Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

" T HIS IS ROSE," he gestured to a very neat-looking woman, perhaps in her thirties, with curly blonde hair and big blue eyes. She wore red eyeglasses and a sage green dress, that made the caramel colour of her skin pop. "She basically keeps my life on track in every way imaginable. I'd be lost without her."

Rose rolled his eyes. "Watch out. He only flatters like that when he needs something."

Noah clutched a hand to his chest. "I'm wounded."

Rose flicked a smile in his direction before turning her attention to Louisa. "Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you."

For a second, panic slicked Louisa's insides, completely and utterly replacing the lingering feelings of warmth that had been rolling around inside of her, since that moment in the elevator. Imagined or not, it had certainly left an impression.

But then, she hadn't imagined the way his eyes had lingered on her face, even once the doors had opened. Nor had she imagined his sharp intake of breath as she'd brushed past him to leave.

Louisa was used to being known and recognized, but so far Sydney had been a haven for her. Even after Ares's unexpected visit the week before, she'd still been able to fly under the radar. The local papers hadn't even run the story about his visit—thank heavens for small mercies—though anyone who went online would be able to find all the sneaky long lens photos and the conjecture about Ares's reason for coming to see her.

"I was explaining your advertising vision to Rose," Noah supplemented, and when Louisa glanced across at him, there was a look in his features that she could have sworn mimicked embarrassment.

But that made zero sense.

"Shall I show you through to your command centre?" Rose offered.

"I like the sound of that," Louisa said with a smile of her own. "That would be?—,"

"That's okay, Rose. I'll do it," Noah's voice came over the top of Louisa's. "Don't trouble yourself."

Rose glanced at him with obvious surprise, before lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "Okay. I have more than enough to be getting on with, anyway." She turned back to Louisa. "But I'm here if you need anything. My extension is number forty-seven. Just pick up any phone and dial it to be put through to me."

"Thank you," Louisa said with a sigh of genuine relief. She was sure she was going to be relying on Rose a little more than the other woman potentially realized.

"This way." Noah's hand in the small of her back came as a total surprise—and not an unwelcome one. It was the barest brush of his hand to her jacket, simply to guide her away from the reception desk, but it was also moving them closer and closer to the fantasy that had flooded her mind in the elevator, so she almost groaned.

"My office is through there," he gestured to two wide doors. "And you'll be in here." He pushed open a door just down the hallway from his own, to reveal a spacious office with views that rivaled those of the boardroom, on the floor beneath them.

"Wow," she said, taking a moment to appreciate the outlook, striding across the carpeted floor and putting her hands on her hips, oblivious to the way the sun silhouetted her figure in a way that Noah couldn't help but notice. "This is so beautiful." She turned to face him. "Do you still see it, or are you so used to it you don't notice?"

He walked towards her, and her heart leaped into her throat. "I see it," he said, his eyes on the view. That didn't matter, though. He came close enough to her that she could smell the subtle hint of his cologne and her whole body throbbed in response.

"Have you lived in Sydney long?" she asked, surprised by her sudden interest in small talk and recognizing it for what it was. Nervousness, but also, a desire for him to stay with her a little longer.

"We moved here about eighteen months ago."

Her heart skidded into her throat. We.

Of course he was a ‘we'. As if someone like Noah Fox would be single. What was she thinking? She nodded quickly, dismissively. "Well, thank you for?—,"

"My daughter and me," he interrupted to clarify, and now her heart leaped from her throat into her brain and mouth and fingertips and knees. It seemed to be everywhere in her body, all at once.

"Oh," she said, looking up at him and feeling as though she were sinking into quicksand. She couldn't look away, and nor, apparently, could he. There was only one reason he'd clarify that the ‘we' in question had been his daughter, and not a partner. The answer, unfortunately, opened a whole can of worms that Louisa knew they should keep closed.

"She's fifteen. It's a whole thing. Teenage girls. I'm woefully ill-equipped to deal with it." His smile was lopsided and utterly charming. Every part of her seemed to melt in the face of it. Even more so when she perceived the genuine look of stress around his eyes.

"Can her mother help?" Okay, she was being nosy. Or perhaps she was being cautious. The last thing Louisa wanted was to find herself in the middle of a marital dispute.

"No." The answer was stern, a whip-like inflection, almost like a curse. He made a visible effort to relax. "Taylor's mother is dealing with her own issues right now. She's not really in the picture, for the moment."

Louisa's heart twisted for the teenager. "That must be hard on both of you."

"My marriage ended a long time ago," he answered, his eyes boring into hers. Like he needed her to understand that. As though it was vitally important, on some level. "I had no problems walking away from Amy. But Taylor is her daughter. She's a child, who doesn't understand the very adult reasons I had for doing what I did, and I want to protect her mother as much as possible, because one day, I hope they can have a relationship. Which means Taylor sees me, right now, as the devil." He pulled a face and laughed a little awkwardly. "I'm sorry. You came here to work, not to be my therapist."

