Page 30 of Love Spell (Witches of London #3)

He wanted to convert Timo into loving the classics from his own country and he wanted Timo to teach him Russian and make him a better trader and ride that zip line in Thailand together. If all the sex stopped now and they worked out and cooked and traded together, he still wanted Timo in his life.

Noah jumped back on with his trades, paying attention as he should, only to remember ten minutes later that Timo had his appointment with the immigration attorney today.

Damn. Should Noah be there? It had come up a couple of times but Noah still wasn’t sure.

It was so easy to get distracted when talking to Timo.

Again, Noah scrambled to finish what he was doing. He took another gulp of coffee and left the mug, hurrying down the hallway to Timo’s office.

“Timo?” Noah leaned around the doorframe. “Are you leaving for that appointment?”

“Hmm?” Attention fixed on one of his screens, Timo was tossing a lump of magnetic beads into the air over and over and catching them. “Shut the door.”

Noah did, with himself on the inside, as he assumed Timo meant.

“How’s your morning been?” Timo asked, still watching the screen.

“A bit shoddy, actually. Sorry, I’ve not been doing my best work this week. I hope last Friday wasn’t my one-hit-wonder.”

Timo smiled, still never glancing at him. “Don’t worry about it. It takes time to be the best player on the team.”

Which raised all kinds of questions for Noah, chief of which was wondering if Timo expected Noah to one day be the MVP, but mostly if Noah wanted that. He’d been learning a lot, growing a new skill set, but he didn’t see this being his whole life. Did Timo?

“Yeah,” Noah said. “That appointment —?”

With the speed of a striking rattlesnake, Timo pounced on his keyboard. His fingers were already flying by the time the beads thunked to the floor by his foot.

While he worked, he talked under his breath. “Didn’t think I’d see that, did you, motherfuckers? See how you like this.”

Timo often talked to his trading terminal.

Many of the guys did. Noah wasn’t sure if it was imagined trading competition, the whales, the underlying, the market, or who all these comments were aimed at, but these men, like slot-machine addicts, anthropomorphized their screens and assigned feelings and motives to the market that were, in fact, sheer chance and convergence.

Noah found their dedication unsettling, not the least of the reasons he wasn’t sure this was a good fit for him long-term.

Not because he didn’t see the appeal of their profound knowledge and skill at handling the market like an expert fisherman handles a wild salmon, but because he could see the appeal of that level of fanaticism.

Noah had too many alcoholics in his family tree not to worry about the branches he sat on.

Grinning, pupils dilated, Timo pushed back his office chair as he swivelled to face Noah.

“I’ve been wanting you. Perfect timing.”

“Your meeting —”

“Not until this afternoon. Drink?” Timo stood and drifted across the room to him.

Noah let Timo kiss him but tried to stay on track. “Should I be there? Join you for the attorney?”

Timo stroked back the hair about his temples, pressing in more with his kisses.

“No reason, unless you want to. I have your paperwork. She’ll tell me what I need to do to get things moving, then probably we should all meet again when more needs doing.

It’s not a fast process, but if you have to stop working for a bit and go back and forth, that’s fine. I’ll look after you.”

“If you’re sure — no, we’re not undressing. I just wanted to ask —”

“You didn’t enjoy yesterday?”

Physical matters had escalated in Timo’s office yesterday.

“Of course I did. But it’s off-putting, all those screens staring at us and your whole team just the other side of the door.”

“You mean exciting.”

“I suppose a sensation can be both.” Noah disentangled, holding Timo’s hands away. “I’m going for lunch.”

Noah kept thinking about the meeting all day, but refrained from going since there didn’t seem to be anything he could do yet.

Timo left work early for the appointment and Noah, who should have stayed through the market’s closing, found himself reading about work visa timelines instead, feeling more and more discouraged.

No matter what Timo said, it wasn’t easy to get into Britain and work long-term.

He wasn’t uniquely qualified. Timo hadn’t made every attempt to find a British citizen to fill the role.

He didn’t even have recent English ancestors like grandparents or anything else good going for him besides having lived legally in England for a year as a student.

Thoroughly discouraged, Noah went home early to make dinner. His numbers were going to be crap this week, which certainly wouldn’t prove Timo’s point arguing for a visa about how indispensable he was, but it was Friday and that ship had sailed.

He fixed cashew vegetables with beef and brown rice, still brooding by the time Timo arrived.

Noah resisted the impulse to clutch at him and beg for the bad news to put him out of his misery.

He was, however, finally distracted. Timo carried an autumnal flower arrangement in oranges and yellows, plus a huge gift bag.

Ever the counterpoint, he was also beaming at Noah.

“Good news?” Heart soaring, Noah gripped the edge of the kitchen island. His attorney must be a genius if she could pull off this work visa.

But Timo was saying at the same time, “Happy birthday.”

“What?”

“Happy birthday, Noah.” Timo brought the bag and vase to him at the island and kissed him while Noah sputtered.

“My birthday’s not until … uh?”

