Chapter 36
Bea
As soon as the elevator doors close, I slump against the wall, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. What am I doing? What are we doing?
I press the button for Maeve and Ezra’s floor. The elevator climbs while the intense conversation with Noah replays in my head on an endless loop.
His words echo in my mind, both a promise and a sweet threat.
And the worst part is, part of me doesn’t want it to be over, despite knowing how catastrophically stupid that is.
Even though it felt better than anything else I’ve experienced in my life, and I don’t just mean the physical aspect of it, though that was phenomenal.
But it’s also the connection I felt with him.
The peace I experienced when he held my hand.
The hope that blossomed deep in my core when he called me ‘mine.’
The elevator dings, and I straighten my shoulders, plastering on a smile that feels brittle enough to crack if I breathe wrong.
I need to get through this dinner without falling apart.
Me coming back here rather than talking to Noah shows me just how much I’m trying to avoid the confrontation with him.
Even despite needing to deflect Maeve’s questions about the Chanel bag and pretend that my entire world hasn’t been turned upside down in the span of twenty-four hours, I’d still rather be here.
When I walk back into the penthouse, all eyes turn to me. Martin’s practically vibrating with curiosity, Maeve’s gaze is laser-focused on my face, and even Ezra looks intrigued. Great.
“Is Noah okay?” Ezra asks, his voice carefully neutral.
“Fine,” I say, sliding back onto my stool and reaching for my wine glass. “Just tired, I think.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Martin’s smile is pure mischief. “And you’re just his concerned assistant making sure he got downstairs safely?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I am.” I meet his gaze steadily, challenging him to push further.
“Interesting,” he drawls.
Maeve sets a plate of risotto in front of me, her eyes never leaving my face. “So what’s the deal with Grandma’s Chanel?”
I force myself to take a bite of risotto, buying time. It’s delicious—creamy and perfectly cooked—but I can barely taste it through the panic rising in my throat.
“Nothing. Noah was just making a joke.” The lie feels awkward on my tongue. “It’s fine.”
“That didn’t sound like a joke,” Maeve persists, sliding into the seat beside me. “What happened to the bag, Bea?”
I take another bite, desperately searching for a convincing lie. “I had to get it repaired. The strap was fraying.”
Ezra’s eyebrows rise slightly. “And Noah knows about this because…?”
“Because I mentioned needing to take a long lunch for the repair,” I say, the words tumbling out too fast. “Noah’s very particular about the schedule. You know how he is.”
Maeve narrows her eyes, and I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. She’s always been able to tell when I’m lying, ever since we were kids and I’d steal her chocolate and deny it even when I was caught with my hand in a cookie jar.
“Uh-huh,” she says slowly. “And that’s why he offered to buy you the suit? Because he’s so concerned about your schedule?”
“It was a joke,” I insist, stabbing at my risotto with more force than necessary. “Can we please talk about something else?”
Martin leans forward, his chin propped on his hand. “Oh, I’m much more interested in this story. Noah King offering to buy an exclusive designer item for his assistant? That doesn’t sound like the tight-ass we all know and tolerate.”
I feel heat creeping up my neck. “It’s not like that.”
“Like what?” Martin’s eyes gleam with unholy delight. “I didn’t specify what that was. Interesting that your mind went there immediately.”
I want to crawl under the table and disappear.
Or better yet, rewind time to yesterday morning, before I decided to follow Noah to that warehouse and everything spiraled so spectacularly out of control.
One pitiful spoonful of risotto sits heavy in my stomach because anxiety is making it hard to swallow.
“Nothing happened,” I say firmly, meeting Martin’s gaze. “Noah’s just being Noah.”
“Oh, honey.” Martin’s smile is downright predatory now. “Something definitely happened. The question is what.”
Ezra clears his throat, and I send him a silent prayer of gratitude for the interruption. “Let’s ease up on the interrogation, shall we? Bea’s had a long day.”
“Right.” Maeve’s eyes narrow at me. “Handling Noah’s schedule while he was ‘home with food poisoning.’ The same food poisoning that apparently gives a person bruised knuckles and a black eye.”
