I’m literally speechless.
“I’m going to prove to you that I’m not evil, baby girl. Starting now,” Noah says. “I know I have to prove
myself to you, and I will. Do you have a pen and some paper?”
I’m still kind of reeling from his speech. Which included at least a dozen of the nicest and also romantic things
anyone has ever said to me in my entire life. All I’m carrying is my small bag that contains my phone. “Um... not
on me.”
He gives me a look. And flicks his eyebrows. Toward my apartment. “Inside?”
“Probably.” “I need to write something down.” His gush was kind of life-changing. I can already tell I’ll never
forget it. But it still doesn’t change my situation, my discovery about who he is or all that has happened over the
last hour. I don’t want to invite him in. Because if he continues to be this nice, apologetic, hot, perc eptive and
grovelly, I know exactly what will happen. “I’ll go get one for you. You wait here.”
“I need a table too. To write on.” When I don’t immediately invite him in, he adds, “I promise I’ll leave as
soon as I’ve written it down.”
“What do you have to write?” “I’ll tell you as I’m writing it.” Against all my better judgement I push the door
open, gently extricate myself from his grip and walk inside, leaving it open behind me.
My apartment, as always, looks stunning and inviting in the mid- morning light. Rays of sunlight land
idyllically on the quaint, plush window seat and the etched-glass orb lamp I bought from an antique store in
Vermont one weekend when Grace and I randomly decided to rent a car (she knows how to drive) and spent a
weekend at an Airbnb she found on the shores of Lake Champlain. It was only a few weeks before my father died
and my life turned upside down. I don’t know why, but I always leave the lamp on.
Beyond the window seat, outside on the balcony, my flowering indigo wisteria that climbs along the edging so
it frames the whole view, looks cheerful, blissfully unaware it’s about to be pulled out by its roots.
A lot of people who visit my apartment comment that it looks like a decorating magazine spread and I
consider that now, as Noah sees it for the first time. It looks so beautiful and cozy it breaks my jaded heart.
“Wow.” There’s that manly sincerity again. “This is a nice apartment.” Which reminds me why I actually hate
him and why I can’t let my guard down with him, no matter how beautiful and heartfelt his little soliloquies might
be. “Thanks. Too bad I’ll be being dragged out by r epo men by the end of the month.” My surly melodramatics
might be a tad overdone, but I forgive myself since the occasion does actually call for it.
A smirk plays at the corners of his annoyingly perfect mouth, like he finds my angst adorable. “The pen and
paper, please?”
I go to the closet where I ke ep my printer and office supplies. I hand him a pen and a few sheets of printer
paper.
Noah motions toward one of my kitchen stools. “May I?” “Help yourself.” I put on the kettle. “You want some
p eppermint tea?” “Okay. Where’s your roommate?” “She has a really busy schedule on Mondays. She won’t be
back until late. That is, if she comes back at all tonight. She might end up staying with her new boyfriend.”
“The one she met through the app?” “Yes.” I don’t want to talk about the app. “Can we make this quick? I
need to go to work.” And figure out how to start filing for bankruptcy.
Noah sits and starts scrawling something. “I have my own business entity that’s s eparate from Invested
Enterprises. It’s called Blue Sky Enterprises. I am the sole founder and director. I use it for real estate investments
and a few other business investments.”
“Good for you.” I realize I’m being surly but I have to. I need this barrier up. Way up. Because his muscles are
straining even under his suit porn. His size and his outrageous in-your-face masculinity are sort of filling up the
room and infusing it with those crazy pheromones he emits.
He smells so fucking good. That damn leather and woodsmoke scent reminds me of... sucking on him.
Swallowing in lusty mouthfuls.
He’s busy writing so I can watch him without him noticing. His hair is too long, curling behind his ears and
down the back of his sun-tanned neck in little flicks. It was so thick when I grabbed handfuls of it, when he was
licking me and eating me so greedily. I came so incredibly hard. “So this offer has nothing to do with Investment
Enterprises, Cash, Colton or anyone else.”
“I told you, I’m not interested in your offer.” Irritably. I add tea bags and pour boiling water into two mugs. I
slide one over to him then lean against the counter. Holding my tea in both hands, I blow on it.
Noah starts reading to me. “‘Blue Sky Enterprises puts forth the offer of fifty million dollars for one percent
ownership of Ashton Holdings.’”
“What?” I laugh but there’s no humor in it. “Don’t you mean fifteen? One percent? Is this a joke? Why are
you even bringing this up again? We’ve agreed the whole thing is off the table.”
“This is a different offer. Obviously.” He continues reading. “‘L. Emerson Ashton will remain in place as
CEO of Ashton Holdings. If, at some point in the future she chooses to name a co-CEO and/or a successor, those
appointments will be solely at her discretion, with appropriate approval from the Ashton Holdings’ Board of
Directors. It is agreed by both parties that Noah Maddox will be employed by Ashton Holdings as a CEO’s
consultant for an annual salary of one dollar.’”
Is this some kind of game he’s playing? I don’t understand it. He’s saying crazy things. Is he trying to smash
my heart to smithereens? I take a sip of my tea. It’s too hot. So I set it back on the counter. “Noah,” I whisper,
because it’s the only
Volume I can summon right now. “I think you should leave.”
He sets down the pen. He stands up and comes over to me. Very easily and very carefully, he lifts me and sets
me on the counter. Slowly, he pushes my knees apart and stands between them. His warm palm slides under my
hair and around the nape of my neck, lightly squeezing. Just like he did
when we were in the restaurant. My body remembers even if my emotions are in shambles. “I wasn’t lying
when I said it’s my mission now to make every single one of those wildest dreams come true, Irish.”
“You can’t—” He stops me, putting a finger over my lips. “At its most valuable, Ashton Holdings was worth
seventy-four million dollars, give or take. The decisions you’ve made over the past six months have been good
ones, Lucky. If you stay that course and make a couple of tweaks that I can help you with, I predict the company
will rebound to at least that much within the next two years. Within the next four, I think we could triple that
number. I’m not trying to mess with you and I’m definitely not trying to buy you. I’m making a legitimate
investment.”
“At one percent?” It’s been too much of a morning. And a weekend. And a year. I can’t get my head around it.
“The other ninety-nine will belong to you and all those magical babies you’re planning on having. I’ve heard
the magic ones are more expensive.”