"It's fine," she rushed to reassure him. And it really was. She liked hearing him talk. She would have happily listened to him reciting a recipe book, in fact. But hearing him talk about something as important and private as his family life was a whole other level of addictive. "I know a thing or two about teenage girls myself."

He arched a brow, in silent enquiry.

"I was one, once upon a time," she said with a smile.

"And were you a handful, Louisa?" He had moved a little closer, without her realizing it, and the inflection in his question hinted at a double entendre, or at least a yearning to learn more about her than she had shared.

"Actually, I was pretty much a poster child," she said with an apologetic smile. "But I have a twin sister who definitely delighted in giving my parents the runaround. Grace spent from around fourteen to seventeen bending every rule we had, until they broke, and then refusing to clean up the mess afterwards. She was a nightmare."

He wasn't touching her, but the way he was looking at her face warmed her all over, in the same way she might have felt if he'd reached out and stroked her.

"And now?" he asked, the words soft, so she had to lean forward a little to hear what he was asking.

Louisa thought of her sister, grateful to have something tangible she could reflect on, something to tether her to the real world and her life outside of Noah. A man she'd met only that morning, and was suddenly occupying a tremendous amount of her brain power.

"She's a wonderful person," Louisa promised. "I mean, she always was, but for Grace, the whole teen rebellion thing seemed like a compulsion, rather than a descriptive phase. 0Terrorising our parents was not optional."

"And what did you do, Louisa, while all hell was breaking loose around you?"

Louisa flushed with a hint of embarrassment at what a square she'd been. "I ignored it," she said, though it was so much more than that. She'd studied, worked, shone when her sister screwed up, making sure she never put a foot wrong, because her parents wouldn't be able to cope with two daughters going off the rails at the same time. Louisa's life had been an exercise in colouring inside the lines. She had been a ‘good girl', designated by all who knew her, from the day of her birth, right up until now.

"So I can't really give you advice from my personal perspective?—,"

"Someone you love leaned into the whole teenage disaster thing and you had to watch from the sidelines? It sounds like you're exactly the person to help. Are you free tonight?"

She stared at him, her insides rolling. "Tonight?"

"For dinner."

It wasn't a date. It wasn't a date. He was her client, and he was asking for help with his daughter. Technically, this fell into the job description, didn't it? Her role was to make their clients happy, however she could, and Noah Fox clearly wanted to talk about his daughter's rebellion.

"I—yes. I can do that," she agreed, even before she'd decided she would.

"Great. Give Rose your address and I'll come pick you up. How's eight o'clock?"

A little later than Louisa usually went out, these days. Then again, she'd been a total hermit for at least the last six months. Before leaving Ares, the press attention had reached fever pitch, meaning she'd spent the northern hemisphere summer between the palace and her flat, barely braving even a trip to the supermarket. After they'd broken up, she'd been running away, and running away was just easier to do when you didn't make friends or connections. Every night, she went back to her empty flat, ate a microwave meal with a small glass of wine, then curled up on the sofa and fell asleep whilst watching re-runs of ER.

Hardly the stuff of single-girl excitement.

Technically though, she was nursing a broken heart. Or at least, she should have been, never mind that she didn't feel heartbroken, having left Ares, so much as shell-shocked at how wildly her life had veered off the course she'd presumed, up until around six months ago, it would take.

"Louisa? Eight okay?"

"Oh, yeah. Yes. I can do that. I'll see you then." She just wished her voice hadn't sounded so husky!

"I don't need a damned babysitter," Taylor stamped her foot for good measure.

"Language, Taylor," he said, sharply.

Taylor's laugh was cruelly mocking. "Damn, damn, damn. God, Dad, you're such a loser. It's not even a swear word."

"In my house, it is. I don't want to hear it out of your mouth again, young lady."

Young lady? Young lady? What was happening to him? He felt wound up tighter than a coil. He felt fit to burst. He felt like Taylor had called him, a loser.

"For fu?—,"

"Don't finish that sentence," he snapped, and for once, Taylor listened to him. But she slammed her hands on her hips and glared at him as though she wished he'd shrivel up and die. He couldn't remember ever feeling this way about his own father and stepmother. He'd gone through the teen years pretty much without incident. A few cracks in his voice, a heap of extra inches in height, he'd started to fill out his frame and get hair on his legs and in all the places grown men had it, and then, bam. He was done.

It was very easy to imagine that Taylor got this rebellious side from her mother.

"I'm fifteen years old."

"I'm aware of that. I was in the hospital the day you were born."

She rolled her eyes. "Gross."

His nostrils flared as he tried to contain his temper. "Kristen is not your babysitter. She's my housekeeper."

"Oh, and there's some urgent laundry matter she needs to attend to at seven thirty in the evening? Doesn't she have a life of her own?"

"Keep your damn voice down."

"Language, Noah."

He could have screamed. He could have shouted every curse word he knew. Instead, he sucked in a deep breath and crossed his arms over his chest. "You are going to go to your room and do some homework. When you've decided you can be polite and civil to Kristen, who will be here until I get back, you may join her for dinner."

"Oh, gosh, how kind of you. What a benevolent jailer you are, to permit me time to walk to my own kitchen and eat a meal." She rolled her eyes again for good measure.

