"You're right," he finally says, his voice firmly professional. "I'll speak to them, and if they're interested we can get on a call. That will be fine."
He's right, that will be fine. Better, even.
I nod in agreement, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach that keeps twisting and turning and tightening.
"Great," I say briskly. "Now, I have some rough sketches for the print ads I want you to look at . . ."
For the rest of the week, Maia and I knuckle down with the team. Noah, too, though of course he has an entire company to run simultaneous to us planning the Red Brick rollout.
Even so, he's in the trenches daily, working shoulder to shoulder with me, and when I point out that he has other responsibilities, he reminds me that while Stark Applied Technology is firmly established, the Austin office is still new--and still proving itself. Red Brick is its first high profile product.
As if there weren't enough pressure.
I'd thought that his daily presence would be awkward; I was wrong. Just the opposite, actually. The days fly by and we fall into a rhythm. A pattern. I work closely with him, and it's wonderful. We instinctively know what the other wants. Needs. Honestly, if it were sex, it would be the best ever.
I know I shouldn't be thinking like that. But as the days pass--as I watch him competently sketch changes to a design or authoritatively tell the team in which direction to move--I find myself inching closer to something I know I should be backing away from.
And when he's standing behind me, his hand pressed to my shoulder as we look at the laptop screen, it's everything I can do to think about the words and images in front of us, and not the pressure of his touch. Or the way he could so easily slide his hand down to caress my breast, or twine his fingers in my hair and force my head back for a long, deep kiss.
Honestly, I think I've used my vibrator more in the past week than all of last year. It's a good thing Ares has already left on tour and I have the house to myself. I'd be mortified if he heard me all alone in my room.
And the vivid dreams in which Noah has a starring role . . . Oh. My.
Between my sleepless nights and my long hours at work, I'm bordering on exhausted. But at the same time, I've never been more pumped up. The campaign prep is going great, and every day the thought of seeing Noah again is as invigorating as coffee.
Well, not quite. I'm drinking so much coffee I should probably hook myself to an IV.
"You're really good at this," Noah says, as he and I are bent over some mock-ups that the art department sent up to the conference room.
"Thanks." I smile up at him, feeling more pleased by his praise than I should. After all, he hired me, didn't he? Of course he thinks I'm competent.
He's smiling back at me, his eyes crinkling at the corner, his hair wild from having run his fingers through it at least a dozen times that morning. He looks like he just rolled out of bed, and my heart does a little flip-flop.
I quickly turn back to the mock-ups so that he can't look in my eyes and see my thoughts. "I like the challenge," I continue, mostly to fill the silence. "So much that I sometimes think I shouldn't even consider starting Pink Chameleon up again."
"Why?" He steps back from the table.
I turn to see him better. "I don't know," I say, as Maia steps into the room and heads to the far side of the conference table where her laptop is set up.
I glance at her, but she's already tapping the keyboard, obviously deep into some project of her own.
I turn back to Noah, who's clearly waiting for a better response from me. "I guess I think about what a good thing I have with Crown Consulting. Why would I want to risk that?" Not that I would be. Maia has the skill to keep the business alive. I frown, trying to order my thoughts. "Or, I guess, why do I need more?"
"Fair enough," he says. "But you're talented and you're passionate and you're ambitious. Don't settle just because that's comfortable. You should go after what you want."
I swallow, hearing the words in a different context. Not music, but him.
I look away. "I guess. I don't know."
"Or maybe that's not really why you're hesitating."
"What?" There's a ridiculous note of panic in my voice, and I want to kick myself.
"I just wonder if maybe you're afraid of making it. Because you came so close one time, and then it all got ripped away."
I gape at him, and it takes me a moment to realize he's still talking about singing and not us. "I . . ."
I trail off. I have no idea what to say.
His smile is gentle. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound preachy. All I wanted to say was that I think you have the talent to make it. Don't deny yourself just because you're scared and comfortable with the status quo. You'll only regret it."
