Chapter 21 #3
“I do not!” The words come out too loud, causing the couple at the next table to glance our way. I lower my voice to a harsh whisper, shooting them an apologetic smile. “I don’t like Noah King. He’s arrogant and demanding and makes my life hell.”
“And yet,” Maeve says, tapping her perfectly manicured nail against the table, “you’re defending him. Just like Ezra said you did yesterday.”
I freeze. “Ezra told you about that?”
“Of course he did. We’re married. We tell each other things.” She tilts her head, and her expression softens. “He said you went full mama bear on him when he suggested you might need protection from Noah.”
I groan, burying my face in my hands. “I wasn’t defending Noah,” I insist, though the words sound hollow even to my own ears. “I was standing up for myself. Ezra was treating me like some delicate flower who couldn’t handle a grown man having a bad day.”
Maeve’s smile only widens. “And that’s the only reason you went off on my husband? Not because you didn’t like him suggesting Noah might be dangerous?”
I take a large gulp of water, buying myself some time to come up with an answer that doesn’t insult her husband. “Noah’s not dangerous,” I say finally. “He’s just intense.”
“Intense,” Maeve repeats, rolling the word around like she’s tasting it. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
Our food arrives, saving me from having to respond. I focus on my sandwich with far more attention than turkey on rye deserves, but Maeve isn’t letting this go.
“You know it’s okay if you do like him, right?” she says, her voice gentler now. “I mean, it’s complicated with the whole family situation, and we all know something happened in Maupiti that you refuse to talk about, but—”
“Nothing happened,” I cut her off, setting down my sandwich with more force than necessary. “Noah is my boss. That’s it.”
“Bea—”
“Besides,” I continue, ignoring her attempt to interrupt, “he’s exactly the kind of man I’ve been trying to avoid my entire life. Demanding, controlling, anger issues. Sound familiar?”
Maeve winces. “He’s not Dad.”
“I didn’t say he is Dad,” I explain quickly, poking at my sandwich. “But he has the same intensity. The same need to control everything around him.”
Maeve studies me for a moment with her eyes too knowing for comfort. “Noah’s not like that, not really. He’s actually—”
“Please don’t defend him,” I interrupt, holding up my hand. “I work with him every day. I see how he operates.”
“And yet you’re still there,” she points out. “Weeks in and you haven’t quit. That’s some kind of record for Noah’s assistants, I’ve heard.”
I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “The money’s good. And I need it.”
“Are things that bad?” Maeve’s expression shifts to concern, and I immediately regret bringing up my financial situation.
“Things are fine,” I lie, avoiding her eyes. The truth—that I’m one missed paycheck and one extra croissant away from disaster—would only make her offer help, and I’m done taking handouts. “Just trying to build up some savings.”
Maeve doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it slide, taking a bite of her salad before changing the subject. “Ezra and I are hosting a dinner on Thursday before Ezra gets buried with legal stuff with the city. Just family. Think of it like a Thanksgiving rehearsal. You should come.”
“Family dinner?” I repeat, feeling my stomach sinking to the very bottom. “As in, you, Ezra, and Noah?”
“And Martin,” she adds quickly. “He’s practically family. It’ll be fun.”
“That sounds like a recipe for disaster,” I mutter, pushing lettuce around my plate. I love Martin, I really do, but the man has no filter, and with him being so attentive and intuitive, he’ll pick something up between Noah and I and won’t let it go. I’m sure of that.
“Come on, it won’t be that bad.” Maeve reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “You and Noah seemed to be getting along better. Maybe this could be a chance to—”
“To what? Bond over dinner rolls while pretending we don’t want to throttle each other?” I pull my hand away, shaking my head. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
“Bea,” she places her cup on the table, “while you might want to throttle him, I think you might want to do so while you’re riding his face,” she adds in a serious tone, making me choke on the bite of my sandwich.
“Wha—the-khe—what—khe.”
“Are you okay?” she asks with no remorse in sight. In fact, she looks rather delighted with herself. “Need me to smack your back?”
“Maeve!” I start when I finally stop coughing. “What the hell?”
“What?” She blinks innocently. “Don’t pretend you don’t want to ride that King stallion. We all have been caught guilty—King men have magnetic personalities.” She giggles. “And of course, Martin called me the moment he left the office, so don’t try to convince me otherwise.”
Feeling my whole body heating up with embarrassment, I grab the glass of water and start chugging it, trying to suppress my desire to throw it at my sister’s head.
“So? Will you come?”
“No.” My tone is clipped. “My work and life are complicated enough without trying to survive your family dinner.”
“It’s your family too,” she says gently. “But I understand. The offer stands if you change your mind.”
