Page 15 of Vicious Arrangement (Alpha Billionaire Daddies #7)

Chapter Fourteen

NOAH

It’s probably the fifth time I’ve read over the document Felicity handed me about Adler Industries and our takeover. I have to make those extra final touches. It’s been a long fucking day.

I got in at nine after that interesting morning in bed, on the bed, scaring the living daylights out of Maria, who does the laundry. She’s Alonso’s cousin, and I like supporting their little business enterprise. Mainly because every one of them doesn’t gossip, and they do exceptional work.

Mark sent me daggers, but I just passed along the fact my morning breakfast meeting with Jonathan Meiers went well. And it did. I just didn’t divulge the fact it was a coffee meeting because that deal’s in the bag, and we were both busy. Whatever, Mark can go fuck a tree or something.

But now, I’m sitting here, not reading the document and smelling the spot on my left sleeve, near my cufflink, that if you smell hard, Aria’s delectable scent is cock-hardeningly clear.

I must have just brushed her cunt picking her up, or deliberately when I touched her.

Who really cares? Not me. I like moving my wrist and catching her scent.

But I’ll admit it’s distracting, and if I get caught off guard, a tiny whiff sends me crazy, drowning in cascading memories.

Thank fuck this is a purely physical thing.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m turning a new leaf, growing up.

I’m almost thirty, after all. Or maybe it’s the fact there’s insane attraction, and it happens, but this time I have to keep seeing her.

And she’s fucking smart, weird, sweet, and funny. There are layers.

“Shit dude, turn it off.”

This time, I pick up the paperwork and read through it. It’s good I make some notes and have my assistant run it to Felicity. It comes back and we’re agreed. We can discuss it with Mark.

Fucking vice president. He’d be better off in a different position or perhaps sharing it with Felicity.

I choose her to run things by because I noticed her as I worked my way up, everyone else either try to befriend me or make my life hard because, y’know, nepo baby bullshit.

Oscar treated me worse because of who I was. There were no privileges, and I had to work harder than anyone else, longer, and sure, I partied, and got judged.

But yeah, the reason I like Felicity is she’s smart, talented, and never once treated me as anyone other than a colleague. If I fucked up, she told me. If I did well, she told me. She also helped, too.

But the document is good, and I get up, right as my phone flashes. It’s seven p.m.

Aria: when will you be home?

Then she texts: It’s about dinner.

My fingers itch to text back. But I put the phone in my pocket instead.

I go and knock on Felicity’s door. “Hey Noah.”

“It’s good. Excellent, we can?—”

“Mark left an hour ago. But we can bring him up to date tomorrow. The board’s on board, and you’re the one with the most shares, anyway…”

“Mark gets pissed if he’s left out.” To be fair, I make myself add, “which I get. He thought he’d have my job.”

She doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll set up the meeting, but… you present it. You did most of the work.”

“Me?”

“Sure.” I shrug. “I wish I could move you up in the hierarchy.”

But she laughs. “Once I wanted the most tippy job I could have without owning the company, but I have the right amount of responsibility. But next pay raise cycle, I’ll take one.”

“Under advisement.” I salute her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When I get off the elevator in the marble and glass foyer, I say goodnight to the security man, and I call my car and step outside.

Aria hasn’t texted back. I’ve probably disappointed her, but I’d rather she learn that now.

If I go home and she’s cooked, prepared some candlelit romantic dinner—okay, just dinner, or ordered in for two, totally ignoring the healthy, balanced, and delicious meals in my fridge—then I know what’ll happen.

We’ll flirt, and that’ll lead to fiery banter and more flirting and touching, maybe some kissing and fuck.

Dinner with Aria’s probably going to lead to sex with Aria.

And I want that. Thinking about that makes my fucking skin and flesh heat, and my pants get tight, but don’t want the baggage.

I don’t want the feelings she’ll develop or all the questions about getting to know me.

She doesn’t want that. No one does. I’m a fuck-up and a chip off the old block.

Christ. If my grandfather couldn’t love me then who can?

Okay, Josh, but four-year-olds aren’t great decision makers and Asher’s an idiot when it comes to loyalty and his heart.