"Or you can stay in your room and act like a two-year-old having a tantrum. It's up to you."

Nothing took the wind out of a teen's sails like being called a toddler, he'd come to realise.

"I hate you," she hurled at him, but to his relief, she did turn on her heel and stalk towards the stairs, which led to her bedroom.

"Good night, Taylor," he called to her retreating back. He was pretty sure she moved her hand in a very rude gesture in response.

He sagged against the wall afterward, totally sapped by the argument. By all the arguments. He almost couldn't bear the way she spoke to him, the way she really did seem to hate him.

And just like that, the pleasurable anticipation he'd been feeling all day, at the prospect of taking Louisa to dinner, evaporated. He still wanted to see her, but he wasn't sure he wanted her to see this version of him. He felt infuriated and devastated, all at once.

Even if she hadn't been expecting him, Louisa somehow would have known that Noah would drive this kind of car. A sleek SUV, she saw as it drew nearer that it was a prestigious European brand. It was a gunmetal grey, matte in colour, with darkly tinted windows, and the hubcaps had the kind of shine indicating they'd never been crunched into the gutter. She waited on the footpath—somehow it felt less intimate than being inside and having him ring the doorbell—so saw the moment he turned the corner.

And her pulse leaped accordingly, whoosh, bang, whoosh, like a river racing, rushing, threatening to burst its banks.

He pulled over and cut the engine, stepping out of the car. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting him to wear—maybe still his suit? But instead, Noah had changed into dark denim jeans, a pair of loafers, and a pale blue button-up shirt, with the collar a little raised at the back and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his tanned, toned forearms to her very thirsty gaze.

She tried to swallow but found her tongue was too thick, or something. Instead, she took a step forward and mortifyingly held her hand out to shake. He gave her one of those lopsided smiles, albeit a little tight, then took it. Only unlike their handshake earlier that day, this was different. Slower. Everything was slower, from the blinking of her eyes to the curve of her lips to the way the light summer breeze seemed to lift her hair off her neck and pull it away from her face.

"Hey," she said, her fingertips sparking from his touch.

"Hey," he repeated, his hand still holding hers. He let go then, but he gave her hand a little squeeze first. It was unlike any other handshake she'd ever been a party to.

"Where are we?—,"

"Do you mind if we?—,"

They started, and stopped, talking at the same time.

"You go," she said, flushing to the roots of her hair. She felt like a teenager, going on her first date. But this wasn't a date, she had to remind herself forcibly. Just as she'd had to remind herself when she'd chosen what to wear for tonight and ended up opting for a pair of linen shorts and a singlet top. It was casual, but still somewhat professional. Okay, she'd always thought the shorts flattered her figure and the singlet was dipped a little low at the front, and she knew this shade of peach flattered her skin tone, but so what? Was it a crime to want to look your best?

"I was going to ask if you particularly wanted to eat out?"

She looked at him, not completely understanding. "You want to cancel…this?"

"No, no," he replied, so quickly and forcibly that she almost lost her breath, because he clearly didn't want to cancel. Not even a little bit. Which meant, she hoped, that he was looking forward to this as much as she was.

"So—," she prompted, waiting for him to explain.

"I have reservations at Harry Hanks," he said, referring to one of the premiere restaurants in Sydney. She knew that because she'd taken clients there when they were in need of schmoozing.

"Lovely," she said, thinking of the huge open space with views out over Bondi with a strange lack of enthusiasm. While the restaurant was exceptional it was still very…peopley. And she wasn't sure she was in the mood for people.

His brow furrowed. "We can go there, if you'd like. It's just?—,"

"Yes?" She asked, again resenting her voice for coming out all husky, eager, and intimate.

"To be frank, I've just had a huge argument with Taylor, and I'm pretty bloody steamed up." He laughed, but it was heavy with stress. "I was wondering if you'd be interested in just walking around a bit?"

The sun had only set in the last twenty minutes or so, and the sky was still tinged with a hint of orange. "I'm happy to walk," she said because she was. She didn't have his reason, but at the same time, it felt as though she was bursting apart at the seams, and she wasn't sure a restaurant could contain her.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. But do you mind if I go change my shoes?" She glanced down at her high heels with a look of remorse. "These are ever so slightly less into walking than I am."

His smile was dazzling, just as it had been that morning. Her heart did a funny little poppety pop. She dug her fingernails into her palm, seeking sanity and a dose of reality.

"No worries."

They stared at one another.

"Should I?—,"

"Did you want?—,"

She burst out laughing. "This is getting ridiculous. What were you saying?"

"I'll wait here if you'd like."

She hesitated a moment, knowing that was the smart decision. The only decision that one hundred per cent guaranteed she wouldn't do something exceptionally stupid, like beg her very, very important client to kiss her, just this once, so she knew if his lips felt as good as she imagined they might.

"You can come up," she said, throwing caution, and wisdom, to the wind. She'd been a good girl for such a long time. All her life. It was tempting to flirt, if just for a moment, with the idea of being a little bit bad after all.