“Anything else?” I ask, propping a hand on my hip.
“No,” he replies, his voice surprisingly level.
“Good,” I say cheerfully, lingering by his desk.
When my presence is way over-welcomed, he slowly lifts his eyes. “Anything else?”
Funny, that’s usually my line.
“I trust you had a very pleasant Friday?” The smile doesn’t leave my face, and at this point, I think my facial muscles are spasming.
The understanding registers in his dark eyes a few moments later. He leans back in his chair with that infuriating half smile that makes his dimple appear just slightly on one side and interlocks his hands over his stomach. “Yes. Very pleasant. Thank you. In fact, the whole weekend was pleasant.”
Even though I expected this answer, somehow it hurts nonetheless. My smile falters for a brief moment before I snap it back. “Happy to hear that. Mine was awesome too,” I add with a dreamy sigh, biting my lower lip.
A thunder cloud comes over the room. The atmosphere electrifies at my words, and Noah’s eyes turn into slits while his nostrils flare.
After I’ve done the damage, I turn around on my heels and walk to the door. Halfway through, I remember to add extra swerve to my steps.
When I close the door behind me, I see the tyrant’s eyes trained on my ass. Feeling cheerful with a tiny victory, I plant myself back in my work chair and wake up my computer.
My tiny victorycatching Noah getting angry at the prospect of me having a good time with someone else and then checking out my ass doesn’t last long. Around ten a.m., his office door flies open with enough force to rattle the glass walls.
“Conference call with the Peterson Group in twenty minutes,” he barks, crossing the floor with the calculated intensity of a man used to getting exactly what he wants. “I need the entire Newside project file, plus the financial projections Martin sent last week, and coffee that doesn’t taste like liquid diabetes.”
I glance up from my screen, where I’ve been updating his calendar with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker. “The Peterson file is already in your office. Second drawer, left side. The projections are in your email from Thursday—I forwarded them again this morning with highlights. And the coffee tastes exactly how you asked for it.”
His steps falter slightly. Those dark eyes narrow, and I catch the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“The call’s with their entire board,” he continues, but there’s less bite in his voice now. “I need?—”
“The presentation deck you’ve been working on all week? Already loaded on your laptop. Conference room B is reserved, and I had facilities check the projector this morning.” I lean back in my chair, enjoying the way his jaw tightens. “Anything else,sir?”
Yes, I’ve noticed how you always shift your stance when I call you that, motherfucker.
For a moment, we stare at each other across my desk. The air crackles with that familiar tension—part hatred, part something else entirely that I refuse to name.
“What’s wrong, caveman?” I tilt my head, fingernail tapping on my desk. This is the first time I’ve called him that since the island, and I didn’t think I ever would, but somehow, I feel like on Friday, we crossed some invisible line and both were fine with that. “Shocked that someone can actually do their job?”
His eyes darken, pupils dilating until only a thin rim of brown remains, and I swear the temperature in the room rises by ten degrees due to the heat radiating off him in almost visible waves. His broad chest starts rising faster beneath his crisp white shirt, the fabric pulling taut across his shoulders with each breath. His nostrils flare wider while a muscle in his jaw jumps erratically beneath his stubbled skin.
“Conference room,” he mutters, turning on his heel.
I gather my notebook and follow him down the hallway at a safe distance, watching his broad shoulders flex beneath his tailored jacket. The man moves like he’s always ready to fight someone, with tension coiled in every muscle. It would be impressive if it wasn’t so annoying.
The Peterson meeting goes smoothly—Noahtransforming before my eyes into the charming, confident businessman everyone else sees. His voice drops an octave, all honey and persuasion as he walks them through the projections. I sit quietly in the corner, taking notes and watching this Jekylland Hyde routine with fascination. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone pull it off so effortlessly like he does.
When the meeting ends, hands shaken and follow-up calls promised, he turns to me with an unreadable expression. “Send them the updated timeline.”
“Already drafted,” I reply, sliding my tablet toward him. “Just need your approval.”
He scans it quickly, brow furrowed. “This is… thorough.”
“That’s what you pay me for,” I say, snatching it back. “Though ‘pay’ might be generous considering what I put up with.”
Something flickers across his face—amusement? Irritation? I can never tell with him.
“Lunch,” he says abruptly, talking to a wall behind my back. “Get something for yourself. Whatever you want. Expense it.”
