Hitched (Imperfect Love Book 1) (5 page)

“Right. Because everything just happened all at once, with the worst possible timing. Bill’s early death. My cancer . . . and how fast it advanced. T&C lagging behind its competition, falling into the red. The board’s crisis of faith.” Another deep sigh. “We always thought you kids would have so many more years to come around to the idea.”

I know how hard Dad has tried to save this company on his own. He’s worked until his body physically won’t let him anymore. By the time he admitted defeat, the problem had reached do-or-die proportions. I’m not angry with him for that, because I know I wouldn’t have done any different. We’re cut from the same proud, stubborn cloth.

Dad puts down his barely touched coffee with a soft
clunk
. “I’m not going to be around forever, sweetie.”

I look up, startled at the topic change. He suddenly looks so haggard, it breaks my heart.

“I . . . I know that, Dad, but—”

“You marrying Noah isn’t just for the company’s sake. Who cares about a company if my little girl is unhappy? I trust Noah to take care of you.”

“I don’t need taking care of,” I say automatically.

“Everyone needs someone around. I’m not talking about money or power . . . I’m talking about love. A listening ear, a shoulder to cry on. A partner who shares life’s burdens. If I know you have that, sweetie, then I can rest a lot easier.”

I swallow a lump in my throat, washing it down with hot coffee. I don’t want to think about Dad resting.

“Despite everything, I still believe that you and Noah belong together,” Dad continues. “You were made for each other. And you’ll need each other’s strength for what lies ahead. Bill Tate’s will has just given things a little push in the right direction.”

I look down into my mug, the dark liquid glinting under the fluorescent lights. “This still just feels so . . . unreal. I have no idea what to expect. What’s it like to be married?”

I’m not even sure what kind of answer I want to hear. What cute anecdote or pearl of wisdom could possibly reassure me.
Everything will be okay. Marriage won’t swallow up your whole life. You can still be yourself—a businesswoman first and a wife second.

“Well, in my experience, it was wonderful.” Dad smiles fondly. “Your mom was the greatest thing that ever happened to me. My rock, my sunshine, my best friend. We weren’t two halves of a whole, we were each our own person, and that’s what made us so amazing when we joined together.” He shakes his head. “I’m no poet, so all I can say is . . . it was magic.”

Magic, huh?
I’ll have to take his word for it. My only long-term boyfriend turned out to be a manipulative narcissist, and I’ve never gotten close enough to any other man for the kind of deep bond that my father is trying to describe.

Dad leans forward in the chair, elbows on his knees and fingers steepled. “I know the circumstances are far from ideal, sweetie. But try to at least give Noah a shot. I’d never put you in a situation I didn’t think you could handle. You’re my baby girl . . . I just want to see you with a good man. And that man is Noah.”

I don’t quite share Dad’s glowing opinion of Noah. Not yet—although hopefully that will change by the end of this month. But I remember how fiercely he cares about Rosita and her family’s welfare. There’s no mistaking the strength of his conviction.

If nothing else, I know I can count on Noah to step up to the plate and fight for T&C. I can trust him to work just as hard as I will. Which is good, because we’ll be spending the next three months in Overtime Hell together.

At least I’ll have some eye candy to ogle during all those late nights at the office. But now that I know about that telephone pole between his legs, I don’t know how I’ll ever look at him the same way.

Heaven help me.

Noah

You know how men are supposed to be more direct and forceful, while women are gentler and more attuned to emotions? That’s horseshit. As business partners, Olivia and I blur gender stereotypes. I’m the “face,” the charismatic people-pleaser, while she’s the get-shit-done powerhouse. Playing to our strengths lets us divide and conquer.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that men—especially stodgy, rich old farts—tend to listen better to other men. I can close deals over a round of golf, woo male and female clients alike, and generally sweet-talk my way through any situation. Which is exactly what I’ve spent this last week doing.

Today, though, I’m back in the office. And right now, I’m grinding my teeth at the sight of Harrison Ridgefield from the accounting department leering at Olivia’s cleavage.

“Something I can help you with there, buddy?” I snap as I step into Olivia’s office and stop right beside him.

His head jerks up and he smiles sheepishly, as if he knows he’s been caught. “Oh. Hey, Noah. Didn’t see you there,” he says, his voice unsteady.