I probably should have picked the standoff with Noah tonight instead of this because the conversation is spiraling, and I’m losing control of it fast. I need to redirect, to change the subject, to do anything but sit here while they piece together what happened.
“I have a headache,” I announce suddenly, pushing my plate away. “I think I should go home.”
“Without finishing your risotto?” Ezra looks genuinely disappointed, and I feel a twinge of guilt. A tiny one.
“It’s delicious,” I assure him. “I’m just not feeling well.”
“Food poisoning?” Martin suggests innocently.
I shoot him a withering look that could freeze hell. “Something like that.”
Maeve reaches out and touches my arm gently. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been off all evening.” Her brows draw together. “Or rather a whole week.”
The genuine concern in her voice makes my chest tight with guilt.
I hate lying to her, hate the way she’s looking at me with such worry.
But what’s the alternative? Tell her I spent the night taking care of her brother-in-law after he got beaten up at an underground fight club?
That I kissed him until I forgot my own name?
“I’m fine,” I lie, standing up from the counter. “Just tired. It’s been a crazy few days at work.”
“I’ll drive you home,” Ezra offers, already reaching for his keys.
“No!” The word comes out too sharp, too panicked. “I mean, no thank you. I’ll take a cab.”
Martin’s eyebrows practically disappear into his hairline. “You won’t let your brother-in-law drive you home? How mysterious.”
“It’s not mysterious,” I snap, my patience finally fraying completely. “I just want to be alone right now.”
The kitchen falls silent, and I realize I’ve revealed too much. The defensive edge in my voice, the way I’m practically vibrating with nervous energy—it all points to someone who’s hiding something big. Or just tired of the damn meddling.
“Okay,” Maeve says slowly, her blue eyes studying my face. “But you’ll text me when you get home?”
“I promise,” I say, grabbing my purse from the counter. “Thanks for dinner.”
Maeve walks me to the door, keeping her arm linked through mine. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” she says quietly, once we’re out of earshot of the others. “I’m on your side. Always.”
The lump in my throat grows painful. “I know.”
“Is it about Noah?” she asks, her voice dropping even lower. “Because if something happened between you two—”
“It’s not that,” I cut her off quickly. “It’s complicated.”
She studies my face for a long moment, then sighs. “Okay. But when you’re ready to talk, I’m here.”
I hug her tightly, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume. For a moment, I consider telling her everything—about following Noah, about taking care of him, about his body around me—in me—that’s been haunting me all day. But the words stick in my throat.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I promise, pulling away.
I make my escape before she can ask any more questions, practically jogging to the elevator.
I’m a terrible liar—I always have been. Mom used to say my face was like an open book, every thought and feeling written across it in bold letters, and I should work on it more.
If I stay another minute, Maeve will crack me like an egg.
The elevator descends with agonizing slowness. I lean against the wall, trying to steady my breathing, trying not to think about Noah standing in this same spot minutes ago.
What am I doing? What is happening to my carefully ordered life?
Twenty-four hours ago, everything made sense.
I had a job I was good at, a boss I professionally tolerated, and a clear understanding of boundaries.
Now I’m walking out on family dinners, lying to my sister, and unable to look anyone in the eye because I can’t stop thinking about Noah’s lips on my skin.
I’m lost in my own thoughts when I go through the automatic doors of Ezra’s building, my mind still spinning from the disastrous dinner. The cool night air hits my face, and I pause to take a deep breath, trying to center myself.
That’s when I see him.
Noah is leaning against a sleek black car parked at the curb, his tall frame silhouetted by the streetlights. My heart does a somersault in my chest, and I freeze mid-step, wondering if I’m hallucinating.
But it’s definitely him. He’s changed his clothes in the short time since dinner, now wearing dark jeans and a leather jacket that makes his shoulders look even broader.
His face is still bruised, the concealer doing little to hide the damage, but there’s something different in his expression as he watches me—something vulnerable beneath the usual intensity.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “I thought you went home.”
“I did. It’s a couple buildings down the street.” He shifts his weight, wincing slightly as the movement jars his ribs. “Then I came back.”
I glance nervously at the building behind me, half expecting to see Maeve or Martin watching from the windows above. “Why?”
“Because we need to talk,” he says simply.