Page 2

Chapter two

Noel

T he GPS guides me to turn left into a large parking lot with several semi-trucks, a large warehouse, and a brick office building. I park close to the front door next to Declan’s truck. Swarming butterflies in my stomach threaten to flutter their way out, and my attempts at evenly breathing barely keep them contained.

I’m almost ten minutes early, so I check my face in the rear view mirror. Then I look down to check my outfit. Kate was right about wearing something new. I feel professional, and it helps that I never wore this with Nate. He is always creeping into my thoughts. Something as simple as a shirt will remind me of a comment he made or a time we went somewhere while I was wearing it. This outfit doesn’t have any connection to a time with Nate. This outfit is just for me.

Once I feel ready, I grab my bag from the passenger seat and get out of my Porsche Cayenne S. Walking into the office, I’m pleasantly surprised to see a well-designed space. Dark leather chairs offset light flooring. The walls are smattered with understated decor that is clean and modern. Adding to the aesthetic, the receptionist immediately stands and walks around her desk.

“Mrs. Williams, Mr. Adams is ready for you. Please follow me,” she greets me politely .

“Thank you, and Noel is fine.”

“Mr. Adams prefers to keep things formal in the main office,” she explains as she leads me down the only hallway off the main lobby.

“Oh.” I’m too surprised to say anything else. Declan Adams? Formal?

The receptionist, who I assume is Claire Morris, knocks on the first of three doors in the hallway.

“Come in,” Declan’s deep voice answers.

Claire turns to me and smiles before walking back toward the lobby.

I open the door and step inside to find Declan typing on his laptop. He stops when I'm a few steps in and walks around his dark mahogany desk to lean against the front of it. It’s a massive piece of furniture in an office three times larger than mine. His hands grip the edge on either side of his narrow narrow hips while he silently watches me approach.

“Good morning, Mr. Adams,” I say with more confidence than I feel—sure to add the formality in reference to the greeting I received from his receptionist.

“Hm,” he scoffs.

“Your receptionist insisted that you like to keep things formal.” I stop a few steps away from him, tilting my head to the side.

“Do you always greet your clients with sass, Noel?”

Oh, shit. “My apologies. Good morning, Declan,” I correct.

A devious smile graces his otherwise serious face. “Good morning. Are you ready to go?”

“Go?” I ask in surprise.

The details of the meeting specified this office. I don’t ever go places with my clients. The entire point of an office visit is to observe and feel the climate .

He sucks in his bottom lip, gives me a once-over, then answers, “Yes ma’am. I tend to conduct meetings much better after I’ve eaten.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “We can reschedule if today no longer works for you, or I could meet with Claire until you’re free.”

“Breakfast pertains to the details of our business,” he says, meeting my eyes again.

When I don’t respond, he reaches behind his back to grab a set of keys off his desk. He takes a step toward me. Even in heels, he towers over me.

“I’ll drive,” he says, then motions toward the door with his hand.

Resolving to see this through, I turn around to the door. We walk back down the hall and through the lobby.

“Claire, handle all calls until I’m back in the office," he addresses the receptionist as he opens the exterior door for me to exit before him.

“Yes, sir,” Claire calls out as we step into the heat of the morning.

Once we get on the highway, I steal a glance at Declan. He drives with his left hand and leans into the middle of the truck on his propped up right elbow. He's completely unaffected as though tricking me into going somewhere with him is a usual occurrence. Meanwhile, I'm a bundle of nerves.

He’s wearing a black shirt that fits him just as snug as the one he wore in my office a few days ago with dark jeans. His hair is messy but in that on-purpose way. The tip of his tongue rests between his teeth as though he's deep in thought. The sight sends intrusive thoughts to the forefront of my mind, and I have to quickly look out the window to push them away.

“Everything alright over there?” He asks.

I turn to look at him again. He’s side-eyeing me with a dimpled grin. My chest tightens, and butterflies swarm in my stomach. How many hearts have you broken since mine, I wonder?

“All good,” I reply. “How long have you been in business?”

“I started Velocity just after graduation,” he answers.

“Oh? Where’d you end up going to school?” I ask, trying to learn what I can about him while he’s in the mood to share.

“Not college. High school graduation,” he clarifies.

What? “Declan, you were valedictorian,” I practically yell at him in shock.