“That’s because you were busy staring at my girlfriend’s . . .
spreadsheets
.”

Olivia and I haven’t announced our courtship yet, but rumor knows no bounds. The unofficial news has spread like fucking wildfire through our whole building.

Harrison swallows hard and takes a step back. “Congrats on all that, by the way.”

My blank stare says
I’m on to you, prick.
I even puff out my chest a little for good measure. Harrison isn’t a bad-looking guy. I hear the office gossip; I know he’s the wet dream of at least a few of the ladies here. But I’ve got about two inches on his six-foot frame, and more muscle too.

“Well, it looks like you’ve got it covered here, Olivia.” The douche bag treats her to a fond smile and steps away from her desk.

“Thanks, Harrison,” Olivia says as she watches him leave.

“What are you doing?” I glare down at Olivia’s monitor. There are pages and pages of data on her screen. I have no idea what it is—but I do know she looks stressed, and I want to fix it.

“Just trying to reconcile the invoices we sent clients last year with the actual dollars received.” She taps a four-inch-thick stack of printouts on her desk. “Something feels off about it.”

“Olivia . . .” I exhale slowly.

Her eyes jerk up to mine. “What?”

“You shouldn’t be spending your time on menial shit like this. We have too much strategizing and brand-building to do to keep your head buried in busywork.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Cranky-Pants, but ‘burying my head’ might end up saving us a fuck-ton of money.” Her blue eyes burn brightly, and I know I’m in for a fight if I push too hard.

Well, too bad
. I’ll grab the tiger by the tail if that’s what it takes to stop her.

“What I’m trying to say is that your talents are wasted on this. Your time is valuable. This is what I mean when I say you work too hard. Tasks like these need to be delegated. You don’t have to do everything yourself.”

“Harrison was helping me—”

I hold up one hand. “Harrison was enjoying the peep show. Nothing more.” I make a point of letting my gaze drop slowly from hers down to the front of her blouse. The sight of the top of her firm, round breasts cradled in a delicate nude-colored bra makes my mouth water. I ignore the tingle at the base of my spine and the blood surging toward my groin, and take a deep breath.

Olivia’s gaze jerks from mine down to her cleavage, and she hoists her shirt up higher. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, he was not.”

She is seriously delusional. Harrison has had a wicked crush on her for three years. And he’s an underperforming ass, if you ask me.

“God, you’re grumpy today. Why don’t you go get one of those blow jobs you like from Jenni in HR?”

“Huh. I’m surprised you know about that.” I enjoyed a handful of oral encounters from a nice admin assistant earlier this year, but all that is over.

“I know everything that goes on around here.” She smirks.

Hell.
“First of all, Jenni no longer works here.”

“Oh, darn.” She snaps her fingers in mock outrage.

“Secondly . . .” I lean my hip against her desk. “Even if she did, I’d have zero interest in seeing her lips around my cock right now.”

“The infamous Noah Tate, not interested in chasing tail? Do I need to call you an ambulance?” she teases. “Or are you just having too much fun bugging me and keeping me away from work?”

My temper rising, I stand my ground. “Because I think of myself as a taken man now.”

Her eyebrows dart up. “Are you serious? You’re really not going to mess around?”

“Not with anyone who isn’t you,” I say smoothly.

“I—um . . . So, monogamy really is part of the deal?” she stammers. “I’ve had a standing Wednesday-night thing with a guy from the gym. Should I cancel that for the next little bit?”

My nostrils flare and I bite back my temper. “Hell yeah, it is, and yeah, you should. What goes for me, goes for you. You aren’t to mess around with anyone who isn’t me. I don’t even want to think about another man touching what’s
mine
.” I lean down and growl the last part close to her ear.

She sucks in her breath, her pupils dilating, then composes herself. “As long as you know that this works both ways. If I find your totem pole next to anyone else, consider yourself castrated. Think Lorena Bobbitt, but without the whole finding-it part.”

On the surface, her reaction isn’t exactly promising. But I know that deep down, I’ve affected her. I’ve seen the way she looks at me when she doesn’t think I’m watching.

“And for the record, I was kidding about the guy at the gym, Noah.”

Thank God, because I was already planning to go down to her gym after work and find the helpless fuck to punch him square in the kisser.

