Chapter 21 #2
Every person has their breaking point when they stop expecting things from the world.
I expected my sister to protect me from my parents before she walked out.
I expected my parents to protect me from Commerford that night after my sister left.
I expected Noah to protect me from my parents in Maupiti.
It took me a long time to realize that I have to rely on myself first, and if help comes after—good.
If not—I can manage myself. And Noah helped me realize that without knowing how much of a service he’d done.
I needed him to be quiet; I know that now. But I can’t say it. Not to him.
His dark and unreadable eyes follow my retreat. “Of course. Work.”
I almost run through the hallway, nearly knocking people down around me, and jump into the supply closet, escaping curious eyes.
I lean my back against the door and bump my head on it for good measure, cursing at myself for melting into a puddle when he said my name.
My hands are shaking as I press my palms against my cheeks, trying to cool the heat burning under my skin.
What the hell is wrong with me? A month ago, I hated Noah King.
I should still hate him. He’s arrogant, demanding, and makes my life hell on a daily basis.
The fact that he has scarred knuckles and a damaged soul doesn’t change any of that.
Him living the same trauma doesn’t change anything either.
Nor does him feeding me for the past week.
I’m not a homeless puppy, even though I could easily become one at some point.
But as I stand here in the dark supply closet, breathing in the scent of copy paper and toner cartridges, all I can think about is how his face lit up when I called his work brilliant and how that tiny dimple appeared on his cheek when a slow smile stretched his lips.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. It’s just a job. Noah King is just my boss. And whatever happened last night was just two people working late and getting caught up in a moment of tiredness.
When I finally emerge from the supply closet, armed with folders I don’t need, people have long forgotten about my disappearance.
When I walk back to my desk, I realize that Noah is gone.
His office door stands open, but the space is empty.
Relief and disappointment war in my chest, which is exactly the kind of contradictory nonsense I need to squash immediately.
Martin appears at my desk around eleven, his socks today are a blinding pattern of purple octopuses against a neon yellow background. I should probably buy him longer pants for Christmas.
“We survived the presentation!” he announces, dropping a pastry bag on my desk. “Celebratory croissant. Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned.”
“Thanks,” I say, peeking inside the bag. The buttery scent makes my stomach growl despite my emotional turmoil. “How do you know it went well?”
“Noah’s not throwing furniture, so I assumed.” He perches on the edge of my desk, his too-knowing eyes are trained on my face. “He seems different today. Almost pleasant.”
I focus intently on breaking off a piece of croissant. “Does he?”
“Don’t play coy, Bea. It doesn’t suit you. Or, actually, it does, but not with me.” Martin leans closer, lowering his voice. “What happened after I left last night?”
“Work happened,” I reply firmly. “We finished the project. That’s it.”
Martin’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Just work? With takeout and meaningful glances? And those stares at his wide chest?”
“There were no stares at his chest,” I protest, shoving more croissant in my mouth to avoid having to elaborate. “And how do you even know about the takeout?”
“Uh-huh.” He slides off my desk, straightening his tie. “Well, whatever didn’t happen last night, keep not doing it. Noah’s actually tolerable when he’s not being a complete asshole.”
Before I can respond, Noah’s voice cuts across the office. “Martin! Stop harassing my assistant and get back to your own work.”
When I glance up toward the voice, I find him walking our direction while looking at me with a stoic face. Our eyes meet for a heartbeat before he disappears back into his office, leaving me staring at the closed door and wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.
Martin grins, clearly delighted by whatever undercurrent he’s picking up on. “Yeah, definitely keep not doing whatever you’re not doing,” he says, winking before he saunters away.
I finish my croissant in peace, trying to convince myself that the flutter in my chest when Noah appeared means absolutely nothing.
I absolutely did not get excited after not seeing him for a whole seventy-three minutes.
Same with the coffee he brought me this morning and the way he said my name; all of that means nothing.
I’m just repeating my new mantra—it means nothing, it means nothing—when my phone chimes with a text. It’s Maeve, asking if I’m free for a quick lunch. I text back immediately, grateful for the distraction.
When noon rolls around, I knock on Noah’s office door to let him know I’m stepping out. He’s hunched over his drawing table with his sleeves rolled up in my favorite way and that intense focus that always makes his features sharper.
