Page 44 of Joy to Noel
I guess I was balanced out by my biology professor father.
ME
!!! A family life clue dropped without me manipulating it out of you?! What’s next - your sister’s name?
SUITS
Consider it an apology gift.
Hana.
That’s it, though. Goodnight, MJ.
Chapter twenty
Liam
Ipick up my pace to a sprint as I run up the final hill. Once it plateaus, I’ll reach the turn to the street that the rental house sits on. I’m already exhausted from the extra-long route I took today, but I needed to burn out as much agitated energy as possible.
Usually, I’m not one to rehash my interactions with other people. I’m a direct communicator, take it or leave it. The bonus of my career is that I literally get to leave when the job is done, so other people’s reactions to my communication style isn’t something I lose sleep over.
But last night, I laid awake in bed arguing with myself over whether or not I was too harsh with Madison. Because I want her to take it, not leave it, with me. In the past, she’s seemed to dish out the honesty and sarcasm as readily as she’s accepted it from me, but I may have crossed the line last night.
I tried to find a comfortable sleeping position that would turn off my thoughts, to no avail. Hamlet wasnothappy with my mental thrashing that turned into physical fidgeting. His irritated hiss directly in my ear forced me to still my body, even if my mind wouldn’t turn off.
After walking a few extra circles around the driveway, I pause to stretch my quads and calves. It’s technically still spring, but the stifling Arkansas humidity is already starting to set in. I wipe sweat off my forehead with the hem of my shirt before opting to pull it over my head altogether. There’s no way Madison is up yet, considering I got up to run after waking even earlier than usual, unable to fall back asleep.
As I open the door, I find that Madisonisawake. She’s perched sideways on the lumpy floral sofa with her laptop balanced on her knees, a steaming mug in one hand. Her gaze turns to me when I come through the front door but abruptly snaps away. She swivels her body so her back is to me, but not before I glimpse the flush heating her cheeks.
I cover my smile with one hand, even though she’s no longer looking my direction. At this point, pausing to put my shirt on would call more attention to the fact that Madison just saw me without it, so I simply walk to the kitchen to fill up a glass with water. “Morning. You’re up early,” I observe before chugging the water. Hamlet scurries over and paws at my feet, so I scoop breakfast into his food dish.
Madison is awkwardly fighting to keep her eyes locked on the laptop screen in front of her—fighting and failing. Her frequent glances in my direction make me smile again, which I hide by turning to put my glass in the dishwasher.
“Yeah, well, some of us have things to chase and dreams to do,” she says, then smacks her forehead. “Dreams to chase. Things to do. Whatnot and et cetera,” she amends.
As adorable as fumbling Madison is, I don’tactuallywant to make her feel uncomfortable, so I slip my shirt back on before I join her in the living room, taking a seat on one of the pink chairs. “What are you working on?” I ask.
Madison’s cheeks are still red, but she manages to maintain eye contact with me as she answers. “Trying to get a few chapters proofread before Clara and I go on a little adventure to Bentonville today.”
“Oh, really? What’s in Bentonville?” I ask.
“Hopefully some decent thrift stores,” she says, crisscrossing her legs. “But don’t worry—I’ll be hard at work cold contacting more potential clients later today. No lectures required.”
“Hey, you accepted my apology. Are you retracting?” I tease.
“Ugh, lucky for you, I’m a woman of my word. You’re still forgiven,” she says as she moves the laptop from one knee to the other. “Doesn’t mean I won’t still sass you about it,” she adds under her breath.
“I’d expect no less,” I reply. Standing to my feet, I ask, “If you had your number one pick of the type of material to proofread, what would it be?”
Madison leans her head back to maintain eye contact. “I’m not exactly being picky right now, Suits.”
“But if youwerebeing picky, what would you pick?”
She purses her lips as she considers the question. “I would love to edit nonfiction books in the leadership and self-development genre.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because . . . well, because it feels especially important that those kinds of books not contain stupid errors. Why should I take your advice if you don’t know when ‘full time’ should be two words or hyphenated? It drives me absolutelycrazyto find typos in personal development books,” she says. “But before you even suggest I just ‘go after those authors,’thoseauthors are primarily working with publishers who have in-house editors.”
