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.

Chapter Eighteen

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.