I step away from her desk and watch as Olivia’s eyes narrow on my form. Tucking my hands into my pockets, I almost chuckle as her gaze follows the movement, her eyes drifting down to my crotch. But they dart up again and she lets out a frustrated huff.

“If you’re so confident, how about we place a bet?” I ask.

“Name your terms.”

She smirks at me, pretending to be unaffected. Too bad I know
exactly
the effect I can have on a woman when I turn on the charm.

I lean in closer. “I’ll give you four days until you’re begging for me to fill your hot little cunt,” I murmur.

Her jaw drops, but she recovers quickly. “Not even in four years.”

“I was going to say four hours, but I didn’t want to get cocky,” I tease.

“Trust me. I can hold out for a
long
time.” Olivia leans back in her desk chair, her pose casual and confident.

“Dry spell?”

She rolls her eyes. “Perpetually.”

Fuck
. That makes me want her so much more, knowing that she’s all pent-up and unsatisfied.

“No battery-operated boyfriends.”

Her gaze darkens. “Fine. No hand jobs either then.”

My jaw tenses. Like that will happen. “There’s always the trial run I proposed at happy hour.”

She chews on her thumbnail. “I haven’t had time to consider it yet, but I’ll keep you posted when I decide.”

A knock on the door grabs our attention. It’s Fred.

“Hey, kids, time for the meeting.”

Olivia checks her watch. “Be there right away, Dad.”

Knowing our conversation isn’t even close to finished, I offer her a hand to assist her from her seat, bringing her eye level with me. “We’ll finish this later, Snowflake.”

She scoffs and struts down the hall in front of me, her gorgeous round ass swaying as she moves.

“Four days,” I call to her as I catch up.

Olivia

Late the next afternoon, a knock on my office door startles me out of my work trance. “Come in,” I say automatically.

The door cracks open and Dad pokes his head in. “Hey there, sweetie. Sorry if I’m interrupting anything, but could we talk for a minute in my office?”

I blink first at him, then at my computer screen before closing my laptop. “Sure, Dad. What do you need?”

“It’s good news, I promise,” is all he says.

I follow Dad to his office, where Noah is already sitting in one of the armchairs. He stands up when we walk in.

I glance between him and Dad suspiciously.
What fresh hell is this?

Dad picks up a thin sheaf of papers from his desk. “In all the recent hubbub, I forgot to tell you kids about my wedding gift.” He hands over the document with a proud smile.

I scan the first page and my heart plummets. It’s a signed lease for a furnished penthouse apartment in the heart of the city, its security deposit already paid, as well as first and last month’s rent. And there’s only one bedroom.

No way.

Realizing that I probably shouldn’t just stand here in a stupor, I say, “Oh. Um . . . wow, Dad. This is so generous.”

Dad chuckles and squeezes my shoulder. “Anything for my girl. I figured you two wouldn’t have much time to go house-hunting right now, so I found you a place myself.”

“Thank you very much, sir. I’m sure we’ll love it,” Noah interjects.

Jackass
. He always knows exactly what to say, how to smooth over any situation. Whereas I’m struggling to remember how to breathe.

I force a tight-lipped smile at my dear, sweet future husband. “Yes. Noah, can we talk about this in your office? There’s a lot of arrangements that need to be made.”

• • •

As soon as we’re alone with the door locked, I let my emotions burst free.

“What the hell are we going to do? He’s already spent so much money, which T&C really can’t afford, by the way, and he’ll expect us to move in, and . . . what a clusterfuck!” I push my hands into my hair, not caring in the slightest that my perfectly coiffed bun just became a hot mess.

Noah holds up his hands. “Whoa, hey, calm down. Living together isn’t really
that
big of a deal, is it?”

“Of course it’s a big deal. I don’t want to move in with anyone, especially not you.”

He narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, get over yourself. I’m sure you don’t want to live with me, either.”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

I stare at him. “Why? Wouldn’t that get in the way of your drinking and whoring?”

“I told you I wasn’t going to do that anymore.” Noah rakes his fingers through his hair irritably. “Okay, just listen to me for a second. Even if we ignore the fact that you’re sex on legs and any sane man would give his left nut to spend a night with you—”

My laugh sounds ever so slightly hysterical. “You’re seriously trying to flirt right now? Is that the only way you know how to communicate with women?”

“
Even if
we ignore that fact,” he growls out, “we still have Tate & Cane’s public image to consider. How bad will it look if we don’t even live under the same roof?”

