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Noah King stared back at the grave faces across from his desk with a growing sense of disbelief. For several seconds he was sure they were joking. But then nobody, least of all he, was laughing.
“Let me get this straight. You three are here to stage some sort of fuckingintervention?”
Gabriel shrugged. Mike folded his arms in a defensive gesture that hadn’t changed since the fourth grade. Damon, his oldest friend, rubbed the side of his nose before staring him square in the face. Noah knew he wouldn’t like what came next. Not that he liked what they’d just announced.
“Take it easy, man, we’re just watching out for you,” Damon said.
“By ambushing me in my office? What are you, The Real Housewives of Corporate America?”
Mike laughed, then sobered quickly, his palms out in a “chill, man” gesture when Noah glared at him. “Damon’s right. We’re worried. You haven’t been yourself for a long time now?—”
“Yeah, I wonder why,” Noah cut across him, his insides clenching with the effort it took just to breathe through the vice around his heart and the anger boiling in his gut.
The three guys—his best friends until exactly five minutes ago—exchanged wary looks.
Gabriel stood and paced a few steps to the window before turning to face him. “Noah, buddy, it’s been two years,” he said quietly.
“Dammit, I know exactly how long it’s been.” His tight smile held no mirth. “What I didn’t realize was that I was on a goddamn clock.”
“I told you he wouldn’t make it easy,” Mike muttered.
“Yeah, you two should’ve listened to Mike and killed whatever it is you’re cooking up,” Noah growled. Bitterness still burned like acid, and he would’ve given his right arm not to be having this conversation.
“Hey, that wasn’t what I said,” Mike protested.
“I don’t give a fuck what you ladies decided on your way over here. This… whateverthisis, is over. I have a meeting in ten minutes, so…” He gestured toward the door. None of them moved. Noah’s sense of disbelief grew. “Are you kidding me with this bullshit?”
Damon grimaced. “Yeah, we’re not leaving, pal. We kinda made a pact.”
The back of Noah’s neck tightened. “Apact? Do you have any idea how very eighties high school sitcom you sound right now?”
“We’re not leaving here until you agree to hear us out.”
“Then get to the point,” he said through teeth clenched hard enough to crack his jaw. “So I can kick your asses out the door and carry on with my day.”
“You need to get out from behind that desk, and we don’t mean just to go home, crash and return at 6a.m. We mean, have some sort of life beyond making your next billion.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I get out plenty. I’ve never missed our monthly poker matches.”
“You arrive late and are the first to leave,” Gabriel said.
Noah exhaled slowly. “Again, I didn’t realize I was on a timer.”
Mike shook his head. “You can be defensive all you want. Bottom line is, you’ve given up on living. You play poker with us because you feel obligated. Aside from riding your desk, everything you do these days is an obligation.”
His gut clenched harder. “Seriously, watch it, Mike.”
Mike glared back. “Fuck, man, you’re throwing your life away because of her. You know that by shutting yourself down she’s winning, right?”
Noah’s breath caught on the jagged anger ripping through him.
“That reverse psychology bullshit hasn’t worked on me since we were kids, Mike, and even then it worked like, what, once? Frankly, I’m disappointed you think I’d fall for it.”
“Shit, man, we have to try something before you turn into a goddamn zombie.”
He collapsed back into his seat and clenched his fists tight to stop himself from going for Mike’s throat. Of course, not so deep down he knew the anger that rode him was directed at himself than anyone else. So was the unrelenting tide of anger and confusion that washed over him every time he thought of his ex-fiancé.