"Thanks," I say, his belief in my talent meaning more to me than it should.
"Anytime." This time his grin is wide, even a little playful. He heads toward the door. "I'm due on a conference call. I'll check in later."
I nod, then stare stupidly at the closed door once he's gone.
"What is with you two?" Maia demands, the second I turn around.
"What? Nothing." I look down at the mock-ups. "We're just friends, that's all." I've told her about our past, but only the short version. Dated years ago. Broke up. Now working together.
"Yeah. Sure."
"Are you ready to go over the national media budget?"
"Absolutely," she says, but I can tell from the tone of her voice that this conversation isn't over. We've become too close in the last few years for her to let this drop.
Maybe that's good. Maybe I need someone to talk to. Because right now, I think I'm a danger to myself.
Because the biggest thought in my mind at this very moment, is that not jumping all over his suggestion that we be Friends With Benefits was a really, really stupid move.
15
For his entire career, Noah had been someone who habitually got to work early. Now, faced with the knowledge that each morning he'd see Kiki, he found himself arriving not just early, but ridiculously, obscenely, obsessively early.
It was worth it, though.
He liked walking down to the twenty-second floor from his office on twenty-three and catching her at her desk before eight. For the first couple of days, he'd come armed with a question about work. Then he gave that up. The truth was, he just wanted to see her. Chat with her. About the job, about work. About whatever was on their minds.
And even though she didn't say it, he knew she looked forward to their quiet mornings, too. He'd suspected as much when she offered him a croissant, saying that the bakery had messed up her order.
The next time, he was certain she'd intentionally brought him a muffin, but he pretended to believe her bullshit bakery error story.
The third time, neither of them pretended, and they sat together on the small sofa in her office, drank coffee and ate cheese Danish. They'd fallen into a pattern. Coffee and baked goods while they chatted about nothing in particular. Then, after about fifteen minutes of that, they'd shift seamlessly into work mode.
It wasn't his usual way to dive into the day, but damned if he wasn't getting used to it.
Fridays were always crazy, and this one was no exception. He'd gotten a call from a European vendor, and now he was late getting out the door. In the past, he wouldn't have cared, but now the thought of skipping his morning Kiki-time edged him toward a foul mood.
Hurrying, he crossed the condo lobby, then pushed open the glass doors. He started to veer right toward Congress, then stopped cold when he saw that same damn green truck parked across the street. And once again there was someone in the driver's seat, slumped down and wearing a ball cap.
Maybe it was nothing.
Maybe it was none of his business.
But maybe it was a corporate spy, and Noah intended to find out.
He checked himself, and instead of going right, he headed straight across the narrow driveway that ran in front of the condo. He hit the sidewalk, and
then--even though he was in the middle of the block without a crosswalk and traffic was heavy--he started across the one-way street, determined to see just who the hell was in that truck.
He didn't make it.
The driver turned, the truck started, and right as Noah hit the middle of the street, the damn thing pulled out away from the curb.
This time, he had the presence of mind to check the license plate--and when he saw that there wasn't one, he spat out a curse as he continued to his office.
The moment he stepped into her office, Kiki rose to her feet, her eyes skimming over him with concern. "Are you okay?"
And there it was--that sweet little kick in his gut. The way she surprised him by the simple fact that she knew him. It was the reason why being around her was both hard--and the easiest thing in the world.
"Fine," he said. "Just baffled and a little concerned." He took a seat, then told her about the green truck.
She passed him a blueberry muffin and sat on the couch beside him. "Do you think it has to do with Red Brick? What Mr. Stark told you about espionage?"
He hadn't realized how much he'd feared looking paranoid until she spoke, and her words confirmed he wasn't overreacting. "I don't know, but if I see it again, I'll let Stark know."