“Monday. But who wants to wait for a Monday to celebrate? It’s October; it’s the weekend; it’s close enough. I was going to take you to dinner but this place already smells better than anywhere on the list. I’d no idea you were such a good cook. Man of many talents.”

“You didn’t have to bring gifts. And I can’t cook. I have two standbys: this and spaghetti and meatballs.”

“And omelettes.”

“Oh, yeah. I can make omelettes. But I learned that on YouTube.”

“That doesn’t make them any less delicious.” Timo pushed him against the counter. “Is it ready now or do we have a spare minute?”

“No, it’s ready. I’ll just test the rice.” He had to speak around Timo’s mouth, then squeeze away to get the rice spoon. “How do you know my birthday?”

“I happen to have a scan of your passport.”

“Oh yeah … How did it go?”

Timo shrugged. “Mixed. I’ll tell you about it. Dinner first.”

“No, tell me. Wash your hands. We can eat right now. What’d she say?”

Timo was laughing at him. “I love you when you’re impatient. Why don’t you open your gift? I’ll dish this up.”

“Hot sauce and limes still in the fridge.” Noah lifted the bag down to a barstool to pluck out tissue paper. “You basically just bought me a mattress. And that was after a weekend getaway.”

“This is practical.” Timo dried his hands, still grinning.

It was a backpack: a robust grey pack for trail or travel, far nicer than any piece of luggage Noah had ever owned.

“Because you found out I’ll be leaving for the States before the month’s out?” Noah said wryly, though he couldn’t help admiring the pack.

“Because you’ll need it on the grand tour. If you will insist on wearing a backpack, you can at least wear one that didn’t come from a school jumble sale and will actually fit and be kind to your back.”

“I’ve never been that ambitious about my travel gear.”

“Good travel gear turns travel from an ordeal to a pleasure.” Timo gave him a pointed look. “Sit.”

Noah sat with his bag and the vase moved to the table while Timo brought lime wedges and hot sauce, then their two heaped plates.

“Thank you. I love it, but I wish you wouldn’t keep getting me stuff. It’s too much.”

“It’s your birthday.” Timo seemed surprised.

Noah didn’t know how to explain that was a moot point, that it was the whole dynamic that was making him increasingly uneasy. But it was a great bag, and Timo was happy about it, so it shouldn’t be a problem for Noah either.

Timo asked about the weekend as they started to eat, what about biking? But Noah stopped him.

“You’ve got to tell me what the attorney said. I’ve been waiting all day. Can we get the work visa?”

“Ah.” Timo made a production of finishing chewing his bite of beef and snow pea. “Turns out, no, that’s rather unlikely under current circumstances.”

“Rather unlikely? As in …?”

“As in no.” Timo looked up from his plate to meet Noah’s eyes across the table. “As in, we’re not getting you a work visa anytime soon. Your time really is up.”

Feeling kicked, Noah simply stared at him, his own fork on the table, deflated and stung that Timo didn’t seem in the least bothered by the news.

“There’s nothing she can do?” Noah’s voice came out breathless.

“For that? Probably not. But don’t panic.” He smiled. “You get worked up over the least little things.”

“ I get worked up —?”

“What’d I tell you? That I’d look after you. We have a solution that’s so elegant, I should have thought of it myself before going in today.”

“You do?”

“We do.” His smile had gone supernova again. “It’s called a fiancé visa.”

“Come again?”

“We can get you a fiancé visa.”

Noah blinked several times. “But I’m not — we’re not — no one’s —”

“What do you say?”

“Say to what? Wait, are you asking me to marry you?”

“I suppose I am.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No way am I marrying you. Timo, we’ve been involved for a week. This is insane.”

“Ah, if you have concerns at such an early stage, and I must point out that I have none at all, my offer is sincere, but if you have concerns, keep in mind that what you’re agreeing to is being engaged.”

“What?”

“It is called a fiancé visa . Not married. Not living together. Not shared bank accounts, investment portfolios, or driving the kids to school. Fiancé visa.”

“You mean … you can say that one day you’re going to marry someone … and get a visa to stay in the country based around that?”

“That’s right. It’s not a long-term solution.” Timo arched a brow. “But, as they say, enough to be getting on with? Get another foot in the door?”

Slowly, Noah let out a breath. “That does sound kind of perfect when you put it that way, but isn’t it dishonest?”

“How so?”

“Well, being …” Noah shrugged. “A lie.”

“I don’t know what you mean. Why shouldn’t we be engaged?”

“I just …I don’t …” Noah helplessly shook his head.

“Do you want me to go down on one knee? I did stop for an engagement ring on the way home but they were closed.”

“You what? ”

“We can sort that this weekend. Choose them together? It doesn’t have to be anything elaborate. What about white gold?”

“Wait a minute —” Noah pushed his chair back. “Timo —”

“I know men don’t always wear them, but obviously this does need to be convincing.”

“You’re not listening to me! I don’t want to do it! It would be fake, so it’s illegal! I’m not doing that!” Noah stormed to the door, stuffed his feet into his shoes, grabbed his keys, and ran out.