He chuckles at my reaction. “Funny. You wouldn’t look at me through my entire speech, but you remember I gave one.”

My jaw drops, and I close it shortly after he glances at me again. Words scramble in my head. The thought of him looking my way during his big moment confuses the hell out of me. The comment makes it sound as though I mattered to some degree, which he made extremely clear was not the case.

Unspent anger gets the better of me. “Funny. You pretended I didn’t exist, but you noticed me during a moment that significant,” I bite back. He may have the upper hand here, but I’m not going down that easy.

“Touché,” he nods and chuckles again.

While I try to process what I just learned about him, he pulls the truck into the parking lot of a diner that opened a few years ago. I’ve driven past it but have never been inside. Nate preferred the downtown and upscale scenes, so we rarely visited places like this one. Personally, I love a hidden gem of any kind.

Declan gets out of the truck, and I open my door to do the same. When I look up from getting my bag off the floorboard, he’s standing in the opening of my door holding out his hand. The unexpected gesture sends an electric charge straight through me to places I’d rather not acknowledge right now. I look down at his hand then glance at his face. His expression is blank as though this is perfectly ordinary, and he waits for me to take his outstretched hand.

My fingers glide across his warm, rough skin. Gripping it slightly, I feel his strength as his arm holds firm beneath my weight. He lets my hand fall to close the door as soon as both of my feet are on the ground.

Walking slightly behind him to the diner entrance gives me an amazing view of his back muscles through his shirt. I clear my throat to make an effort at small talk. Obviously, I need a distraction because Kate was right—it’s been too long since I’ve had sex.

“I’ve heard a lot about this place but haven’t been here yet,” I throw out, unable to come up with anything else to say.

“Always my pleasure to provide a new experience,” he says with a grin as he reaches for the door.

I shake my head and try to hide a smile when I walk past him through the door.

The hostess greets us happily, “Good morning, Declan. Right this way.”

She brings us to a booth near the diner’s office door. “Trish will be right with you,” she says brightly before walking back to her post.

“You come here often, I see.” I smile and pick up my menu. The brightness and commotion of the restaurant works wonders to break the spell of being alone with Declan.

“Trish is the owner and one of my clients. I ship her pecan pies statewide,” he says, “Everything on the menu is fresh and made from scratch, so I can’t say I’d recommend any one meal over another."

“Do you keep in close contact with all of your clients like this?” I ask, genuinely interested.

“If I can support their businesses, I will,” he says matter-of-factly.

Interesting . I stare at the menu while I try to connect the Declan I used to know to the man sitting across from me.

“Good mornin’, darlin’,” a woman in her mid-forties says to Declan as she approaches our booth, “Hi, hun,” she addresses me.

“Mornin’, Trish,” Declan answers. “This is Noel. She’s my new marketing account manager and came along with me this morning to get a feel for what Velocity is all about.”

“Nice to meet you, Noel,” she smiles. “Ladies first. What can I get you?”

“Thanks, you too. Um, I’ll try your blueberry bagel with cream cheese,” I answer, smiling back at her.

“Good choice. What about you, Declan?” She says without writing anything down.

“The usual.” Declan tells her while handing her our menus.

I look around the diner to take in the nostalgic decor on the walls—and to avoid the gaze I feel burning into me from across the table. Declan rests his forearms on the edge of the table and leans forward. “I’m sorry about your husband, Noel,” he says in a low, raspy voice.

I let out a sigh and look down at my ring. "Me too," I whisper without looking up. My tragedy is just a Google search away it seems.

Next comes the questions. People always have questions when they learn I’m a 27-year-old widow. I wait, wondering which one he will lead with. But, oddly enough, none follow.

I glance up to find him ready to meet my gaze. Another surprise. Most people don’t know how to look at me after the initial condolences are given. Then again, Declan is no stranger to death.

Instead of saying or asking more, he nods and changes the subject, “My website should reflect some version of my supportive business stance, but I do not want to appear small town. ”

I smile my appreciation and say, “I can work with that. Are you partial to green? I noticed it is your primary color in all graphics but isn’t the color of your building or represented in the lobby.”

He lowers and tilts his head then looks back up at me from the side through his long, dark lashes with a crooked smile as though I’m missing something. After a beat, he finally says, “I am partial to the color, yes.”

Okay…. “Alright. I’ve already started designing a few options. I should be able to send you the first draft of the logo next week.”

