He nods and turns to Noah.
“Would you also like some orange juice, Mr. Graves?”
Noah shakes his head and takes his flute, sipping on it lightly. I cock an eyebrow.
“I am shocked.”
Another confused frown passes over his features, and I find myself wanting to pinch his cheeks and smooth the wrinkle between his brow with my thumb. I settle, instead, for explaining. “I would not take you for the champagne in the morning type.”
Phillip returns with a small glass of orange juice and leaves it on the narrow table to my left. I mix the cocktail, tasting it to make sure it isn’t too sweet.
“And what type,” Noah starts, amusement thick in his tone, “do you take me for?”
“I mentioned it last week. The fitness model, zero trans fats, pretty boy. I just can’t see alcohol fitting into that lifestyle. Except for the occasional photo op, of course.”
“Mmm, of course,” he says, with an exaggerated nod. “But you forget, I was drinking the night we met.”
“True,” I say. “But you’ve since confirmed you weren’t yourself that night, so that’s a wash in my book.”
“Well, I’m no fitness model. I do strive for excellence in my training, which I do five days a week, but I don’t put myself out there like that. I just like setting goals and achieving them.”
I get the distinct feeling that what I intended to be light hearted teasing is taking a turn into cutting deeper, so I soften and offer a warm smile. “I know.”
“You do?”
“Mmm.” I say, sipping from my flute. “I stalked your Instagram the day of my god awful presentation.”
His face is overcome with a smug grin and I roll my eyes.
“I’m flattered,” he chimes.
“Don’t be. It was a whim of curiosity.”
“Imay have told my mom about you, butyougoogled me.”
“I did not! You popped up as a suggested follow. Which is creepy, by the way. Those algorithms know more than we give them credit for. It’s like it knew we were in the same building. I’m sure I’ll be getting targeted ads for airplane pillows as soon as we land.”
“Stop trying to change the subject.”
“What subject? You? Damn, Graves, I didn’t take you for the self-centered kind.”
“What kind do you take me for, then?”
His persistence is admirable. I hesitate, swirling my drink. There are two ways I could spin this. I could shrug and play it cool, offering some off the cuff joke to lighten the building tension. Or, I could answer honestly. On a whim, I choose the latter.
“I think you’re the type who people make assumptions about. I think that while youlooklike you could be on the cover of Men’s Daily, your feet are planted firmly on the ground. You have a large group of friends, but from what I saw you’re not all that close with most of them. You care about what you’re doing at Flourish and coming to Portland was a way for you to establish some independence and strive for the next level of, how did you put it? Excellence.”
I tip my flute back and finish the rest of the cocktail, preferring the taste of it over the complete honesty I just served. Noah stares with an unreadable expression before he nods and turns back to the window.
“Damn, Wilde. I think I underestimated you.”
“Your mistake.”
He hums his agreement, and though I wish for another glass of champagne, I don’t dare call for Phillip to interrupt us again.
The flight is short which, after our cozy chat, is a relief. The jolt of the wheels on the runway hits me with a cold dose of reality; private planes and champagne aside, this is a business trip. Noah and I are here to save face and suck up to who I’ve been imagining as a bunch of conservative cowboys. My problems are bigger than finding my boss charming as all hell, and it’s likely going to take everything I have to focus on making sure I don’t screw us both over in the meantime.
Literally and figuratively.