He’s trust and like anyone. Hell, he’ll probably fall for Katie, Aria’s friend. Which’ll just make things worse.

My car pulls up, and I get in.

I just don’t want to go home and get tempted by Aria, but I also just want to go home and be tempted. I’m a mess. I call Asher.

I roll my eyes when he doesn’t answer, so I text. Pick up your phone.

Asher: Dude. No one under fifty calls anyone. You’re not even thirty. Luddite .

Me: You’re lazy.

Asher. Working single dad. What’s your excuse?

Me: bored rich kid. What are you up to?

Asher: don’t you have a wife to hassle.

Me: Did this morning.

Asher. Hawt.

Now who’s the asshole? Me: What’s Josh up to? I like him better .

Asher: going to bed. You’re a bad influence. But come on over.

Me: see you soon.

I stop and buy some of Josh’s favorite candy, a spiderman cake at a bodega that’s got to be ninety percent chemicals and then I go into the liquor store and get Red Brest whiskey and Black Dirt bourbon.

And back to the bodega for their ugliest bouquet of flowers.

When I finally arrive at Asher’s doorstep, I give him the flowers. “For you.”

“Are these ugly? Or ugly cute? Or cute? They look ugly. I’m not a girl, and they’re weird. Josh will think they’re the best. Thanks.”

I follow him in and set down my gifts. He shudders at the cake and puts it in the candy cupboard because neither of us thinks it’s going to go off. He takes the bottles, holding them up.

“Whiskey or bourbon night?”

“Host’s choice,” I say.

“I’m a whiskey man.”

He pours us both a healthy glass and takes the bottle as we go into his living room. I sink onto the sofa, gulping down my drink like I’m parched, and then I refill my glass.

“That bad or good?”

I just eye him and clink my glass to his, and we both take a swallow.

He turns his glass in his hand. “So,” he says from the other sofa, “how’s married life?”

And then the fucker smirks.

Hell, he knows me too well.

“Fucking dandy,” I mutter, swigging my drink and topping it up.

He nods slowly. “I can tell.” Then he leans forward and says, “Is that why you’re here looking like you’re aiming to get hammered, instead of being at home with the delightful Mrs. Templeton?”

I eye him with even more dislike.

He just grins wider. “I know, I know, my company’s wonderful, the bee’s knees or as Josh says, the beebenee.

I’m guessing he heard it somewhere because it isn’t a phrase I use.

Anyway, I know I’m delightful, even without Joshy to enhance the evening, but I have to ask.

You’re here and not home, and everything, according to you ,is dandy.

So… does she really hate you that much?”

“No. She doesn’t. At least I don’t think so.” I think about it, then sigh, sitting back and lifting my drink. “I just can’t be around her without wanting to fuck her senseless. She’s irresistible. And get this… she’s funny.”

“Good god. Divorce her immediately.”

I point my drink at him. “Not. Helping.”

He only shrugs.

“She’s even got this monster, a beast, a sofa-eating beast, and I still want to fuck her.”

For a moment he doesn’t speak, and then he sits up, drinks his drink, and says, “She’s got a dog?”

“If you’d call it that. It’s the size of Sasquatch.”

“While I find that hard to believe, I’m not sure what the problem here is. You want to fuck her and…?”

“It’s a problem.”

“Because…?”

Fuck, I don’t even know. I like her. She likes me. She’ll get feelings. I’m not that guy. So I change the subject. “I did notice you and Katie were into each other, and she didn’t run. What gives?”

“Nothing.”

I take a swallow of my whiskey. “What are you going to do about her? Ask her out? Scare her off, what?”

He chuckles. “I like her. She’s pretty and bubbly and kind and a whole lot else I don’t know and won’t. I’m not going to do anything. I’m a single dad, and that’s a whole lot of baggage, dude.”

I point at him. “Bullshit.”

“Are you listening to yourself?”

I get his meaning, but I deliberately misinterpret it.

“Yes, and we both know I’m right. You put this off, Asher.

There’s an excuse for girls, always, and then you come on overly enthusiastic, which, when they learn you’ve got a kid they run, but that’s just getting rid of the unworthy. She didn’t run. Bottom line is this.