We finish lunch with lighter conversation—her new fashion line, my tiny apartment’s latest maintenance disaster—and unspoken questions hovering between us.
“Are you going back to your studio?” I ask, while I try to steal a piece of chicken from her plate.
“Later. I need to go and meet with Jeff about a nonprofit gala I’m throwing next month.”
“He’ll be playing?”
“Of course.” She nods. “I wouldn’t want anyone else.”
Even though we work at the same building with only ten floors separating us, I’ve been to her studio only twice since I started working for King Developers, and was sort of looking forward to walking back to the office together today.
It feels nice to have a sister again, so maybe I should reconsider the dinner invitation.
When we hug goodbye outside the café, she holds on a little longer than usual.
“Just be careful, okay?” she says softly. “I know you think you have to prove you can handle everything on your own, but you don’t have to do it alone. You have me.”
I nod, not trusting my voice, and watch her disappear into the crowd of midday pedestrians.
The walk back to the office gives me time to rebuild my defenses, convince myself that whatever’s happening between Noah and me is just professional courtesy mixed with late-night vulnerability and my starvation for basic human interaction.
By the time I reach the King building, I’ve almost convinced myself it’s true.
The elevator ride up feels like ascending back into a pressure cooker. I check my reflection in the polished doors, making sure my armor is back in place—professional smile, shoulders squared, hair still perfectly twisted despite the early November wind.
When I step onto Noah’s floor, I can hear his voice from behind his closed office door. He’s on a call, his tone clipped and businesslike, completely different from the gentleness he used when he brought me coffee this morning.
I settle at my desk, pulling up the Newside files to prep for his two o’clock meeting. My fingers move automatically over the keyboard, but my mind keeps drifting to the way he said my name earlier as if it tasted different in his mouth than it used to.
“Stop it,” I mutter under my breath, forcing myself to focus on firing up emails about accounting and zoning requirements.
Noah’s office door opens, and I keep my eyes glued to my screen as he approaches my desk. I can feel him hovering again, his cologne making my pulse kick up despite my best efforts to remain unaffected.
“How was lunch?” he asks with something careful in his voice that makes me look up.
“Fine,” I reply, shuffling some papers around to look busy. “Just saw Maeve.”
“And how is my sister-in-law?” He leans against my desk, angling his body toward me in a way that might seem familiar.
I glance up, trying to ignore how good he looks with his tie loosened and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His forearms will become my demise one day. “She’s good. Invited me to a family dinner this Thursday.”
“Ah.” His expression shifts slightly. “The infamous King-Wrong dinner party.”
“Don’t worry, I declined,” I say quickly, looking back at my screen. “I figured we see enough of each other at work.”
Something flickers across his face—disappointment?—before his professional mask slips back into place. “Probably for the best.”
An awkward silence stretches between us, filled with all the things we never say but always dance around. I clear my throat and gesture to my computer. “The Newside project investors will be here in twenty minutes. I’ve updated the presentation with the new renderings. It’s in your email.”
“Good,” he says, but he doesn’t move away from my desk. Instead, he shifts slightly, dropping his voice. “About this morning—”
“We should focus on the meeting,” I interrupt while my little heart rate picks up excitedly. “The Newside project is a big deal.”
Noah studies me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching mine.
“Right. The meeting.” He straightens, adjusting his tie with sharp, precise movements that betray some inner tension. “I’ll be in my office reviewing the final numbers. We need this project to happen.”
I nod, watching him retreat behind his closed door. My hands are trembling slightly as I return to my keyboard, and I curse the way my body betrays me every time Noah gets too close, bringing his mouthwatering smell and bitable forearms into my starved orbit.
Twenty minutes later, the project investors arrive—three men in identical navy suits who look like they stepped out of a corporate handbook.
I escort them to the conference room, offering coffee and water with the polished professionalism that’s become my shield against everything complicated in my life.
Noah emerges from his office a fully transformed person.
Gone is the man who brought me coffee this morning, replaced by the smooth, confident architect who could charm money from a stone.
His presentation is flawless, his passion for the project evident in every gesture and every carefully chosen word.
I take notes from my seat in the corner, trying to focus on the technical details and zoning discussions instead of the way Noah’s hands move when he explains his vision. He’s brilliant at this—not just the design work, but the performance of selling dreams wrapped in steel and glass.
“The community integration aspect is particularly innovative,” one of the investors says, leaning forward with genuine interest. “Tell me more about the affordable housing component.”
Noah’s eyes find mine across the room for just a moment before he launches into an explanation of the mixed-income housing model.
And fuck me, but at this moment, I find my boss sexy.