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Ugh.
“Know what I’m gonna do when I get home?” There’s a skip in Noelle’s step, and a smile plays around her mouth. She always chats more freely with me when I walk her home—I suppose because she’s off the clock.
These stolen moments together always stick in my brain. The way she teases me sometimes… it ruins me for hours afterward.
“What?” I ask.
“A girl in my building has a load of bath bombs she doesn’t want.” Noelle’s practically bouncing down the sidewalk. She’s so small down there, the top of her head barely reaches my shoulder. “They’re from her ex, and he won’t take them back, but she doesn’t want to use them. Guess it’s awkward. So she gave a few to me, and there’s a giant cherry-scented one I’ve been saving for a special occasion.”
My headache pulses, squeezing my temples.
Noelle in a bathtub? All that bare skin, slippery and wet, with her blonde hair piled on her head? The images batter me in a torturous slideshow, and I swallow back a groan.
“Nice,” I grit out. That’s what a normal person would say, right? A normal boss with social skills. That’s me. “What’s the special occasion?”
“Because it’s Friday night, obviously.” Noelle’s pointy elbow digs into my ribs, and it’s pathetic how much I treasure that fleeting contact. “Most people have weekends free, Reid. Crazy, I know. And I still observe the Friday night celebrations, even if my grumpy boss needs me bright and early on Saturday morning.”
Noelle glances at me out of the corner of her eye, checking that I’m not offended by her teasing. My face is stony, my shoulders hunched against the cold, but that’s standard procedure, nothing to do with her, and she knows it. She brightens.
“What about you, boss man? Any big Friday night plans? A hot date, maybe?”
Her smile flickers, like she doesn’t like her own joke, but then she pastes it back on even wider.
I suck on my teeth, shielding Noelle from the worst of the crowds as we make our slow progress down the sidewalk. Seven blocks can sometimes feel like an eternity—or like they pass by in a blink. Tonight, this walk will be over too fast.
“No plans,” I say.
And definitely no hot date—not unless you count my shameful daydreams about my assistant.
Noelle shakes her head, bemused, and hops over a crack in the sidewalk. Her tote bag crinkles under her arm. “I don’t get it. You’re, like, rich and successful and handsome as hell. Shouldn’t you be dating dozens of women? Batting them off with a stick?”
My expression doesn’t change, but my heart thuds harder in my chest.
As hell? Is that what she just said? Handsome ashell?
Does she mean that? And is that an objective assessment, or her personal opinion?
“I don’t date.” The words come out thick and clunky, my mind still reeling from Noelle’s compliment. Maybe she’s being kind. Noelle is like that: always building people up. It’s maddening. “In fact, I don’t do relationships in general. At all. Ever.”
Noelle should know that better than anyone. She knows exactly how off-putting I can be, with my moods and impatience and endless demands.
But Noelle tuts, weaving around a trash can then coming back to my side. “Maybe you should give them a chance,” she says softly. “People might surprise you, Reid.”
I scoff, glaring right ahead. “Not so far, they haven’t.”
Noelle’s shoulders slump. My headache flares.
We don’t speak again for the rest of the walk.
* * *
“Eight AM,” I call as Noelle climbs the steps to her building’s front door. There’s a wreath hanging above the brass knocker, and I glare at that green monstrosity. “And bring your laptop.”
Noelle shakes her head, not even bothering to glance back at me over her shoulder. Her mittens slip around her key, and she fumbles it in the lock. “I have done this before, Reid. Most weekends for the last three years, remember?”
Yes. Well.
“People get complacent. Maybe I don’t want you getting sloppy, Noelle.”