She nodded approval. "Good. Oh, and check this out." She got up and went to her desk, practically dancing her way back to hand him the most recent copy of X-Tech, a prestigious trade publication that focused on tech and security. He knew the team had been targeting them to run a feature on Red Brick, and the way she was doing a combination happy dance and victory march, told him they'd gotten the interview.
Even better, it made him laugh.
"Don't you dare tease me," she said, circling her desk as she did a couple of fist pumps. "I worked my ass off lining that up." She danced her way back to him again, and this time, he grabbed her hand and tugged her down to the couch.
"Spoilsport," she teased, but she was smiling. And she hadn't let go of his hand.
She met his eyes, and he heard her sharp, shuddering breath before she gently tugged her hand away, then reached for her coffee and held her mug in both hands, as if she wanted to stop herself from reaching for him again.
"I'm going to a housewarming party on Sunday," he said, the words coming unplanned. "You should join me."
"I should? Why's that?"
She wasn't looking at him, but he could hear the tease in her voice. But he wasn't teasing when he answered. "Because I want you to."
She turned to him, her eyes wide with surprise, her freckles showing up a little more against her flushed cheeks. "Oh." She licked her lips, and it wasn't until the slow smile spread across her face that he realized he'd been holding his breath. "In that case, I'd love to."
"Ares grew up in this neighborhood," Kiki said on Sunday as they drove north on Chicon Street in East Austin. "I came with him a few times in college to see his parents. It's changed a lot. They lived over that way, by the cemetery." She pointed vaguely to the left, back toward downtown. "We used to walk through it and have long talks about the meaning of life."
Noah hadn't grown up in Austin, but he was familiar with the city's efforts to revitalize the historically lower-income area east of the Interstate. Over a decade ago, a lot of young professionals had started buying up the houses to either tear down or renovate, and as the smaller bungalows were replaced with modern, urban dwellings, more businesses moved in to service the newer, moneyed residents. The problem, of course, was that the long-time residents ended up priced out of their homes, unable to afford the increase in property taxes that came with the new, shinier East Austin.
"It's hard," Kiki agreed when he said as much. "After Ares' father died, his mom couldn't afford the taxes. She sold it for a decent amount, but not enough to buy another place in Austin. She's renting now in Dallas near his sister." She shrugged. "But there are upsides, too. The restaurants, the cleanup. Crime is down. But it makes me sad that people who lived here for generations can't hang onto their homes."
She sighed wistfully. "Ares was just starting to perform when we were in college, and he'd sing for his cousins at his house. I'd come along and sing backup or whatever he needed. And his mom would stuff us full of tamales. It was heaven."
"The tamales or the singing?" he asked, as his car's navigation system ordered him to make a left.
"Both. But mostly the singing."
He made the turn, then took his eyes off the road long enough to note the way she was still smiling at the memory. "I was thinking about what you said the other day," he said. "About you considering backing off from Pink Chameleon."
"You think I should," she guessed. "I have a good thing going with Crown Consulting, and I need to be a grown-up about my life and career."
"Actually, I was going to say that you need to go for it. You've always wanted to sing, and you should grab what you want when you can."
It struck him that he wasn't following his own advice. He wanted Kiki, but he sure as hell hadn't grabbed her.
Except that wasn't the same at all. He was keeping his distance because that's what she wanted. He was respecting her boundaries.
But maybe now it was time to start chipping away . . .
"It's scary," she said, her words unintentionally tracking his thoughts. "I'm so much older now, and I don't know if our music is even relevant, and touring doesn't sound nearly as cool as it used to. But at the same time, I want to sing. I want to perform. And I don't want to wake up and be angry with myself for not trying."
"Which is exactly what I just said."
She laughed. "Yeah. I guess it is. You know, this is the second time you've encouraged me to dive into Pink Chameleon."
"I was just a sounding board the other day," he protested.
"No, I mean now, and back when we lived in Los Angeles."
"Oh." He forced his body to relax. "Sorry if I brought up bad memories."