“Good,” he says, readjusting in his seat to straighten his back. Even sitting down, I have to look up to him. He’s always been tall, but he looks even taller now that his chest and arms are so big.

Our food arrives, and we talk about a few more of Declan’s clients as we eat. He mentions a few companies that JV Marketing also works with, which leads me to ask one of the many questions I’ve had since he left my office.

“Who referred you to JV Marketing?”

His eyes narrow slightly before he answers. “You did,” he answers.

Taken aback by that, I stumble over my next question. “Wha-, um, how did I?”

“I stopped trying to figure that out years ago.”

His strange answers have my head spinning. When Trish brings the check, I’m thankful for the excuse not to respond because I don’t know what to say.

He thanks her and throws money on the table without looking at it. He stands and looks around the restaurant as he waits for me to slide out of my seat. Maybe it’s the conversation or the dominating presence of him in general, but I find myself waiting for him to indicate whether or not I should walk in front or behind him when I’m out of the booth.

He looks down at me as I smooth out my pants and places his hand near the small of my back, letting me know to walk in front of him. Even though he doesn’t make contact, I can feel his hand hovering just above my ass. He follows close enough behind to push the door open from above my head for me to exit the diner in front of him.

“I’ll get it,” he says as I reach for the door handle of the truck.

I step aside for him, looking up into his face. “Such a gentleman,” I joke.

“Always,” he says as he winks at me.

“Hmm” is my only response. I’m not so sure I believe that to be true.

When he cranks the truck, he turns the volume up as his phone connects to Bluetooth. “The Diary of Jane” by Breaking Benjamin plays in the background. My seat vibrates with the bass, tickling between my legs. I try to ignore it as we pull out of the parking lot, but I have to cross my legs as the song builds.

From my periphery, he seems to be oblivious as he drives. I adjust myself further by putting all my weight on one leg to stop the vibration from being directly on my pussy.

When we stop at a red light, he looks over at me with the hint of a smile on his face. His eyes dance with mischief. “Should I turn it down? Or up?”

I narrow my eyes at him and reach for the radio, turning it down completely. He lets out a deep chuckle as I look out the window, and the truck accelerates with traffic.

“Glad I’m so amusing to you, Declan,” I seethe without looking at him.

“You’re the first woman to sit in that seat. I only realized what was happening when you started to squirm,” he says.

“Mmhmm,” I say, still staring out of the passenger window. Now I can’t look at him because of the somersault my stomach did at the thought of being the only woman he’s taken somewhere in his truck. That should not matter to me.

His deep voice is stern when he says, “I’d never purposely do something like that without your permission, Noel.”

Turning slowly to read his expression, I see he is as serious as he sounds. I relax slightly and stop leaning into the door as we stop at another red light.

He turns to face me again, and I nod my understanding. His smile is genuine at first but turns wicked almost immediately. My eyebrows scrunch together at his shift in mood.

“ With your permission, however,” he trails off and looks ahead as the light turns green.

“I’ll sit in the backseat next time, so you can listen to music. How’s that?”

He shakes his head with a smile. “It would be much worse back there, but you’re welcome to sit anywhere you’d like. Next time.”

Preferably on your lap, I’m sure. “Are you always this charming with your female associates?” I tease.

He clears his throat. “You’ll always be sunshine to me,” he says, and my heart skips a beat.

He pulls into the parking lot of Velocity and shuts off the truck. Neither of us move. So much was said in the spaces between his words that I feel truly speechless after the last comment.

“Thank you for coming to breakfast with me,” he says, taking the pressure off of me to respond by changing the subject.

Smiling at him from the passenger seat, I place my bag in my lap. “Thank you for having me and for trusting me with your account.”

“Absolutely,” he replies with a nod and gets out of the truck.

I follow his lead and meet him at the curb. When I reach out to shake his hand, he glances down at it and smiles. Instead of reaching out with his right hand, he takes it with his left to walk me to my car. Once I’m seated inside, he tells me to drive safe and walks away with his hands stuffed into his front pockets.

My insides are all butterflies mixed with ghosts of the past. I turn the A/C on full blast and try to put the car in reverse. It doesn't budge, and something dings at me. The dash is blinking with a message reminding me it will not go into gear until the driver’s seatbelt is fastened. Shit, get it together.