Chapter Sixteen
“Any messages?” I ask Lauren, finally free from the six-hour meeting that was in fact only meant to be two.
We’ve had a few issues with a couple of apps we’re creating for some start-up businesses in the area—bugs and such, nothing extreme but it meant we had to deep dive into some codes and back-end shit that then revealed some deeper issues with our platform integrity.
It’s being fixed now, but fuck, it could have ended badly had someone tried to hack our network.
I created the start-up division for smaller businesses to be able to get opportunities that larger corporations used to dominate, offering apps and platforms for newer and smaller businesses at a fraction of the cost. I was them once, a small fish in a very big pond, and I know how it feels to be circled by sharks.
This way I can feed back to the community while helping businesses that will only make the world a better place.
“Nope,” Lauren gives me a smile from behind her computer screen, “No messages for you today. And all your emails are covered until tomorrow.”
I check my watch and see it’s way past five; Sidney would have had her consultation by now.
“Are you sure I don’t have any messages?” I frown.
“I’m sure, Mr. Calahan.”
I rap my knuckles against the top of her desk and nod, “Alright. Head on home.”
Pulling out my cell, I find no new messages from her; the device depressingly empty of any notification I actually want to see. I don’t give a shit about the weather or the social media posts from guys I went to college with.
It’s already dark out by the time I’m throwing my keys down onto the counter back at the penthouse.
Too silent. Too empty. And still no message from Sidney.
She’s home; I watched her unlock her front door while juggling an armful of books and a bag of groceries, and she’s been online.
Yes, it’s fucking creepy. I stalked her social media to check when she was last active before I left the office.
Throwing myself down onto the couch, I let out a sigh and lay my head on the back cushions.
Everywhere I look, I see her in this apartment.
The cardigan she left on the back of the bar stool at the kitchen island, her lipstick sitting on the shelf in the bathroom from the last time she got ready here for a night out.
There are photos of us in every room. There are the snacks she likes in the cupboard, the wine she likes on the rack.
Even her smell lingers here, that floral scent that follows her around, clinging to the cushions and blankets.
“Fuck this,” I grumble to myself, bolting up on the couch. She has been a temptation my entire life, an addiction I have somehow fought off until I caved with one opportunity. Now I cannot get enough.
Snatching my keys from the counter, I head for the door but stop dead in my tracks when it swings open, and she comes storming in like a damn tornado. She is a mess of baggy clothes, wild hair, and wide eyes.
“Noah!” Her eyes latch onto mine, her cheeks flushed, her bottom lip chewed raw from her teeth.
“What is it?” I scan her quickly, looking for injury, and then behind her as if whatever has chased her here will follow her in. I haven’t seen her like this in, well… ever. She drops three bags to the ground from her shoulder, the thud loud in the quiet that follows.
Lashes fluttering, she stares at me, “You didn’t call me back.”
“Call you back?” I parrot, confused.
“It doesn’t matter,” she waves her hands manically, her mind running away. I watch her wander by me, muttering under her breath before she spins and starts to pace back and forth. “I’m missing something.”
“Are you drunk?”
She freezes and whips her gaze to me, “What?”
She doesn’t look drunk; her eyes are clear, just a little wild. “Drunk.”
“No, I’m not fucking drunk,” she rolls her eyes with a shake of her head, “I’m thinking. This is going to change everything. It needs to be perfect.”
“Baby, I’m not following,” The slip of the endearment has me biting my tongue so hard the coppery taste of blood washes through my mouth.
She stops dead. “Baby?”
Abort. Abort. Abort!
“What’s going on?” I rub the nape of my neck. “Are you okay?”
“Me?” She nods quickly. “I’m just fine. Just, you know, been presented with the opportunity of my entire career and I’m drawing a complete blank! She loved the idea but wants more.”
“Sidney,” I catch her as she moves to pace by me again, holding onto her shoulders to turn her to face me. “Slow down.”
“Help me,” she squeaks.
“Let’s just—” I guide her toward the couch and force her to sit down, but the moment I let go, she’s up again, pacing in front of the windows.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I let her do her thing for a few more minutes, so I track her with my eyes.
Her teeth continue to gnaw on her already swollen lip, further irritating it.
She stops and faces me. “I met Stella Shaw today.”