"No," she said quickly, then gently touched his arm. "No, I didn't mean it that way. Actually, I like it. It's nice having someone watch my back again. Gives me a reality check."
"What are friends for?" he asked as the car announced that they'd arrived at their destination, a pale blue bungalow that was probably built in the thirties, and looked as if it had been recently refurbished.
He found a spot on the street and killed the engine. He was about to open his door and get out when Kiki put her hand on his arm again. "I'm glad," she said. "That you're here. That we're friends again." Her smile was sweet, maybe even a little shy. "Working with you . . . It's been great. I've missed . . . well, I missed it."
"So have I," he said, his throat suddenly dry. "And I'm glad we're friends again, too."
And he was. Genuinely, honestly happy.
But that didn't mean that he didn't want more.
They got out of the car and followed the yard sign that told them to come in through the back gate.
They followed a crushed granite path to a xeriscaped backyard where a dozen or so people mingled--including a tall, slender blonde. Evie.
She was chatting with Griffin, their host, but for a second, she looked away from Griffin and straight at Noah. Their eyes met. Then her gaze flickered to Kiki and quickly back to Noah. She flashed a knowing smile, then returned her attention to Griffin.
Beside Noah, Kiki was scanning the party, apparently oblivious. "Who's the host?"
"That's him," Noah said, pointing.
"We should go say hi."
Since he wasn't at all interested in talking with Evie, he was about to suggest they get a drink first. But he didn't have to use that ploy, as he was rescued by Wyatt and Kelsey, who came up and introduced themselves.
"I saw A Woman in Mind in Dallas," Kiki said. "It was spectacular."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Wyatt said.
"So much. And I saw the prints in Noah's apartment. They're exceptional."
"Oh?" Kelsey asked innocently. Too innocently, Noah thought. "The ones on the wall
near his bed? So, are you two dating? I'm allowed to be nosy because the host's my brother. Plus, Noah's told us about you, and I've had my fingers crossed."
"Kelsey," Wyatt chastised, but Noah was pleased to see that Kiki only laughed.
"We're just friends," she said, but her tone was almost like a question, and that little bit of inflection gave him hope.
"And colleagues," he added, though the second the words escaped him, he wanted to call them back. Tossing work up felt like a wall. And he didn't want any more walls.
He was considering what else he could say when he heard a female squeal, and a dark-haired girl in leggings and an oversized loose-knit sweater bounded over, calling Kiki's name.
"Mina?" Kiki asked, then held out her arms as the younger woman embraced her. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"I'm interning for Griffin," she said
Kiki turned toward Noah. "Mina is Cam's best friend's sister. I used to babysit her. It is so awesome to see you."
Noah and Mina did the introduction thing, and then she and Kiki wandered off together, clearly following the path down memory lane.
Wyatt had stepped away to talk to someone else, but Kelsey had lingered. Now, she edged Noah aside, her arms crossed and her expression stern. "Colleagues?" she said. "Seriously? You like this girl and that's the best you can do?"
"I know. Lame."
"But recoverable," she said boldly, as if she were a relationship general leading the charge. "So how is it really going with you two?"
He tried to think how to explain it to her. "She's right--we are friends. But--"
"But you haven't gotten past the speed bump to move on to anything more?"
"That's not a bad way of putting it." He dragged his fingers through his hair. It wasn't just her desire to stay at arm's length that was stymieing them. It was their past. The memory of pain. And what he wanted--no, what he needed--to do was tell her flat out that he wanted more. That he knew he'd hurt her and wanted to spend the rest of his life making it up to her.
"That," Kelsey said softly.
Noah frowned, confused. "What?"
"Whatever you were thinking that gave you such a wistful look. Just go tell her that."
"Easier said than done."
She gave him a gentle shove. "Sure it is . . . if you never do it." She cut a glance toward Kiki, who was laughing as Mina bounced away. "See? She's free. So, go."