Hitched (Imperfect Love Book 1) (12 page)

Or so I thought
.

Brad turns and spots me. Noticing my appalled stare, he gives me a sarcastic little wave.

Rage wins out over panic. My paralysis shatters. After spiking my paper cup into the trash can, I charge over to him like a mother wolf defending my den.

“Get out,” I growl.

The receptionist blinks, startled by my unbridled hatred.

Brad, of course, doesn’t look at all surprised. He knows exactly how I feel about him—and why. But he’ll never pass up an opportunity to make me look like a crazy bitch.

“What, not even a hello?” he asks, feigning hurt.

Too bad I don’t care how I look. Everyone in this building is loyal to my family; I can afford to deal with Brad first and explain myself later.

“You don’t deserve one. Leave now.”

He looks down his nose with a condescending smile. “Oversensitive as always . . . how unprofessional. I have a right to be here. My father’s in the market to acquire a new subsidiary, so I’m here to pay your board a visit.”

“This company still belongs to the Tate and Cane families. You can’t buy a single brick in our building yet, and until that day comes, you’re just snooping around. Wait your turn like everybody else.” It’s bad enough that WBB was allowed in . . . and I don’t have a gory personal history with them.

His sneer deepens into overt disdain. “You can’t treat me like this. I was invited here.”

“And I have the power to un-invite you. So you can slink right back to your corner office and crawl into Daddy’s lap like you always do.”

Brad’s eyes narrow to dangerous slits. He snarls, “You dried-up bitch—!”

I scoff audibly. If I ever was dried up, whose fault does Brad think that was? He should have looked up
foreplay
in a dictionary sometime.

With a twinge of childish satisfaction, I note that the receptionist is now staring in shock at Brad instead of me. Then I’m filled with shame at my pettiness.
This is what Brad reduces me to. One minute in his presence, and I’ve stooped to his level
. As if the years since our breakup never happened.

At my derisive noise, Brad pulls his features back into haughty coolness, under the cover of straightening his tie. I remember—all too well—his insecure need to maintain control at all times, even if it’s only the appearance of control.

“You might want to be a lot more careful about how you speak to me, Olivia.”

The obvious threat spooks me a little. But I can’t let him know how much his venomous voice still affects me. I force a laugh, knowing that will drive him ape-shit.

“Or what? You’ll bore me to death?”

To my surprise, his smirk doesn’t slip an inch. “Trust me. It’s in your best interests to cooperate with my company.”

Does he actually have something up his sleeve? On the one hand, I don’t want to get drawn into his mind games. On the other . . . my curiosity is piqued.

But before I can decide whether to venture a question, the front door opens and Noah comes in. He stops midstride, looking back and forth between us, obviously sensing something rotten in the air.

“What’s going on here?” he demands.

“Nothing,” Brad replies before I can explain anything, his tone light and his smile polite. “Just talking shop.”

“Oh, really? Is that why I could hear a man yelling all the way from the elevator?”

Brad’s smile instantly drops. “Who are you?” he asks, as if Noah were the one intruding.

“I’m Noah Tate. Olivia’s fiancé and co-CEO. Now, who the hell are you?”

I mentally roll my eyes a little at Noah’s lack of subtlety. Especially the way he said
fiancé
instead of
boyfriend
. But mostly, I’m just relieved to have some backup, no matter how silly his testosterone-fueled territorial display is.

Brad stares Noah down for a moment, obviously not wanting to roll over and acknowledge his authority too fast. Finally, he replies, “Bradford Daniels. Vice president of Daniels Multimedia Enterprises.”

“And he was just leaving,” I interrupt.

I see a muscle twitch in Brad’s jaw, but he continues talking to Noah as if I never said a word.

“I’ve heard of you, Noah. The late Bill Tate’s son. You two seem to have hooked up right before news of Tate & Cane’s . . . difficulties got out.”

Noah’s next words echo my thoughts. “Are you implying something?”