“You’re a fucking great guy, Asher, and any woman would be lucky to have you. Now shut up and drink.”

It’s late when I get home, more than a little tipsy, but not quite drunk.

It doesn’t smell like food, and when I check the kitchen, everything’s pristine. Almost. There’s a water bottle sitting on a tea towel I didn’t even know I owned, sitting on the island, air drying and still a little damp. And there’s a glass upside down next to it, wet.

Doesn’t she fucking know we have two dishwashers? She doesn’t need to wash something, and I spot the small sleek chrome pumper that, when I press it, holds soap, probably for dishes.

Where the fuck did she find that?

There’s also a sponge.

I look in the fridge, but everything’s as neat as always, my meals untouched, the juice bottles full. I grab an orange juice and a green one.

There’s a packet of sad-looking sandwiches, one of which is half-eaten and in a fit of anger I throw it in the bin. There’s actual food. Why are those there?

But she didn’t cook, and there’s nothing to show she was going to.

I stomp up the stairs, and her light’s on, and I can hear her moving about. I turn to go back to my room and then I knock.

“What?”

“That’s rude,” I say.

“You’ve been drinking. And what’s rude is not texting me back.

I thought I’d do you the common courtesy of texting to see when you’d be home because I wanted you to know if you were going to wait for me not to, as I was at work.

I got home ten minutes ago. And I’m tired, it was a shit of a shift, and I should have known you’re not just an asshole, you’re just plain rude. ”

“I thought…”

“What? I was chasing you like all the other girls? I’m not. You hit on me, not the other way around. You do. So grow up, Noah. You’re hot, but when you act like a prick, the looks get lost. And you’re pissing me off.”

I glare, trying to get this straight. She’s mad at me?

“You know there’s a fridge full of food. Next time don’t bring those sandwiches in here. I threw them out.”

Her hand flies out, but she stops just short of hitting me and drops it back to her side. “That was my dinner. My one meal since this morning. I had some. I was going to shower and finish it. I don’t want your food. I want my life back and you gone. Go away, Noah.”

She slams the pocket doors shut in my face.

And I stand there.

Shame dripping over me. I can’t move, can’t breathe. Because she’s right. I’m a fucking prick. I drop my head to her door and close my eyes.

I meant every word I said tonight to Asher because he’s everything I’m not, and I’m pretty fucking sure Aria just caught on to what I’m not: good, kind, decent, and I’m sure the list goes on. But those are all I can stomach right now.

Breathing in, I say, “Aria? I’m… I’m sorry you had a shitty day, and I’m sorry I added to it. I’m sorry I’m a prick and an asshole and everything else. I’m just sorry.”

I stop because it hits me. Yes, I want her every fucking time I see her, but I like her, too. I like her company, and I didn’t think I would.

Like her company so far, anyway. She’s fun, and I want to explore that, build a friendship.

Fuck, I want her to like me.

“Aria? I really am sorry. For everything. I’ll try harder.

Be nicer. If you like those sandwiches, eat them.

But let my chef know what it is you want.

We’ll get it in. I’ll have your favorite places on speed dial.

I’ll pay for super service. I don’t care.

I’ll get a masseuse to rub your feet. I’ve got some fresh OJ and fresh cold-pressed greens.

I’ll leave them for you. I can order you a pizza.

Would you like one? I can bring you some wine. I’m just… sorry.”

“Go away, Noah. I’m… today wasn’t good. There are days like this at the hospital.”

“Can… can I do anything?” I ask, knowing I’m being completely annoying and not being able to stop. “Shit. I’m just sorry I’m a prick. I’ll burn the suit.”

With that, I leave the juices for her and go to my room, not sure if I imagined the laughter or not.

I slide off the shoes I left out this morning, then put them away and strip off, putting the suit in the dry cleaning pile.

I shower and go to climb into bed, but something compels me to slide open my door and maybe check on her again.

The light’s still on, low and I’m betting she’s outside with her stupid overgrown dog.

But the juices are gone and there’s a note on the floor.

I pick it up and go down to get some more juice, careful not to clink the glass bottles. In my room, I drink my greens and then I smooth out the paper and open it.

One word.

Thankyou

And I know I have to try better.

For Aria.