Noah
I push awayfrom the car, meeting her with a straight back because I need all the courage I can get. The cool night air feels good against my bruised face, but it does nothing to calm the storm inside me. Bea stands there, backlit by the building’s lights, and her blond hair manages to catch the golden glow like it does every time a source of light is nearby.
“Talk about what?” she asks, taking a hesitant step toward me. “I thought we agreed?—”
“No, you decided,” I correct her, keeping my voice low. “You decided we should pretend nothing happened. I never agreed to that.”
She wraps her arms around herself, a defensive gesture I’m starting to recognize. “Noah, please. This is already complicated enough.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” I take a step closer, drawn to her like a magnet. “We’re both adults. We can figure this out.”
“Figure what out?” Her voice rises slightly before she catches herself, glancing around nervously. “There’s nothing to figureout. You’re my boss. I’m your assistant. That’s all we can be. I need to build my own life before I become an accessory to Noah King.”
“Is that really all you want?” I ask, studying her face in the dim light. There’s conflict in her eyes, uncertainty in the way she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “To not be associated with me?”
She opens her mouth to answer, but whatever she’s about to say is cut off by the sound of laughter spilling from the doors behind her. A couple emerges, arm in arm, too wrapped up in each other to notice us standing there.
Bea’s eyes widen with panic. “We can’t do this here,” she whispers, stepping closer to me.
“Get in,” I say, opening the passenger door. It’s not a request, and for once, she doesn’t argue.
I slide into the driver’s seat, ignoring the protest from my ribs.
“Where are we going?” she asks as I pull away from the curb.
“Somewhere we can talk without an audience.” I keep my eyes on the road, but I’m acutely aware of her beside me—the way she’s sitting perfectly straight, her hands folded in her lap, like she’s afraid to take up too much space. And I want to have a word with her parents again for putting that instinct in her head.
“This is a bad idea,” she says, but she makes no move to ask me to turn around.
“Probably.”
We drive in silence for several minutes, the city lights blurring past the windows. I take us toward the river, away from the crowded streets of midtown. My ribs throb with each breath, and I should be at home, hugging a pillow and nursing a beer, but I can’t stomach another moment of pretending everything is normal.
I pull into a quiet lot facing the water, kill the engine, and let the silence settle. Bea sits primly with her hands folded over her lap, like she’s bracing for a performance review I have zero interest in giving.
“This isn’t a kidnapping,” I say, because she’s staring straight ahead while looking very unsure. “Door’s unlocked.”
“I know,” she says softly. “If it were kidnapping, there’d be rope. Zip ties. A plan. I hope.”
The corner of my mouth twitches. “Hope for which part exactly?”
“I don’t know. And that’s what terrifies me,” she mutters, and finally turns to look at me.
“This doesn’t have to be a catastrophe,” I say.
“Bold of you to assume it isn’t already,” she mutters.
Fair. I shift in my seat uncomfortably. “I’m sorry about the Chanel comment.”
“Yeah, that was unhelpful.”
“I wasn’t thinking. I was trying to acknowledge that you did something for me. And instead, I set you on fire in front of your sister and handed Martin a marshmallow stick.”
“You’re really bad at gratitude,” she chuckles, fidgeting with her fingers.
“I noticed,” I say, staring at her. “Did you sell it? The bag.”
Her jaw locks. There’s a war behind her eyes, and for a beat I think she’ll lie. Instead, she exhales, low. “Gave away. To the woman who works at city hall, Tori. We need her on our side, trust me. She’s got all the city inspectors in her palm.”