“Not at all. Just commenting on a stroke of bad luck.” Brad drops his voice to a conspiratorial mutter—although it’s certainly not low enough to stop me from hearing every insult. “In more ways than one. Between you and me, my friend, I don’t envy you. She’s about as exciting as a wet towel in bed.”

Noah’s eyes fly open wide and his face flushes crimson. Instinctively I shy back; I’ve never seen him so angry.

Mistaking his fury for astonishment, Brad continues. “Oh, you haven’t found that out yet? But maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s always been such a frigid—”

In a flash, Noah has Brad pinned to the wall, his arm twisted behind his back. And all I can do is gape, paralyzed with shock.

Noah

This is the douche who broke Olivia’s heart in college? Without thinking, I jump into action, twisting the prick’s arm behind his back and slamming him into the wall.

He lets out a helpless grunt and huffs, “What the hell? Did you not hear who I am?”

“I know exactly who you are. You’re the pencil-dick Olivia invested years in, only to discover what a selfish child you really are.”

He tugs against the hold I have on him.
Nope, you’re not going anywhere, bud.

“Now apologize to her, with a promise that you’ll never say anything like that again, and I’ll think about letting you go.”

“Like hell,” he growls.

“Rosita,” I call out. She’s passing by with her cart filled with deliveries. “Call security.” She nods once and scurries away. I twist Bradford’s arm tighter, higher up behind his back, then lean in good and close. “I said apologize.”

He blows out a deep sigh, his voice taut with pain. “I’m sorry, all right?”

When Olivia turns up her nose, I shake my head at the poor schmuck. “You should know better than to fuck with such a powerful woman.”

Two uniformed security guards appear in an instant. “Remove this asshole from the property,” I tell them.

They flank Bradford and escort him back to the elevator. I brace myself for another insult hurled over his shoulder; there’s no way he’s going down without a fight.

Right on cue, Bradford turns to face us before entering the elevator. “When I own this company, I’ll be the one calling the shots, and neither of you will ever work in this town again,” he shouts, spitting the words like venom.

I straighten my posture and pull Olivia in close to my side. “You won’t be coming into my building and insulting
my
girl
like that ever again. Get him out of here before I permanently remove his option of ever having children.”

Moments later, the elevator doors slide closed, and Olivia sags against my side in relief.

“Are you okay?” I turn to face her, running my hands in a soothing motion up and down her arms.

She nods once, her lips pulled into a tight line.

I lean down and press my lips to hers, needing to erase that pout.

“He’s gone, baby,” I murmur, stroking her hair.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “He’s such a massive A-hole,” she mutters, shaking her head. “What did I ever see in him?”

Her tone drips angry contempt but I can hear the quiver underneath. Brad must have really rattled her. I clench my teeth. Maybe I shouldn’t have let that fucker get away unscathed after all.

“I won’t let him come near you again. That’s a promise.”

She nods. “Thank you, Noah.”

We’re both quiet for a moment, as if neither of us is quite ready to part ways and get back to work. Olivia gazes up at me with relief, gratitude . . . and something more? There’s a new light in her eyes. A look she’s never given me before.

“Not that I need you to defend my honor, but . . .” She gives me a small smile. “I’m glad you did.”

Pride and protectiveness swell in my chest. I try to brush it off by joking. “Hey, no problem. His face was begging for a punch anyway.”

She pats me on the chest, and I turn to head down the hall toward my office.

“Noah?”

That one word stops me in my tracks. Her voice is soft, almost shy, yet brimming with emotion. I’ve never heard Olivia talk so . . . I don’t know the word. Tenderly? Whatever it is, it floats me up like a boat on a rising tide.

“Yes?” I turn to face her.

Her face is awash in enlightenment as if she’s just been struck by a thought. “I think I’m ready.”

Did I hear her right? I almost don’t dare to hope. “You mean . . . ?”

