I blink, caught off guard by the unexpected gesture. “Excuse me?”
“Lunch,” he repeats, already heading for the door. “You’ve been here since before seven. Eat something.”
Before I can respond, he’s gone, leaving me staring at the empty conference room with my mouth hanging open like a fish. Did Noah King just… show basic human decency? Toward me?
I shake my head, gathering my things. It’s probably another test—to see if I’ll order something expensive and give him ammunition to fire me. Well, joke’s on him. I’ve been living on ramen and stolen office snacks since I started working here, anything better than that would be a nutritious feast.
Back at my desk, I pull up the lunch menu from the deli downstairs and order the cheapest sandwich they have. My stomach growls in protest, but my pride won’t let me take advantage of his momentary lapse in cruelty. That sushi I got without his permission still sits heavy on my consciousness, and I’m half expecting someone to come and fire me for that.
Twenty minutes later, Noah returns with a bag from that fancy French place three blocks away. The one where a single salad costs more than my weekly grocery budget.
“I thought you were getting lunch for yourself,” he says.
“I did.” I gesture to my sad turkey sandwich. “This is lunch.”
He stares at the plastic-wrapped disaster, then at the bag he bought for himself. “That’s not food. That’s… sadness between bread.”
Despite myself, I snort. “Sadness between bread. That’s poetic coming from you.”
He grunts something under his breath, throws his bag on my desk, and marches toward his office.
“What am I supposed to do with that?” I ask his back.
“Eat it,” he replies without turning.
“But it’s your—” I don’t get a chance to finish because he shuts the door behind him, leaving me with a delicious-smelling bag that was not intended for me. When I open it, I realize it was clearly meant for three people or a very large man. And the very large man just left his lunch on my desk. For me to eat.
I swallow an uncomfortable lump in my throat, not knowing what to make of it. It’s much easier to hate him than to feelthis, and judging by the way he acted, he doesn’t know what to do withthiseither.
15
Bea
The next morning is awkward.I didn’t see Noah for the rest of the day yesterday. He left the office when I went to the bathroom, saving us both the struggle.
Today, he’s already at his desk when I arrive, so I don’t have those first few minutes to steel myself for whatever fresh hell he has planned.
His door is open for the first time in forever, and I can see him in his signature pants that stretch over his ass and rolled-up sleeves, hunched over blueprints, with a pencil tucked behind his ear. He looks… normal. Human, even. It’s unsettling.
“Morning,” I call out, settling at my desk with my coffee and the defensive armor of my professional smile.
He glances up, and for a split second, something soft flickers across his features before the familiar mask slides back into place. “Morning.”
That’s it. No barked orders, no impossible tasks, no smug commentary about my arrival after his royal bum was already here. Just ‘morning.’
I wait for the other shoe to drop as I boot up my computer and check his calendar. The Peterson Group wants to schedule a follow-up meeting, and there are three other calls lined up for today. Normal assistant stuff. Manageable stuff. Stuff that doesn’t require me to be in the same room with him.
About thirty minutes later, the phone buzzes with a call from a number I don’t recognize.
“Good morning. King Developers. This is Beatrice,” I answer in my sweetest professional voice because I am the best assistant ever.
“Is this Noah King’s office?”A woman’s voice comes through sounding sharp and very irritated.
“Yes. How can I help you?”
“This is Amanda. I had dinner plans with Noah on Friday night, and he never showed up. When I tried calling him, I discovered he blocked my number.”Her voice rises with each word, and I have to pull the phone away from my ear at the end of her sentence.“I’m calling his office because I want to know what the hell is going on. I deserve an explanation, and I’m not hanging up until I get one.”
I blink rapidly, processing this information while glancing toward Noah’s office. He’s still bent over his blueprints, oblivious to the drama unfolding at my desk.
