Page 187 of Savage Suit

“No need to be. I’m looking after my cousin’s child, not you.” Turning, I went to the bathroom, grabbed my discarded sweats, and put them on. When I’d taken off my suit earlier, I’d left my billfold on the counter, so I scooped it up, then opened the door.

Arms wrapped around her waist, Megan sat in my vacated dining chair. She got to her feet and hung her head, far removed from the confident woman she’d been a few, short weeks ago. Maybe, it was wrong of me not to feel any pity toward her, but I drummed up none. She’d hurt Ryan, made her a victim of Megan’s ruthlessness. Ryan was innocent of everything else. Innocent, like Megan and Reid’s unborn baby.

As fair-minded as Ryan was, I wondered how she’d feel about Megan’s current predicament. Knowing Ryan as I did, I thought she’d want me to help because Megan was vulnerable and pregnant by a Keegan. Her baby was my relative, so no matter how Ryan felt about Megan Buford or my decision to help her, she would have to understand.

I drained my glass. “Come, Miss Buford.”

Her eyes gleamed. “I intend to, Noah,” she said, standing on tiptoes and slanting her mouth over mine.

It was the last thing I remembered.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

I couldn’t remember a happier time in my life. It was like living in a dream I never wanted to end. Declaring our feelings was the best thing that ever happened. It put us on even ground, where neither Noah nor I felt taken for granted or feared a one-sided relationship.

We spent our free time together, including daily lunches. By Tuesday, our office romance turned into an open secret. Even if we had wanted to hide it, the snapshots from our dates appearing on gossip sites would’ve made it impossible.

It didn’t take long before a photographer followed me home and discovered my address. I hadn’t ever thought one way or another about what celebrities faced having their every move documented. It was excruciating. The first morning the paparazzi besieged me, I’d just stepped onto the stoop. They’d tossed personal questions at me, demanding I verify if I was dating Noah. I couldn’t get inside fast enough. He’d sent three guys from his building security. One to barrel through the crowd. Another to keep a firm hold on me as we made it to the car. And the third to drive through the frenzy once we were all safely in the vehicle.

Soraya and I exchanged phone numbers and kept in contact. Noah hadn’t immediately gone on his business trip, so the Friday after the party, he invited Quinn, Logan, Alessia, and Nathaniel to his penthouse for the weekend. By that time, Noah and I had christened almost every room at his place. He gave me the run of it, and it felt like a second home. When he took Logan and Nathaniel to his library for brandy after Alessia asked Quinn and me to go over some of her wedding details, it was the first time I gave myself permission to not fret over my sister and brother.

Quinn was going through something. Not only hadn’t she gotten her tongue pierced, but she also seemed sad and a little distant. I asked if she wanted to talk about it and she said no. And it was fine.Iwas fine. If she needed me, I was there, but she was a grown woman, and I wasn’t a horrible sister for focusing on my life.

The next day, Noah took us on the yacht. Reid’s absence disappointed Quinn, though she still refused the two times I tried to talk to her about him or whatever was bugging her. We arrived at Noah’s penthouse in the late evening, where everyone except Alessia drank, feasted on whatever Angelo sent to our drunken asses, danced, talked, and laughed. We didn’t get out of bed until noon that Sunday, and I didn’t care.

Nathaniel asked Noah to be his best man, and the shocked joy on his face touched me. For so long, Noah had sold himself short. He wasn’t perfect, but no one was.

Like all good things, the cloud I’d been floating on rudely disintegrated without warning. There were supposed to be seven years of feast and seven of famine. To me, it encompassed all areas of my life. I hadn’t even made it to seven weeks.

Exactly one week before Thanksgiving was a day that would live in infamy for me. Whatever could go wrong did.

Noah had just returned from his business trip the day before, having left the previous Wednesday. I had missed him like crazy. Our disagreement on Sunday had kept me awake all night. A discussion on several serious topics were becoming urgent. When he called late Monday evening, he’d sounded strange, but we made up and that was all that mattered.

Then, it all came crashing down.

This particular Thursday I was running late. Last night, Quinn and Logan came to my apartment for dinner. I’d invited Noah, but he’d declined. The Kee-Tel deal he’d left town for was on the verge of falling through and he couldn’t get away from the office.

Admittedly, I was disappointed. We’d only had a brief meeting in the afternoon for him to sign off on the final box design forLa Nostalgie, and then he’d been distracted.

Still, I enjoyed my brother and sister’s company. After dinner, we playedJoking Hazard.For days, Quinn wasn’t herself, but swore she was fine and changed the subject. In the middle of our game, Armani and Dakota showed up. She also invited us to Thanksgiving dinner. Benedicta and Benedict Arnold seemed contrite and genuinely sorry. Forgiving was easier than holding a grudge, so yeah, whatever.

Once my siblings left, I texted Noah and asked if he had a minute to talk. His one-word reply ofnoleft me even more disappointed. I fell asleep after three in the morning, so when my alarm went off at seven, I dismissed it, not waking until eight-thirty. Fuck up number one.

My second SNAFU arrived as a voicemail. Curtis, one of the security guys, had called, asking if they could pick me up for seven forty-five, instead of the usual eight-thirty.

If I had been wise, I would’ve just gotten the fuck back in bed and yanked the covers over my head. Of course, I didn’t. That would’ve been too fucking easy.

I wasn’t peeping out my door to see if the coast was clear until five after nine. Already over the day, I wore no makeup, had my hair in a long ponytail, and dressed in slim ankle trousers, a long-sleeved pleat front blouse with a faux leather trench coat because it was fucking cold, and stiletto red-bottom booties. Not Louboutins. My wild little sister had borrowed my shoes to wear at a party. She’d taken it upon herself to paint the bottoms with red lacquer.

Leave it to Quinn.

No one milled about in the chilly morning. The bracing air smacked me in the face and jumpstarted me. Joe hopping from the stoop startled me. Not only hadn’t I seen him in weeks, but I also didn’t notice him until he moved.

“Hey, Joe.”

“What up, Ryan?” He walked off, crossed the street, and disappeared down the church alleyway. The shortcut would place him right near my car. Since the subway station was that way, I didn’t question his behavior. Besides, I never took that route. To me, it was safer walking the extra distance.

I parked Sandy on the next block, so I put the strap of my purse in a crossbody and descended the steps, following Joe’s path by crossing the street. Or I tried to. Suddenly, photographers swarmed from the alleyway, bombarding me with questions and snapping shot after shot of me.