I rub my forehead, partly to ground myself and partly as an excuse to hide my expression. I can’t cry in front of Noah. I don’t cry, period.

Why am I even getting so upset? I already knew we’d have to live together sooner or later. I’ve seen this coming since day one. That was one of the reasons I didn’t want to sign the stupid contract in the first place. And I’m still feeling optimistic about Noah and our budding friendship. I’m not over the moon about having to share my private space with a roommate again, but I’ll survive. Hell, it may even be fun. I have a lot of awesome memories from living with Camryn.

Really, Noah’s right. It’s not that big of a deal. But for some reason, it feels monumental. Like I’m about to lose yet another piece of myself.

I just hate surprises. Dad’s wedding gift broadsided my composure and splattered all sorts of uncomfortable emotions everywhere. I need a moment to scrape myself back together.

“We don’t really have a choice, Snowflake,” Noah says. “Everyone—the media, our employees, our rivals, our stockholders—they all have to see us together. The starry-eyed young couple, poised to take over one of the nation’s biggest companies. That’s who we have to
be
.”

I drop my gaze, chewing my lip hard. Finally, I admit, “Yeah, I know. You’re right . . . our hands are tied. Sorry I flipped out for a minute there.”

I half expect Noah to make some perverted joke about tied hands. But instead, he just touches me on the chin—the gentlest possible
hey, buck up
.

I meet his eyes as his fingers tilt my face to his. Can he tell how stupid and frustrated I feel? Why can’t I hide anything from this man? Why can’t I stop exposing my weak points?

Noah’s sympathetic expression is both comforting and humiliating. I’m torn between the urge to relax, to let him support me, and the urge to jealously guard my dignity.

“No, I’m sorry too,” Noah says in a much softer tone than before. “I know this situation really sucks for you, but we’ll figure out ways to make it easier. Like our dads always said, we can accomplish anything if we’re together.”

I take a deep breath, then slowly let it out. Already my mind is starting to quiet. On the way back to my cool, collected self.

“You’re right,” I say. “We have to make this courtship look real. So, living together will kill two birds with one stone—keep up appearances and let us get more familiar with each other.”

Noah cocks his head with a salacious half smile. “Really? You’ve changed your mind about . . . ?”

“I haven’t, so get your mind out of the gutter,” I huff. Leave it to the immature horndog to purposely misunderstand me. “I meant that there’s certain things we need to know about each other. Trivia, fun facts, stuff that could come up in conversation.” We may have grown up together, but we haven’t spent much time getting to know each other as adults.

“Like yesterday, when you just
assumed
I drink coffee.” Noah raises his eyebrows in mock outrage.

“Right. If anyone had been watching, we would have looked like total strangers.” Then I try to joke, “Although I still think that was a reasonable assumption on my part. I mean, who the hell drinks only tea? Tea is for relaxing; coffee is for waking up.”

“Excuse me, Snowflake.” Noah grins in the crooked way that I’ve come to learn means
game on
. “You’d prefer me to be a twitchy addict like you? I’ve seen the sludge you drink. Pitch black . . . just like your heart.”

“Actually, it’s not,” I reply coolly, smiling despite myself. “I take sweetener. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

“Fair point. We both have a few things to learn about each other.” He thrusts his hands into his pockets and glances away for a second. “About the tea thing . . . my mom was English, and she really lived up to that particular stereotype. She loved ‘a good cuppa.’” His voice lifts to imitate her lilting accent. “So I drink tea to . . . honor her memory, I guess you could say. It’s my way of taking a moment every morning to think about her.”

My jaw almost drops. His mom passed away when he was just ten. God, I remember that year like it was yesterday. It was such a sullen time. So dark and so quiet, like all the life had been sucked out of Noah and his dad in an instant.

I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. I know his mom was British, but somehow it never dawned on me that he may have a special connection to her home country.

Noah shakes his head, looking a little embarrassed, and walks around me to perch on the edge of his desk. Leaving me to feel like a total bitch.

Biting my lip, I turn to face him again. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make fun of you like that. I think your little tea-drinking memorial is . . . really sweet.”

He shrugs. “Thanks, but don’t worry about it. I wasn’t offended. Especially since I know you’ve also lost your mom.”