I think my brows hit my hairline. Even if you don’t listen to Stella’s music, it’s impossible not to know who she is. America’s sweetheart, country star sensation, and most recently, in the middle of a scandal.
“Where?”
“You remember me telling you about that booking? The wedding in November?”
“Yes.” I nod.
“It’s her wedding.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Oh shit is right,” she starts pacing again. “And I showed her the concepts, and she loved them.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“She wants more.”
“More what?” I ask.
“More everything.” Sidney shakes her head, “But I don’t understand what more even means.
She loved the archway, the aisle pieces, and the bouquets.
She wanted a little more for the center pieces which, you know, fine, I can do that.
But that isn’t the more she wants. What more can I do?
” She beelines for the bags she dropped by the door and tugs out her design folder before she brings it back and drops it onto the table, flipping it open to the pages with her concepts.
The ideas are beautiful, art. The colors are lush; the arrangements filled out so no space is left vacant. It’s a mix of pinks and oranges, greens and whites, blending together to create this kaleidoscope of color that draws you in like a piece in a museum.
“What am I missing, Noah?” She stares at me with so much hope, but I’m drawing a blank. This isn’t my field; give me a computer and I’ll have it figured out, but flowers and designs and weddings?
She slumps onto the couch beside me with a loud huff, rolling her head toward me in defeat, “I’m going to fuck this up.”
“No, you’re not.” I say confidently, “You only saw them today; give yourself a minute to breathe and think.”
“This could make my entire career, Noah.” She moves to turn away from me, but I don’t let her, pinching her chin to keep her eyes on me.
“And if anyone can do it, it will be you, Sid. Look at what you’ve done already, what you have achieved. I am so fucking proud of you. Keep chasing those dreams, cricket, they’re right there for you.”
Her eyes soften as I move to cup her cheek, my entire body warming as she presses into it, nuzzling into the palm of my hand. “I missed you today.”
My thumb strokes across her cheekbone, “I’m right here.”
“Have you eaten yet?” She asks.
I shake my head, dropping my hand when she sits up straighter, already missing the feel of her.
She climbs up off the couch and skips into the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards and fridge to pull items out.
I can already tell she’s about to make mac and cheese, her go-to when she’s feeling stressed out like this, and I can’t complain.
She makes a killer mac and cheese and has done since high school.
I don’t know why it’s my favorite; it tastes just like any other version, but she’s made it and I won’t have it anywhere else.
She’s sleeping against my chest, her body curled up and pressed tightly against me, her soft snores barely audible over the music playing as the credits roll on the movie we were watching—well, I was watching. My girl passed out in the first twenty minutes and has been sleeping soundly since.
“Sid,” I gently shake her, but she just groans and snuggles in deeper.
A smile curls up the edges of my mouth and slowly, I extricate myself from her, switch off the TV and then slip my arms under her, lifting her off the couch.
Her head immediately nuzzles into my neck, breath fanning over my skin.
Goosebumps erupt over my body, and my arms curl just a little tighter as I walk her toward the spare bedroom across from mine.
I stop in the hall, between the doors, unable to move.
Putting her in her bed is what is expected. What I should do.
But I don’t fucking want to.
I want to know what it feels like to wake up with her. To have her face be the first thing I see when I open my eyes. I’ve slept like shit for days now, and I know what I need to fix it.
I already slipped up once tonight by calling her baby, the name rolling right off my tongue like it was always meant to call her that. What’s one more slip-up?
Fuck it.
I toe the door open and cross to my bed, gently laying her down on the sheets. She grasps them and brings them close to her face, curling into them while I head to the drawers to grab her a shirt to wear for bed.
She wakes just enough to help me take her clothes off.
It feels so damn natural, like this is something we have been doing our entire lives.
I fold her clothes and place them on the chair in the corner of the room before I bring the sheets up to cover her.
She’s back asleep by the time I return from the bathroom, lying in the center of the bed.
There is no hesitation from me climbing in behind her, my body immediately curling around hers as I bring her back to my chest and place my hand right above her softly beating heart.
Pressing my lips to her shoulder, I let the feel of her sink right into my bones, into my marrow.
“Sleep tight, baby,” I whisper, my forehead pressing to her shoulder blade as I pretend this is real. That this is our forever.