Chapter 2
Chapter two
Rules and Regulations
ROMAN
Of course she is late. I spoke to Lia at length last night. I paid for two weeks of Noelle’s time. I can’t believe I am doing this. But as I put my car into park, I only see people huddling in their coats. No sign of Noelle.
Grabbing my iPad, I search for Noelle’s file. Yes, I was at the right place, Melrose Gardens. Apartment 1C. Did I want to get out of the car and get Noelle? No, I do not.
My phone shrills in the car. “MOM.” Shit!
“Mom.” I close my eyes and lean on the steering wheel.
“Hi, Rom. Michelle Durhan’s daughter is flying in tomorrow, so I was thinking that—”
“I have a fiancée, Mom.”
The car goes silent.
I don’t bother saying hello. I know she’s still there.
“Rom, you had a girlfriend and fiancée, and you said nothing!” I can hear the hysteria creeping into her voice.
“I don’t hear from you other than holidays. You hardly call; now you have a fiancée?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t in the mood for this.
“Does your father or brother know?”
The thought of having to explain this to my father makes my head throb. “No.”
“Well, Rom, at least you told me. What’s her name?”
“Noelle.”
“Where does she work? Who are her parents? What ship did her people come across on? The Mayflower maybe?”
I roll my eyes. “I will be seeing you later, Mom.”
“My point is you have been so distant of late, and now you have a new woman in your life that I know nothing about.”
“Yeah. See you in a bit, Mom.”
I hear a small hiccup. God, is she crying? “Okay, son.”
I look out the window. No one is waiting outside of the apartment’s main front door.
Despite my better judgement, I leave the car and enter the grey and white building. It smells of cinnamon, smoke, and other spices. I hear reggae music faintly in the background. 1A, 1B…1C.
Caribbean music blasts through the door. I ring the doorbell. I doubt she can hear the doorbell through the stupid music. God, maybe I should have waited for Anshuka.
I look down at the time. 9:20 a.m. I should have been on the road already. I knock on the door and wait.
“It’s Carnival!!” someone was shouting on the inside.
Enough of this. I hold onto the handle and turn it.
The door isn’t even locked. The sight before me makes me stop.
Noelle is jumping around in a baby blue and pink underwear set.
Each time she jumps, her breasts and ass give a jiggle.
I like a lean, slim woman, but seeing Noelle jump around happy and swinging what looks like a T-shirt over her head…
I take my hand down to my pants and adjust myself.
My eyes land on a laptop on the kitchen sink with YouTube open. That’s where the music is coming from. I walk across her small living room and pause the music.
“It’s Carnival.” She pauses and then looks around.
I see a vase being picked up and launched across the room while she screams. It feels like I’m in slow motion as flowers from the vase drop one by one on the floor, being followed by yellowish water.
I should move. But I can’t; my feet are stuck in position.
I close my eyes, waiting for the water to hit my body.
The feeling of cold, wet flower water seeps through my clothing. It smells like moldy bleached water.
“Oh my God, I am so sorry.” Noelle rushes up to me with a kitchen towel and begins to tap my turtleneck.
“This is about to be a painful two weeks,” I mutter.
Noelle ignores me as she raises my turtleneck sweater and begins to pat my chest.
I look down at her, and her eyes meet mine. “You got quite a chest here.”
I say nothing because my brain apparently is sending all the blood to my cock.
“Give me that.” I pull away, dragging the cloth out of her hands.
She is an irritant, a fucking distraction…but a sexy one. I pat my chest some more. Now I smell like moldy water.
“It’s 9:25. You were told to be ready at 9:00.” I was trying to control my temper.
Another woman would have run inside and maybe hidden her body. Noelle stands with her hand on her hip. “The email said 10:00 a.m.”
“It didn’t!” I reply. She rushes to the small table and picks up her phone.
I dig into my pocket and pull out my phone. It does take me long to find the email.
There it is: 9:00 a.m. Of course she was late.
“Here, Roman. See? It says 10:00 a.m.” She stands in front of me, showing me her phone. She was right; it says 10:00 a.m.
She grabs my phone and sees it says 9:00 a.m.
“I guess Lia had a little mix-up. It’s okay; let me dress quickly.”
She moves away and enters another room while I am standing in a wet turtleneck, watching her juicy ass jiggle as she walks away.
“Fuck me.” I run my hand through my hair. Turning away, I lift my leg and adjust the semihard cock in my pants.
It’s the first time I can take stock of her apartment.
It’s a burst of color and art. Where out in the hall was grey, inside was all color.
Noelle didn’t adhere to minimalist rules.
She was a maximalist. The walls were covered in art.
One that caught my attention was a Black woman with a huge red hibiscus earring looking back at the view.
It was mesmerizing. The dark blue sectionals sit proudly on a multicolored rug.
A statue of a lady carrying a vessel on her head sits at the corner of the room.
I should be feeling overwhelmed and confused.
My apartment is the complete opposite of this.
Yet…I feel peaceful. It could be because it’s clean; nothing was out of place. Everything was in order. I like that.
NOELLE
“Remember, we are driving upstate. Please pack warm clothing,” Roman shouts. “I will be back.”
I roll my eyes as I tug on the pink turtleneck, followed by a pair of jeans and boots. I look back at my mirror. My hair was held high in a ponytail. I spritz my face with rose water and moisturizer.
It doesn’t take long for me to make up my face. I give my room a look over and drag my suitcase out of the room.
There, standing in the middle of my living room, is a bare-chested Roman Voss. Muscle. I didn’t think Roman freaking Voss had muscles. Hear me out: they are well-defined, not overly meaty, lean muscles. He has muscles at the side of his abs. OMG.
I want to touch him. But then I feel the suitcase landing on my toe.
“Shit!” I screech.
