For now, though, I don’t ask questions. I just feel.

Chapter Eight

Noah

Watching Olivia work the room is incredible. Everything we’ve worked so hard for over the last few months has led us to this very moment.

“Hanging in there?” she asks, stealing a moment away from the crowd trying to garner her attention. Lifting onto her tiptoes in her already sky-high heels, she presses a quick peck to my cheek.

Ever since our erotic encounter in the conference room last weekend, things have been good. Not great, but good. She’s been polite and chatty at home, and while we haven’t totally made up—or had sex again, for that matter—things have felt okay. Like we’re moving in a positive direction, even if it’s only by an inch at a time.

It’s safe to say that the party Olivia dreamed up is a smashing success. Tate & Cane has delivered—big fucking time. We’re winning over everyone from the tired old CEOs to the young, hungry marketing execs ready for the next big thing. I’m practically beaming with pride for my gorgeous wife. I’m trying to keep my optimism cautious, but damn, it’s impossible not to get caught up in the moment.

“This is amazing, baby.” Giving her waist a squeeze, I return her chaste kiss on the cheek. I won’t cross the line and show her too much affection, because I know this isn’t the time or place and it would only make her uncomfortable, but I can’t resist taking a moment to let her know how much her sweet gesture means. We’ve worked hard to get here, and while I’m still not sure what the future holds for us, this is a huge step in the right direction.

The look in her eyes is tender, and there’s a small smile on her lips. “I’ll check in with you again later.”

For the most part, we’ve divided and conquered. I’ve hardly spoken three words to her all evening, but I’ve kept her in my line of vision, and she’s never been far from my thoughts. I watch her blend back into the crowd. With her simple black slacks and emerald-green silk blouse, she looks stunning. Professional, but more casual than usual, which fits the mood perfectly.

This is no boring business meeting, nor is it the politically correct, awkward, boring “work outing” that everyone silently dreads. We have fucking Beyoncé performing. Okay, so she’s not Beyoncé, but the girl is gorgeous and fiery and she can sing her ass off. The atmosphere is casual and chill. And the waiters aren’t serving chilled champagne, they’re serving cucumber cocktails strong enough to put a smile on the lips of even the stuffiest company leaders.

Hell, most everyone else is in bare feet on the sod floor we had brought in. Beach balls are being kicked around. Hammocks where Fortune 500 leaders lounge with a cocktail. These people don’t ever get time off, so Olivia’s ingenious idea tapped into the one thing that they truly needed—to chill.

Maybe I really have rubbed off on her. A smile pulls on my lips.

I head toward the buffet line, scoping out who else I might talk with tonight.

The food isn’t pretentious. It’s accessible and reminiscent of childhood. Simple finger foods. S’mores over a fire pit. The smell of grilled hot dogs in the air. It’s friendly and easy. And since I haven’t eaten since lunch, I stop in line next to a gray-haired man I recognize as the chairman of a major tech firm.

When I meet his eyes, his gaze skitters away, and a look I recognize flashes across his features. The guy is overworked, tired, and probably has another four or five hours of crap to do tonight once he gets home. He just wants to be left alone. The last thing he wants to do is talk shop. Which is fine by me. I remember my own dad sitting at the dining table with his laptop long after Mum and I went to bed at night.

“Hi, I’m Noah.” I offer him my hand and he shakes it. No last name, no title, because I can read his hesitation like it’s a flashing neon sign.

“I’m Howard Dillon of Spherion, but before you begin . . .”

“Have you ever had a walking taco?” I ask him, grinning like I know the world’s best secret. Because I do.

His mouth closes, then opens, then he shakes his head. “As a matter of fact, I haven’t,” he says finally.

My smile grows wider. “Dude, let me hook you up.”

Howard chuckles and follows me up to the front of the buffet line.

And soon, we’re seated cross-legged on a blow-up couch overlooking a water balloon fight, bonding over corn chips and seasoned ground beef.

Howard kicks off his shoes and wiggles his toes encased in black silk socks. “So this is a walking taco, eh?”

I help myself to another bite and nod. “Strangely good, isn’t it?” It’s all the standard taco ingredients mixed into an individual-sized bag of corn chips, which can be eaten with a fork. I had a roommate in college who once introduced me to the idea.

“You guys at Tate & Cane seem to have it all figured out.” He takes another bite. We haven’t even talked business, but I already know I have him right where I want him.

“We work hard, we play hard, and most of all, we get it. You’re a busy man with a lot on your plate. If we can make your job a little bit easier, that’s what we’re here for.”

He makes a sound that sounds a lot like approval.

My gaze swings over to find Olivia again and she gives me a quick thumbs-up. She’s bounced from table to table, doing her best to show each guest the same level of personalized treatment and respect. She approaches every conversation like it’s the only one that matters, like the person in front of her is the most important, interesting thing in the world. It’s a major talent, that’s for sure.