Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
“She’s a walking disaster,” Chip says under a heavy laugh when he passes us. “Best to avoid it if you can there, buddy.” He pats Noah on the shoulder.
Shrugging him off, Noah replies, “I can handle her.”
“You say that now, but you’ve been warned.”
I don’t know why the corners of my eyes fill with tears. It’s a nuisance, though. Taking the cup from him, I spin to rush away. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
In the safety of my office, I lean against the back of the door to steady my breathing and swallow down my weakest feelings. No one can hurt me if I keep my emotions tucked deep inside.
I hit reset and move to my desk. A knock has me instantly annoyed. Can’t I just have a minute to myself around here? “Come in.”
Noah pokes his head in. “Busy?”
“Always.” I turn my attention to my monitor and start typing a reply to an email. “What do you want?”
He walks in, closes the door, and stands there looking like a runway model in his incredibly flattering suit. Brighter than navy but still muted compared to royal, he’s found the perfect shade of blue to complement his tan and hair on the lighter side of brown. He looks like he just got back from vacation, while I’m starting to feel as if I’ll never see the likes of one again.
Damn him.
He shoves his hands in his pockets, and says, “I’ve been thinking about us.”
“There is no us.”
“In the office sense.”
I stop and pivot my chair to face him. I’m having visions of déjà vu from, what, two days ago? I quirk a smile but try my best to wipe it away. “What about the office?”
“And us.”
“Yes, Noah. And us.” Sometimes it feels like he’s lingering just to spend more time together. But being around marketing associates for years now, I know creatives can be long-winded with their entertaining stories and charismatic quips.
I’m tempted to snap my fingers, knowing there are never enough hours to finish my work. At least I have job security.
“Why don’t we call a ceasefire and start over?”
“I’m listening.” I rest back, liking what I’m hearing. “Go on.”
He takes a seat without being invited. Just mentally noting because it doesn’t upset me like it did on Monday. I’m actually calm . . . should I be worried?
Noah leans back, making himself comfortable, and not even the smirk bothers me today, even if it is only slight. “I don’t want this tension with you. It’s not good for either of us.”
“I agree.”
Resting his forearms on his legs, he asks, “What can I do to make this better between us or, at the very least, professionally cordial?”
“What do you suggest?” The opening to talk, the desire to tell him everything hits hard. I bite my lip, thinking it’s best if I just listen for now and gain insight into this man.
“The past is the past, but—”
The door opens. Chip barges in, causing him to stand, and silences us as if we got busted making out. “Why are you being so bitchy, Livvie?” His eyes shift to Noah and then narrow before a fake smile punctures his face. “Sorry, man. Didn’t know you had a meeting.”
“You should be apologizing to Olivia. It’s her office.”
Chip looks back and forth between us several times, then lands on him and bursts out laughing like he heard a joke. Noah’s not laughing. I’m not. Hitting Noah in jest on the chest, he says, “We should grab a beer sometime. I bet you can pull in the ladies.”
“I don’t need to pull. They come willingly.” His even tone contains no emotion, not even arrogance, though he’d have a right to be that way. Look at him. He tells no lies when it comes to women. I came willingly a few times under his hand . . . tongue . . . and other heady body parts. Turning to me, Noah bows his head. “I apologize for the disruption. We can continue another time.”
Now Chip has really pissed me off. It was going so well with Noah, too, which was a nice change of pace for us. “I think that’s best under the circumstances.”
“Maybe you can send that financial report over before then.” He drops an alibi.
I pick it up. “Certainly. I’ll send it by the end of the day.”
“Olivia.”
“Noah.”
He looks at Chip when he passes him. “Chip,” he says, subtly popping the p. It is a ridiculous name. If Noah only knew his full name was Chipper.
“We’ll grab that beer.” Chip points at him like they’re buds, but Noah is already gone. Well-played, sir. Well-played.
I ask, “What do you want?”
“Why are you being such a bitch to me?”
I sigh because this exhausting topic has played out too many times before. “I’m not anything to you. You’re just offended that I’m not stroking your ego or laughing at your male chauvinist jokes.” I brush my fingers toward the door. “Run along and bother someone else, Chipper.” Okay, I do go low sometimes . . . I really despise that he brings out this side of me.