Chapter 4
Olivia
I look back over my shoulder to find Noah sitting at a table by the window. “I didn’t realize anyone else was in here.” I turn, feeling trapped between him, the door, and a quick getaway.
“You didn’t find me so easy to ignore before.” There’s no offense written in his expression, though that surprises me since all he does is offend me personally. But then he cocks a brow, and that just sends my blood pressure through the roof.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I reply, “Everything doesn’t have to be an innuendo back to that night in the Hamptons.”
He chuckles to himself, his gaze locked on me like I might escape. It’s tempting. “When I said before, I meant yesterday at work.” He rests his arms on the table, leaning forward. “Glad to know you remember more than you tried to forget. So do I.”
“Pfft.” I try to play it off, but my annoyance with him has my eyes rolling again. “Is this what we’re going to do every time we see each other?”
“Travel down memory lane?” He gives me a wink.
Ugh. “Talk about a night I can’t imagine you remember much more than I do. Was it whiskey or scotch you were drinking that night?”
“Whiskey.” He sits back again, amusement bright in his eyes as he stares into mine. It’s a look that got him laid the night we met. That bonfire flickering in his eyes set my soul on fire for a few hours. I won’t tell him that, but I look away from him now. I’d hate to fall prey once again.
He pushes a plastic bowl toward me. “It’s not much, but it’s yours if you’re hungry.”
“That’s okay. Thanks.” I walk to the door, and my stomach, being the traitor it is, growls loud enough that the tourists on Liberty Island could probably hear. When I grab the handle, the bell chimes above my head.
“It’s okay to break bread with the enemy,” he says to my back.
I glance at the salad, then at him again. “That’s legit not a rule of war. Breaking bread brings people together.”
“It’s a salad, Liv. Take it or leave it, but I’m not waving a white flag for you.”
“Olivia,” I correct with an edge to my tone. The sharpness comes easily these days. I’ve tried to temper it, but after the hellscape I’ve been navigating over the past few months, it’s felt more permanent as of late.
“It’s a salad, Olivia, not a surrender on your part either.” He pushes it a few inches closer to me.
Is this the battle I want to fight? No.
I let the door close and move to the table. Standing, he signals to the chair across from him. “Would you like to join me?”
“No, I wouldn’t like that,” I reply softer.
The words fall off my dull-edged tongue because I’m less sure of myself.
I should take the opportunity to get to know him, but I can’t.
Not yet. I’m still trying to figure out how I might tell this man about Maxwell, so having a meal with him feels like it’s too soon without a plan.
I still take the salad since he’s offering it, and I’m starving. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I can’t help but notice how handsome and relaxed he is in the diffused light from the window, the world passing by outside giving him a little privacy in the middle of the busy workday. “Seems you’re settling right into the office and the neighborhood.”
“It sounds like there’s a question in there.” He shifts, glancing at the deli guys busy cleaning the floors. “The office, yes. I was hungry, so I took a walk and found this place. It’s a good pastrami, Antonio,” he calls out.
Antonio lifts his head with a wide grin. “Best in town, Noah. Tell your friends.”
“Will do.” The smile on Noah’s face reminds me of that night on the beach. That smile tempts me to sit down and eat the salad with him. What can I say? It’s a really great smile.
And that would be my cue to go. Taking a step toward the door again, I thumb over my shoulder. “I have hours of work left to finish before the end of the day.” I hold the container up. “Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome.” He stands, crumpling the sandwich paper and holding his drink to take a sip. “I need to get back as well.”
Flashes of the gossip that would be created populate my brain.
That’s not a situation I want to be in—us walking in together would just stir the already swirling pot, making us the hot new topic.
“See you later.” I rush out the door, not sure why I even hung around in the first place.
I must be delirious. Clearly, I need food to cure me.
I hear the door chime behind me but keep my gaze ahead while walking. Unfortunately, I’m caught at the crosswalk and start admonishing myself for lingering at the deli. I could have been long gone, but instead . . . I’m stuck next to him.
Do I make small talk? No. Don’t even look at him. Keep your eyes forward, Liv.
“Hello again,” Noah says from beside me.
“Hi,” I reply, gazing at the crosswalk sign ahead.
I see him rock back on his heels in my periphery, and then he comments, “This game would be easier to play if I understood your rigid rules.”
My mouth falls open before I snap, “My rigid rules? Uh, no. I’m not taking the fall in your mind or otherwise. Asking to keep things professional isn’t being rigid.”
“You told me to quit in the best interest of the company. You’re playing a game, Ms. Bancroft. I’m just simply asking for the rules to get a fair chance—”
“To win?” I turn to him, and my head falls back from the epic eye roll he’s caused. Leveling my gaze on him, I ask, “Is that all you care about, Mr. Westcott?”
“You have made assumption after assumption about me since we saw each other in the conference room. I have no idea why you seem to have it out for me, so I thought it only fair to at least know the rules by which we’re playing.”
