I jerk back as the folder skids across my keyboard and nearly launches my coffee into orbit.
“What now?” I snap, hand to my chest, more from the whiplash of not kissing Noah than actual alarm.
Martin plants his hands on my desk, panting like he sprinted the length of the building. A totally unnecessary movement because it could have been a simple phone call.
“Something really, really bad, Bea!” He can barely breathe as he speaks. “I don’t know what to do!”
“Martin.” Noah’s voice sounds like a slap in the air. “What the fuck happened?”
Martin’s crazed eyes dart toward him. “They are changing the coffee, Noah! The coffee!”
“What? Who?”
“HR!” he shrieks. “HR is changing the coffee beans for the whole floor because the perfect ones we’ve had for years are too caffeinated. It’s a crime, Noah. A crime. We need caffeine here. God knows Bea and I need it more than everyone else because we deal with the King brothers.” He falls on a chair, deflating like an empty balloon. “How am I gonna deal with you bunch on that decaf crap?” He presses an open palm to his chest, looking positively heartbroken.
“Calm down, Marti—” Noah starts with the absolute worst sentence he could possibly find.
“Don’t tell me to calm down when they are taking away my precious beans!” Martin points an accusing finger at Noah. “I’ll quit. Yes! I’ll quit!”
“Martin, you have exceptionally stylish socks today,” I announce with a bright smile, moving around my desk toward him.
“Oh, thank you,” he replies with delight, forgetting about the coffee and Noah’s comment for a moment. “I got them at a cute, littlegiftshop around the corner, can you believe it?” he explains in a conspiratorial voice as if he’s confessing to a crime. Which he might be in his eyes—Martin is a New York native, and he’d never be caught dead in a gift shop.
“Maybe you can show me where that shop is,” I ask, smiling brightly at Martin. “Let me walk you back to your desk and you can explain exactly where to find it.”
Martin’s eyes light up. “We can buy matching socks there for the whole crew.”
I glance back at Noah, whose face has transformed from heated intensity to barely concealed frustration. He’s watching us with a muscle twitching in his jaw, hands shoved into his pockets, and an odd bulge in his well-fitted pants.
The heat instantly starts creeping up my neck to my cheeks.
“We’re not done,” he mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.
“Looks pretty done to me,” I reply cheerfully, looping my arm through Martin’s and steering him away from my desk. “Come on, Martin, let’s talk bananas.”
As we walk away, I feel Noah’s eyes burning into my back. The tension from another almost-moment lingers in the air, and I’m both relieved and disappointed by Martin’s interruption.
“What was that about?” Martin whispers as soon as we’re out of earshot, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively.
“Nothing,” I lie, my cheeks warming. “Just boss being boss.”
“Mhm. If a boss wanted a lawsuit slapped into his face.” Martin’s knowing look makes me want to crawl under my desk and hide. “That didn’t look like nothing to me.”
“It’s complicated,” I mutter, tugging him farther away from my desk. “Can we please talk about your banana socks instead?”
“Fine,” he sighs dramatically. “But only because I love talking about my socks almost as much as I love watching you and Noah dance around whatever is happening between you two. Plus, I think my Oscar-worthy performance was amazing.”
“Outstanding,” I agree easily, less annoyed with his interruption because he probably just saved my dignity. Who knows how I would behave if Noah crooked his finger and ordered me to sit on his lap.
“You don’t want to be caught humping your boss on this floor or you’ll never hear the end of it.” He emphasizes his statement with an outstretched silence. “Now, back to the socks.”
I roll my eyes but feel grateful for the change of subject. As Martin launches into a detailed history of his sock collection, my mind keeps drifting back to Noah’s words: ‘I was too busy thinking about someone else.’
Me? Was he thinking about me?
The thought sends an unwelcome flutter through my chest that I desperately try to squash. This is dangerous territory. Noah King is my boss as Martin rightfully reminded me, my sister’s brother-in-law, and a notorious player. Getting tangled up with him would be professional suicide, not to mention emotional hara-kiri.
But the way he looked at me?—