He turns. “Are you okay?”
Am I okay? No, Roman, I am a sex-deprived woman with a hot man standing in my living room.
“Yes, I am fine.” I bend to lift my suitcase.
He’s there in front of me, bending to pick up my suitcase with ease. I swallow, and I feel like I’m on a diet with a slice of German chocolate cake in front of me.
“Stop staring; we have to move.”
And the jerk was back. He slips on the turtleneck and grabs his jacket and my suitcase.
“Meet you outside.”
I nod, looking over my apartment, then lock up.
It doesn’t take me long to slide into the buttery cream leather of Roman’s Jaguar.
“I got you a coffee.” He points to the green and white cup with a lid.
“Thank you.” I pick it up and take a sip. It’s sweet and hot, just the way I like it.
Roman switches the station to some classical music, and I groan inwardly. I love classical music, but for a road trip?
“How long is this journey?” I ask.
“Four hours.”
“Why didn’t we fly?”
“I hate flying.” That’s all he said, nothing more.
I lean back into the chair and look out the window. “We should talk to try to get to know each other.”
“Agreed.” He digs in the side of the door. “Take this.”
He passes me a black tablet, and I turn it on.
As the screen comes to life, I chuckle to myself. “You are so anal.”
“Order prevents chaos.”
I nod. “It’s also boring and hampers joy.”
He shrugs as if he’s unbothered.
“Read the rules,” he says.
I sigh and place the tablet on my lap . “Before I get to the rules, tell me about yourself. Like, what is your middle name?”
“Alexander. Yours?”
“Joy.”
“Noelle Joy. It’s nauseatingly festive.” He smirks behind his fingers as his other hand steers the wheel.
“Birthday?”
“Every year.”
I stare at him? “Seriously.”
“When you got your file from Lia, it was there. You should have looked it over.”
Looked over? Like I had nothing to do?
“True. When is my birthday?” I smirk, waiting for him to answer.
There is a long pause. “I, too, need to look over my file.”
“What do you do for a living?” I ask.
He sighs. “I’m the CEO of Voss Heritage Fund.”
“Oh no. You’re a finance bro?” I cry.
“What? No. I take people’s money, reinvest it, and make them richer,” he replies as he turns the corner.
“You’re the final boss of the finance bros,” I add.
Roman shakes his head in annoyance.
I nod in agreement. “Where did we meet?”
“I am leaving that love story for you to make up.”
I tap my chin, thinking. “I slammed your face into a door at a Screaming Bean. Blood was pouring out your nose. I saved you.”
“Someone is a little bloodthirsty,” he mumbles. “Let’s go with a charity event, and you spilled wine on me.”
The whole car smells of Roman: rich, new, expensive. I’m tempted to lean over to take a whiff of him.
My phone vibrates, and parang music takes over the space in the car. I hum along, dancing in my seat.
“God, answer the phone, or turn that ringtone down.”
I turn it down. “You don’t like Christmas music?
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t like noise.”
“You’re going to hate me by the end of this trip.”
“Read the rules.”
I begin reading the rules. He is a madman.
Rule #3: No personal details. Keep it professional. “You already broke your first rule when you stood half naked in my living room.”
His thumb rubs his bottom lip. “Read the rest.”
I continue reading. “Either you have control issues, or you tie up women and swing them around a room.”
“What the fuck?” His laugh sounds heavy and sweet.
“All these rules are crazy. Rule #9: Keep the past in the past. We are not going to be talking much about our past, Roman.”
“You never know.”
“I agree to Rule #7: Don’t catch feelings. I can’t see the both of us catching anything other than a cold.”
Watching Roman drive shows me that he is a man who strives for perfection. He moves with precision, turning correctly into each lane and stopping when the light is red.
“Why aren’t you spending time with your family on Christmas?”
I frown, thinking about my father and the last fight we had. “My parents and I are not seeing eye to eye, so this year, I decided to stay home.”
“I feel that.” The car is filled with classical music once more.
“Can we please change the music?” I beg.
He grunts. “Sure.”
I grab my phone and connect to the speakers. The sound of parang fills the car.
“What the hell is that?”
“Parang.”
“Pa—what? Where are you from?” He cries.
“Oh, Trinidad; I was born there, and now I live here.”
Roman’s green eyes move over me like he’s watching me for the first time. “You are from the islands.”
“Yup.”
“I hardly hear an accent. I hear it in little things, but—”
I hold my laugh in. “I code-switch.”
He rubs the side of his face and says nothing. My hands tremble. Does he have a problem with me being Trinidadian?
“What’s the problem?” I mean, if he wants to put me out, he can.
“Nothing; in fact, my mother would love that. She would find you exotic.”
“God, please, no. Something about the word ‘exotic’ creeps me out.”
“Sorry. And this music, is it Spanish?”
I sway side to side in my seat. “Yup. This is like traditional folk Christmas music. Let Daisy’s voice enter your soul.”
My lips feel dry. I unclip my seat belt and reach to the backseat to get my lip balm from my handbag.
“What are you doing, Noelle?” I ignore him; he doesn’t have to know everything. I get another whiff of his intoxicating scent. Lord, he smells good.
I lean back and apply the balm on my lips.
“Seatbelt, Noelle!” he screams.
“Yes, Daddy.” I lower my head and clip my seatbelt in. I know he’s tense.
Roman laughs out. “I regret this already.”
I ignore him as I sip my coffee and sing to Daisy’s voice. The further up north we get, the colder it becomes. Flurries of snow drift outside my window.
Roman’s face is stoic, unreadable. His knuckles are white. Maybe he is nervous about us going to his parents’ home. I reach over and tap his leg.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“Rule #1: No touching unless it’s necessary.”
Right. I move my hand away and sway to the music. This is about to be an interesting Christmas.