Page 13 of Nolan

Nolan

The spreadsheets in front of me blur as my eyes grow heavy. It's nearly midnight, and I've been going over these numbers for hours. I do have an accountant and a bookkeeper, but I still have to fill in certain things that only I know. And as a businessman I know not to blindly trust.

I go back after them and make sure they haven't fucked my numbers.

The house has felt different since I kissed Annabelle, warmer somehow, filled with a new kind of tension that gives me nervous energy. When she's not here I think about her. When she is here, I fight not to kiss her again.

My phone buzzes against the desk, Annabelle's name lighting up the screen. Panic grips me as I answer.

"Belle? Everything okay?" I answer, immediately concerned by the late hour of her call.

"Can you come get me?" she says, her voice slightly slurred.

I'm already standing, reaching for my keys. "Where are you?"

"Monroe's. I was out with Daisy and Val, but they're leaving, and I don't want to go home alone." There's a vulnerability in her voice that tugs at something deep in my chest. "The othertwo are going home to their husbands, and I'm going home to an empty apartment."

I swallow hard, guilt and something else tightening my throat. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Don't move."

"Not planning on it," she says, and I can almost hear her smile through the phone. "The room's spinning enough as it is."

My next door neighbor is my emergency childcare when I need it. A nurse who works crazy hours. She's awake, judging by the light on in her living room.

I'm taking the steps two at a time and knocking when I end the call.

She opens, her eyes wide. "Is Ashlynn okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, a friend of mine needs a ride. Can you head over and sit with her for about thirty minutes? She's asleep and should be good."

"Yeah, no problem. I just got home and won't be going to bed for a while anyway."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

I head for my truck, my heart racing for reasons that have nothing to do with concern for her safety. The roads are nearly empty this time of night, and I make it to Monroe's in record time. I spot her immediately, sitting alone at a table near the back, her chestnut hair falling in waves around her shoulders. She's wearing a dress I haven't seen before, black, clinging to curves I've been trying desperately not to notice.

She looks up as I approach, her eyes brightening. "You came."

"Of course I came," I say, helping her stand. She sways slightly, leaning into me, and I wrap an arm around her waist to steady her. The scent of her perfume fills my senses. "Let's get you home."

"Not home," she says, shaking her head stubbornly. "Your house. Not the same thing."

The words sting more than they should. "Right," I mutter, guiding her through the crowd toward the exit.

In the car, she leans her head against the window, watching me with those green eyes that see too much. "You've been avoiding me," she says softly. Rolling down the window, and taking deep breaths of the night air.

I grip the steering wheel tighter. "I've been busy."

"Liar," she accuses, but there's no anger in it. Just a sad certainty that makes my chest ache.

We drive in silence for several minutes, the tension between us thick enough to touch. Finally, she speaks again.

"Are you sorry you kissed me?"

The direct question catches me off guard. "Belle..."

"Because I'm not," she continues, her words running together slightly. "Sorry, I mean. I've been thinking about it. A lot."

My pulse quickens, and I force myself to focus on the road ahead. "You're drunk. We shouldn't have this conversation now."

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