Isla pushed herself to remain still as the hushed buzz of the workplace filled her. The wall clock ran nonstop, the sound far too loud given what had just happened. Her memories looped back the final few seconds, Noah's words, the way his eyes softened when he looked at her, the magnetic attraction nearly, almost broken the professional distance they had been so careful to preserve.
She shakily exhaled and dropped her hands to her lap, firmly closing them into fists as though it would help them stop shaking. Years ago, she had felt this conflicted. At the height of their competitiveness, Noah had never made her feel this off-balance. Still, considering all the backstory and unsaid conversations between them, things were different now. increasingly difficult.She bit her lip to conceal a sigh as the memory of his smile, one that promised both danger and delight, shined itself without invitation. Not while her work, reputation, and sanity were all under quThe sun hardly showed itself as Isla sat at her kitchen counter drinking strong coffee that had already lost heat. The evening before ran in her thoughts like a scene on a loop: Noah's black, sharp stare locking with hers, their proximity sending a current through her she hadn't felt in years. No matter how many times she told herself it was only business; the almost-kiss hung between them, a moment caught in time she could not shake. She drew a long breath and then gently set the mug down. Lawson murmured to her, "Get a grip." Still, the motivational speech looked hollow. Her thoughts drifted to the way Noah had leaned in, the minute change in his expression implying he was as enthralled in the moment she was in. Her most troubled by her not stopping him.Her phone buzzed her out of the whirl of thoughts. Evan sent the note asking Brunch at Monroe's Café. The treat that my friend brought We had to talk. Graced by the diversion, she sm
Leaning back in her chair, Isla Lawson watched the wavering cursor on her screen disparaging her lack of focus. Though it hung heavily in her thoughts, her history was the one she couldn't quite escape, not the current campaign she was working on. Her last email to the board stayed with her. Noah Vincent was the name she hated to say aloud at the root of it all; the takeover that almost ruined her career felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. She massaged her temples, trying to ignore the thought. She told herself that was ridiculous. Here were her new job and her life. Light-years from the corporate jungle she had left behind, she was a budding fashion company marketing manager. Her coworkers' unorganized whisper penetrated the office, the hum of the coffee makers, and the faint thrum of pop music streaming in from the design floor. This was safe; it energized even. Still, Noah's shadow hovered like a shark stalking just under the surface.Earth to Isla! Evan Monroe's voice
At the fashion marketing office, Isla Lawson had come to like the mix of urgency and excitement inherent in the Monday morning rush. Unlike the great silence she had known working under Noah Vincent's empire, the murmur of voices brainstorming campaigns, the clicking of keyboards, and the faint tune of pop tunes from the design floor all indicated development. Still, the memory of their last-week unplanned rendezvous burned in her thoughts, a flame she couldn't quite put out as she drank her coffee and the steam curled around her face. " Why do you look as though you have seen a ghost?" Evan Monroe waltzed into her office, his cobalt blue blazer collided violently with his brilliant yellow tie. Today Isla was grateful for his vivid and disarming vitality. The solution is not a ghost. More like a haunting, Isla replied with half-smile. Evan glided across from her desk down onto the chair, gracefully crossing one leg over the other, as someone who understood just how amazing he loo
The only fashion show was a rainbow of color, lights, and well chosen anarchy. Isla Lawson looked around the room, absorbing the clusters of New York's elite mingling under the golden chandeliers and the low murmur of talks broken by laughter. This was more than just a performance; it was a battlefield where designers, models, and fashionistas battled for power using fabric and style. And Isla was here ready to assert her claim, not only as an observer. She was also a participant. Evan Monroe, beside her, grinned knowingly as he drank his champagne. Even in a throng where sticking out was the norm, his turquoise blazer, covered in beautiful embroidery that shimmered when he moved, caught attention. Tilting his head and acting to inhale deeply, he remarked, "Can you smell that, Isla?" She shot a roll of her eyes and said, "Please don't say it's the perfume of ambition." He laughed, a rich sound that caught the interest of a couple inquisitive visitors. Oh, not at all There is the ar
Isla looked to work to keep her busy, and the rest of the day seemed to fly by. Emails responded, calls answered, meetings attended, but all of it felt to her like background noise to the storm rising inside her. Noah's email arrived in her inbox like a ticking bomb just ready to blow. She had already negotiated ambition and caution on a tightrope, but this seemed different. The stakes were higher, the players more aggressive, so she had no intention of being caught off guard once more. Late in the afternoon, Evan went back to her job carrying two steaming cups of coffee and a mischievous glimmer in his eye. Setting one at her desk, he continued, "thought you could use a little pick-me-up." And based on Denise from finance's comments, Noah's behavior has half the investors in a frenzy. Isla drank gratefully, the warmth cutting past her weariness. Amazing. precisely what we need. More corporate drama. Evan had funny glint in his eyes. "Hey, your arch-nemesis-slash-romantic-tension
Long shadows on Isla's desk filled with notes from the Noah conference and papers sprang from the dawn light flooding her office. She was still processing their conversation, the way he had stoked old memories while planting the germ of a new, maybe revolutionary union. The only sound in the still room was her absently clicking pen. A sudden knock on the door took her from her thinking. Evan arrived, his perfect smile a jarring juxtaposition to her thoughtful silence. Good ammon, sir. You seem like someone who just marched across a war and lived to tell the tale, setting a cup of coffee front of her with a flourish. Not far off, Isla remarked, smiling as she sipped. She felt the sour warmth and found some brief comfort. And about the good mindset, what is it? Have you happened across the lottery? "Nope, but I did hear that a certain Noah Vincent's crew has extended an olive branch," Evan said, eyebrows wiggling. According rumors, they want to collaborate with us. Isla looks f
The huge ballroom of the Lexington Hotel was a showpiece of art deco splendor, filled with the most important people from the city clothed in costly attire. The delicate illumination produced by the chandeliers above creates an almost perfect environment, much like in a theatrical scene where every actor awaited their cue. Isla Lawson entered the room changing the silver bracelet on her wrist; her outfit sparkled in the faint light. She sensed Evan's soothing presence by her side; tonight would be immensely benefited by his continuous smile. "So do you suppose Noah will show up or is he already hiding like some sort of corporate Dracula in the shadows?" Evan muttered, tilted near enough for just Isla to hear.She giggled softly and turned her head forward. If I knew Noah, he is already watching. Likes. That might be either rather beautiful or rather scary. " Both," she answered. They nodded and waved hello over the sea
Noah Vincent leaned against the floor to-ce ceiling window of his office and felt the city lights slink under him like a disordered sea of stars. It was a viewpoint he had come to demand, a panoramic monument to the empire he had built on tenacity, danger, and more than a few well selected betrayals. His eyes turned back, sharp and enigmatic, framed by jet-black hair that resisted insurrection with its ideal styling in the dark reflection of the glass. He was polished, under control, a constructed image exuding force. Everything about him was Tonight, though, the glittering shell felt thin, hardly holding the storm gathering inside together. Lawson, Isaata. The moniker cut across his thinking like a razor, harsh and unavoidable. It took him back to moments he had thought he would have buried under layers of success and indifference. Surprisingly tenacious, the woman had a keen tongue that made her unforgettable and a rapid mind. Hair framing her face as she sat across fr