“Yeah, but I was practically an adult when she died. You were only ten. Just a little kid. You needed your mother.” A sweet memory of him on her lap—when he was too big to fit, but not too big to want to be there—flashes through my brain.

“You could argue that being older just makes your pain fresher.” Noah sighs. “Look, let’s not get into some kind of weird Grief Olympics here, okay? Of course I miss Mum, but your experience wasn’t better or worse than mine, just different. What matters is that we can understand each other.”

He’s always so smooth and confident about everything . . . even death.
Before I can say anything more, Noah changes the subject.

“About the apartment—we should probably start spending nights there ASAP. I’ve got dinner plans with Sterling right now, but how about we meet back at the new place at . . .” He checks his watch. “How’s eight?”

Considering all the preparations I need to make, I nod slowly. “Sure. That’ll give me time to grab some food and pack.” I turn to leave, but Noah interrupts me.

“Hey, Snowflake . . . can you do me one last favor?”

I stop, glancing back. “Yeah?”

“Could you smile again?”

For some reason, his directness flusters me so much that I blurt, “W-why should I?” Then I want the floor to swallow me up.

What the hell, Olivia? You sound like a bratty teenager.

“Because I don’t want you to leave unhappy.” Noah reaches out to brush my jaw with the back of his hand. The lightest, most fleeting touch, gone before I can say a word. “And because it looks good on you. I’d like to see that smile more often.”

My face is on fire. I’m not sure how much of that heat is because I just embarrassed myself and how much is because of Noah’s heated stare.

“I . . . I guess you’ll get plenty of chances, now that we’re living together.” My attempt at a snappy retort comes out stuttering.

He inclines his head without breaking our gaze. “Great. I’m looking forward to it.”

I swallow the boulder in my throat.
He’s actually looking forward to it?

“Hey, Noah?”

“Yes?” he says sweetly.

“Why do you call me Snowflake?”

He steps closer and runs one finger along my cheek, making my skin tingle in its wake. “Because you’re just like a snowflake. Beautiful and unique, and with one touch you’ll be wet.”

Noah turns to leave, striding away with me staring after his broad shoulders and tight ass, with my mouth hanging open.

Dumbfounded, I shut the door behind me. Was that last comment meant to get a rise out of me? Or did he think I was really flirting?

Was
I flirting? I thought I was just being bitter, but . . . maybe a tiny bit. I don’t even know. And it doesn’t help that my mind is still reeling from that bet we made yesterday.

• • •

I eat dinner alone at a little Italian bistro around the corner from the Tate & Cane building. I guess I was craving some comfort food. Spaghetti with meatballs and a glass of merlot do the trick nicely.

I take a cab home, and when I arrive, I e-mail my landlord to get the ball rolling on terminating my lease early. Then I start packing an overnight bag. I’ll arrange for the rest of my clothes and other personal items to be delivered to our new place later. My furniture will just have to be sold.

One hour later, my little maroon suitcase is stuffed full. I have no excuse to linger further. But I do anyway—walking through slowly, looking at everything one last time.

This apartment has been the backdrop of my life for the past four years, ever since I got my undergrad degree and stopped rooming with Camryn. Everything within these walls is a product of my decisions and mine alone. I chose this place for its airy architecture, its honey-colored hardwood floors, even the blue-diamond tile pattern in the kitchen and bathroom. I bought every stick of furniture, striking my ideal balance between stylish and cozy. I decorated its walls with framed art prints that suited my tastes. I filled its fridge and cabinets with my favorite snacks. I cluttered the bathroom with my beauty products, not worrying about leaving space for anyone else’s stuff. I organized everything according to the system that would best help me remember where I put it. Now . . . I can kiss all of that sovereignty good-bye.

Sure, I can bring a few more of my things to the penthouse, but so can Noah. He’ll add his own unique flavor to our new home.

Our new home . . . I wonder how long it will take me to get used to that. And it’s already fully furnished—which means no bringing my beloved squishy gray velvet sofa. Most importantly, there’s only one bedroom. I won’t have anywhere that’s truly my domain anymore.

But Noah must feel the same way. He’s also sacrificing the privacy and freedom of his bachelor pad. In fact, he has more to lose than me, since he actually had a sex life. And from what he said yesterday, it seems like he’s serious about giving up his entire playboy lifestyle. Even though he’s probably never been monogamous in his whole life.