When we hug goodbye outside the café, she holds on a little longer than usual.
“Just be careful, okay?” she says softly. “I know you think you have to prove you can handle everything on your own, but you don’t have to do it alone. You have me.”
I nod, not trusting my voice, and watch her disappear into the crowd of midday pedestrians. The walk back to the office gives me time to rebuild my defenses, convince myself that whatever’s happening between Noah and me is just professional courtesy mixed with late-night vulnerability and my starvation for basic human interaction.
By the time I reach the King building, I’ve almost convinced myself it’s true.
The elevator ride up feels like ascending back into a pressure cooker. I check my reflection in the polished doors, making sure my armor is back in place—professional smile, shoulders squared, hair still perfectly twisted despite the early November wind.
When I step onto Noah’s floor, I can hear his voice from behind his closed office door. He’s on a call, his tone clipped and businesslike, completely different from the gentleness he used when he brought me coffee this morning.
I settle at my desk, pulling up the Newside files to prep for his two o’clock meeting. My fingers move automatically over thekeyboard, but my mind keeps drifting to the way he said my name earlier as if it tasted different in his mouth than it used to.
“Stop it,” I mutter under my breath, forcing myself to focus on firing up emails about accounting and zoning requirements.
Noah’s office door opens, and I keep my eyes glued to my screen as he approaches my desk. I can feel him hovering again, his cologne making my pulse kick up despite my best efforts to remain unaffected.
“How was lunch?” he asks with something careful in his voice that makes me look up.
“Fine,” I reply, shuffling some papers around to look busy. “Just saw Maeve.”
“And how is my sister-in-law?” He leans against my desk, angling his body toward me in a way that might seem familiar.
I glance up, trying to ignore how good he looks with his tie loosened and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His forearms will become my demise one day. “She’s good. Invited me to a family dinner this Thursday.”
“Ah.” His expression shifts slightly. “The infamous King-Wrong dinner party.”
“Don’t worry, I declined,” I say quickly, looking back at my screen. “I figured we see enough of each other at work.”
Something flickers across his face—disappointment?—before his professional mask slips back into place. “Probably for the best.”
An awkward silence stretches between us, filled with all the things we never say but always dance around. I clear my throat and gesture to my computer. “The Newside project investors will be here in twenty minutes. I’ve updated the presentation with the new renderings. It’s in your email.”
“Good,” he says, but he doesn’t move away from my desk. Instead, he shifts slightly, dropping his voice. “About this morning?—”
“We should focus on the meeting,” I interrupt while my little heart rate picks up excitedly. “The Newside project is a big deal.”
Noah studies me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching mine.
“Right. The meeting.” He straightens, adjusting his tie with sharp, precise movements that betray some inner tension. “I’ll be in my office reviewing the final numbers. We need this project to happen.”
I nod, watching him retreat behind his closed door. My hands are trembling slightly as I return to my keyboard, and I curse the way my body betrays me every time Noah gets too close, bringing his mouthwatering smell and bitable forearms into my starved orbit.
Twenty minutes later, the project investors arrive—three men in identical navy suits who look like they stepped out of a corporate handbook. I escort them to the conference room, offering coffee and water with the polished professionalism that’s become my shield against everything complicated in my life.
Noah emerges from his office a fully transformed person. Gone is the man who brought me coffee this morning, replaced by the smooth, confident architect who could charm money from a stone. His presentation is flawless, his passion for the project evident in every gesture and every carefully chosen word.
I take notes from my seat in the corner, trying to focus on the technical details and zoning discussions instead of the way Noah’s hands move when he explains his vision. He’s brilliant at this—not just the design work, but the performance of selling dreams wrapped in steel and glass.
“The community integration aspect is particularly innovative,” one of the investors says, leaning forward with genuine interest. “Tell me more about the affordable housing component.”
Noah’s eyes find mine across the room for just a moment before he launches into an explanation of the mixed-income housing model.
And fuck me, but at this moment, I find my boss sexy.
22
Noah