“I’m taking my lunch break out of the office today,” I announce, hovering in the doorway. “Call me if you need anything urgent.”
He looks up, his eyes taking a moment to focus on me like he’s coming back from somewhere far away. “Right. Lunch.” He glances at his watch, seeming surprised by the time. “You meeting someone?”
The question feels oddly personal after our carefully maintained distance all morning.
“Actually, yes. I am.”
His lips turn into one thin line. “Who?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Who?” he repeats, his tone sharper.
“What would HR say about this question, I wonder.”
“Who, Beatrice?” His hand on the desk forms a fist, and I glance at his face curiously, wondering what’s causing such a strong reaction.
“My sister,” I decide to say, because I don’t want another tantrum—the office hasn’t recovered from the last one.
He nods, relaxing his fist on the desk. “Tell Maeve I said hi.”
“You know I won’t,” I say before I can stop myself, and a small smile tugs at his lips.
“I suspected.” He turns back to his drawing, dismissing me, but as I turn to leave, he adds, “Don’t be late for the Newside project follow-up. Two o’clock.”
“I know my job, boss,” I throw back over my shoulder, unable to resist the familiar banter despite my best intentions. “I’m very qualified, don’t forget.”
I swear I hear him chuckle as I walk away, but when I glance back, he’s already buried in his work again.
The elevator ride down feels like decompression after spending the morning in the gravitational pull of Noah’s dark eyes and wide shoulders. I need this lunch with Maeve—need to remember who I am outside of this confusing dynamic with my boss that’s making my brain short-circuit on a daily basis.
I find Maeve at our usual spot, a tiny café three blocks from the King building where the sandwiches are awfully overpriced but the variety of coffee makes up for it, plus she’s paying, so who am I to refuse?
She’s already claimed a corner table, a green coat from her last collection draped over the back of her chair and her face lit with that glow that comes from being disgustingly happy in love.
“You look tired,” she says by way of greeting, pulling me into one of those warm hugs I’m still getting used to.
“Thanks, sister of the year,” I mutter, but hug her back, breathing in her familiar mango coconut perfume. “You look annoyingly radiant.”
“Marriage suits me.” She grins, sliding back into her seat. “How’s the job? Still threatening to murder your boss?”
I freeze with my menu halfway to my face. “What makes you think I ever wanted to murder him?”
Maeve raises an eyebrow. “Because the last time his name came up, you looked like you wanted to set him on fire and roast some marshmallows. And that was before you had to work for him. I can’t imagine Noah has become better because Ezra’s told me he’s a menace.”
“Well, things change,” I mutter, picking up a menu to hide my face and feeling Maeve’s eyes boring into me.
“What kind of things?” she asks, her voice dropping to that conspiratorial tone that always makes me feel like we’re teenagers sharing secrets instead of adult sisters who barely knew each other growing up.
“Work things,” I reply vaguely. “We had a big project deadline. We’re getting along better now.”
Maeve’s eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly disappear into her hairline. “Better? As in, you no longer want to strangle him with his own tie?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I say, but my voice lacks conviction even to my own ears. “He’s still demanding and difficult and completely unreasonable about coffee.”
“But?” Maeve prompts, leaning forward.
“But nothing,” I insist, grateful when the waiter appears to take our orders. I request a sandwich I’m not even hungry for, my stomach still in knots from this morning’s interaction with Noah.
When the waiter leaves, Maeve pins me with that look—the one that says she’s not letting this go. “Something happened.”
“Nothing happened,” I protest, but the words come out too rushed.
“Bea,” she says softer. “This is me you’re talking to. I know when you’re hiding something.”
I fidget with my napkin, twisting it into a mangled spiral. “We worked late on a project. That’s all.”
“Hmm.” Maeve takes a sip of her water, studying me over the rim of her glass. “And?”
“And nothing,” I insist, but the heat crawling up my neck betrays me. “We submitted the plans. They were approved. End of story.”
“So why are you blushing?”
“I’m not blushing,” I snap, pressing my glass with cold water to my cheek. “It’s hot in here.”
Maeve slowly leans back with rapidly widening eyes and a slightly open mouth. “Oh my gosh. You like him!”