“Is everything a lighthearted game to you?” I shake my head. “It’s not to me.” Shoving the salad against his chest, I say, “I’d rather go hungry.”
The crosswalk changes from stop to go, so I go. There’s no point having a conversation in the middle of Manhattan for the whole world to hear. Because if there’s one thing I know, I’m not a fool for his Mr. Nice Guy act.
“You’re embarrassed because we’ve slept together. I get it.”
I turn back so fast that I wobble on a heel. “I’m not embarrassed.”
“Then what is it?”
“You. You existing, Noah, here in my world.”
A horn causes me to jump, stumbling into his arms. I look up into those eyes that are even better when in proximity, the feel of his strong arms holding me in safety—Oh God, no! I don’t think so. Not today. Not ever!
My breathing slows as I push away, our gazes unlatching as I turn to move from the entrance to the alley to the sidewalk again.
I head for the doors, having no interest in discussing this with him or talking about anything with him.
The enemy, I remind myself. He’s the man who can take Maxwell from me.
“You’re mad at me for existing?” The door is pulled open as soon as I reach it. Ugh. He wouldn’t be so quick on his feet if he had to wear heels like me.
I enter the lobby, walking and talking. “You’re welcome to exist, but why must it be in my space?” I flash my badge at the guard and head to the bank of elevators.
“I didn’t know you worked at Bancroft & Lowe. I also had no idea you were a Bancroft before showing up yesterday. How would I? First names only. No strings attached. Remember, Liv? That was the deal we made.”
Stopping for what feels like the hundredth time in the span of three minutes, I turn to him again. I’m glad the lobby is practically empty. I wouldn’t want witnesses. “What did you mean when you said you get it? What do you get?”
“I get that you never expected to see me again.” He’s not wrong. He leans in, but he’s smooth enough to keep it slight enough for no one else to notice. “But here I am, sweetheart, so you’ll need to learn to live with it. I have no intention of quitting.”
The sound of his shoes bounces off the slick floors before I can swallow his words. “Intentions are empty without actions to back it.”
His feet halt, and I see the flicker of his hand fisting. Does it feel good to know I’ve gotten to him? Why yes, yes, it does.
Noah starts walking again, not bothering to reply.
As my gaze travels past him, it’s then that I realize he’s going to ride up to the office with me, exactly what I’m looking to avoid.
It’s fine. I’ll just let him catch the first available elevator.
I walk to the bank and wait. Just the two of us with ten feet keeping us apart.
I wish I could stand the silence, but I’m kind of bothered by his lack of response, and because I’m curious, I ask, “So you wouldn’t have taken the job if you had known I worked here? ”
He slowly turns to look at me over his shoulder. “Why do you think I took this job? To make your life hell? No, sorry, but this isn’t about you, Olivia.”
“Oh, now you remember my name.” Figures.
“I remember more than your name, babe.”
His smirk punctures the air, causing my body to riot against my sensible head.
I definitely remember more than his name, too.
That’s the problem. I remember everything so vividly.
I remember how he made me feel alive, wanted, sexy.
I felt like a woman instead of a side piece, whole instead of underestimated.
If not careful, Noah Westcott is dangerous to my resolve.
Then he opens his mouth, and says, “You better get used to this mug because it’s here to haunt you.” And I have no problem remembering why we should never work together.
A scream rages through my veins, but I don’t release it. I won’t let him revel in my anger. “Screw you, Westcott.”
“Already been there and done you, Bancroft, but thanks for the offer.” The elevator that opens is right in front of him. Naturally. Damn him.
He waves me in. “You can take this one.”
I don’t hesitate. I pass him quickly and punch the button for the forty-sixth floor, thrilled to have an empty elevator to blow off steam before I reach the office. “Don’t follow me upstairs.”
“Don’t act like I’m the stalker. You’re the one who tracked me down at the deli.” Those words leave his mouth just as the doors close, but I shove half my body out. “For your information, I did not stalk you at the deli. I missed lunch.”
Feeling better, I stand back up and straighten my jacket before punching the button to get these torturously slow doors to close.
As if he’s entertained, he wears a smug-ass smirk on his stupid face. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“I barely sleep at night, so stalking you won’t help the situation.” Oh my God, why am I blabbering to him? Ignore him.
Speaking of buttons, he’s pushed every one of mine.
But when another man, a very attractive man around my age or maybe a few years older, well-groomed with his perfectly styled hair, clean-shaven face, and dark-gray suit that fits him to a T, steps on the elevator with me, I discover there actually are a few buttons left to push on Mr. Westcott as well.
With my eyes back on the jerk, I grin, knowing exactly how to end this. Just as the doors begin to close, I lick the corner of my lips, and ask the stranger, “Which floor are you going to?”
“Hold the elevator!”
Damn him.