She nods, biting back the first hint of a grin.

My heart surges. “Then let’s fucking do this.”

She beams at me as if we’re both on the inside of a private joke. And maybe we are.

“Let’s freaking get married,” she says with a giggle.

Olivia

I squint at the clock on my nightstand and suppress a groan. Three in the goddamn morning and I’m still wide awake.

The sheets rustle behind me. “Can’t sleep?” Noah asks. His voice is clear, not groggy at all. Evidently I’m not the only one with insomnia.

Sighing, I shake my head.

“Come here,” he says gently.

I roll over to look at him. Noah is lying on his side, facing me. He holds out his top arm. I hesitate for a moment; I’m still getting used to casual contact with him. But soon I wriggle into his warm embrace, pillowing my head on his bicep.

He pulls me even closer with an arm around my shoulders. I inhale his masculine scent, no less pleasant and exciting for how familiar it’s become, and try not to notice how perfectly I fit nestled in against his side.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“A little nervous,” I confess.

Noah gives a quiet hum of a chuckle. “I wouldn’t blame you. It’s normal to have a few pre-wedding jitters.”

The word
wedding
sits oddly in my stomach. Despite all the thought I’ve put into the idea of marriage over the past month, it feels totally different when it’s on the horizon. In less than sixteen hours, I won’t be single anymore. I’ll be someone’s wife.

I’ve always imagined myself getting married someday. But in that fantasy, my father would walk me down a wide church aisle, the pews decorated with peonies, as my elated friends and extended family looked on. My husband would be a man who loved me so deeply that he couldn’t stand to live a single day without me.

But the reality of my life is nothing like that sweet story. Instead, I bear the pressure of a legally binding contract, followed by a long, hard battle to keep Tate & Cane out of enemy hands.

The circumstances definitely leave a lot to be desired. My feelings about the groom himself, though . . . those are way more ambiguous.

Things between us used to be simple. Noah was just a plain old pain in my ass. An acquaintance at best; a rival or a pest at worst. His devil-may-care attitude still infuriates me sometimes. And I hate the way he knows exactly how handsome he is, and shamelessly uses his good looks to get what he wants. Although what I really hate may be the fact that his charm works on me too, whether I like it or not. No matter how hard I try, I’ve never been able to completely bury my huge crush on him.

Lately, though, everything is changing. We’re well on the road to becoming friends now. And seeing him leap to my defense against Brad gave me undeniable butterflies.

Noah has lived up to my challenge and convinced me that a relationship between us is possible. Not right away, and not without effort—this isn’t a fairy tale where we snap our fingers and live happily ever after—but if we keep trying in good faith . . .

I’m even starting to wonder if my feelings for him when I was a teenager weren’t totally unfounded. Maybe my younger self was on to something. Maybe she wasn’t just horny—okay, horniness was definitely a factor, but still. She sensed a passionate, fiercely kind heart beating underneath his playboy facade. I’ve learned that just because Noah doesn’t take everything seriously doesn’t mean he doesn’t take
anything
seriously. His priorities and strategies are different from mine, not necessarily better or worse.

A dozen different emotions swirl through me, some good, some bad. But even though Noah asked me, I’m reluctant to reveal them all. Because I don’t want to show vulnerability . . . or because I don’t want to hurt his feelings? I’m not sure.

Eventually, unable to decide how to reply, I just murmur into his chest, “It’s still kind of surreal to me, you know?”

“Yeah.” Noah gives me a reassuring squeeze . . . and presses his lips to my forehead.

I blink at his feather-soft kiss. The unexpected tenderness just muddles my feelings more.

Oblivious to my confusion, Noah lies on his back, drawing my arm around his waist. I try to push my distracting, troubling thoughts away and relax into him. I cuddle closer, pushing my head onto his chest and resting my leg over his. He’s so warm, like lying next to a fireplace.

The steady beat of his heart beneath my ear soothes me to sleep.