contract of my third client.”
“Really?” I drop the act, wanting to hear all about it, but then I remember the purpose of the call. “Wait, tell me over dinner. I’ve made reservations for us. Are you done for the day?”
“Sure, I could be done.” There’s nerves in his voice now, which melt me in my chair. What does he have to be nervous about? “What time is the reservation?”
“Whenever we get there,” I tell him simply.
A short, sharp chuckle comes through the receiver.
“Of course it is,” he says, and thankfully the nerves are gone. “I’m actually starved, so I can meet you downstairs.”
“Appreciate it, Mr. Ellington.”
Another snort comes through before the line goes dead.
“Good evening, Mr. Knightly, right this way.” The host greets me then offers Noah a polite smile.
I keep his hand gripped tightly in mine as we walk to the back, to the table right by the windows offering a spectacular view of London.
It’s not private at all, but I want to show Noah off a little.
“Tell me about your day,” I murmur when we’re both finally sitting and drinks have been ordered.
I bring his hand up to my lips and kiss his knuckles while keeping my gaze right on his pretty brown eyes.
“I called my clients while I was familiarizing myself with my desk and setting everything up . . .” He starts out slow, but then gets into it and spares no details.
A smile spreads on my face just from seeing him so happy, just from listening to his ideas. I can see the enthusiasm he has for his job practically pouring out of his skin.
“And then I started looking at the CVs you left for me,” he says, right when our dinner arrives, but he picks right back up when the waiter leaves.
“I’m excited to contact a few of them who look promising and get some help, though it’s going to take some time.
There’s one in particular I have a good feeling about, but we’ll see when I meet them.
I’m so excited to order some furniture too.
I looked at some pieces online, and I’m ready to order the biggest bookshelf I could find. ”
He finally takes a breath and looks down at his plate, finally picks up his fork and tastes the beef Bourguignon. The little moan that makes it out of his mouth is cut short when he startles and looks up at me with wide, nervous eyes.
“That’s okay, right?”
“Of course that’s okay,” I assure him. “It’s your company, your office, you can do whatever you want.”
“No I can’t,” he says and rolls his eyes in a move I didn’t know could be adorable.
“Yes, actually. You can do whatever you want, and—”
“No, I have to answer to you. You’re my investor.”
“That means we talk every quarter, maybe for the first year, to talk about goals and metrics, but day-to-day you really can do whatever you want. Even when we have those meetings, you can still choose what we do and don’t do. I’m not exactly your boss. You are your own boss now, Noah.”
He doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, and when he pointedly turns his face down to stare intently at his plate, I let him. I let him stay silent for a few minutes until I reach for his hand again and tell him about my day.
I let him process my words, even while he listens to everything I did and asks interesting questions.
He wants to know more about what I do, and I have no problems whatsoever talking about it. I love it after all.
When we’re done and walking out, I stop us by the curb while we wait for Grant. I pull him flush against me and cup his cheek, bringing our mouths almost close enough to kiss.
“Will you come home with me again?” I whisper.
“Yes,” he says simply, then sighs into the kiss.