Monday dawned like a slap of reality after a weekend of grieving memories. As I stepped into my new workspace, the atmosphere was charged with the intoxicating scent of ambition and cold coffee. Situated right in front of Noah's office, my desk served as the unofficial gateway to the man himself.
Two phones were neatly set up in front of me—one for business and one for his personal affairs.
Within the first hour, the personal phone became a theater of drama, punctuated by its ringing.
One by one, I found myself fielding calls from Mia, Carla, Nicola, Charlotte, and Shantelle. "Noah is busy" became my mantra. It didn't take a detective to deduce that Noah was a playboy; the calls painted a vivid portrait of a man ensnared by myriad entanglements.
"Stephanie," his voice echoed from the intercom, snapping me out of my observations.
"Yes, Noah?"
"Can you bring me the papers for the Gerald case and make three copies?"
"Absolutely," I replied.
As I moved down the corporate-gray hallway to the printer, I couldn't help but overhear the surreptitious whispers of my coworkers.
"How long do you think she'll last?"
"Until he sleeps with her," another snickered in response.
Their petty banter hardly made a dent in my consciousness. I had stared into the abyss of loss, and whispers wouldn't break me. I made four copies of the Gerald case files, just to be ahead of the game.
Walking into Noah's modernist, glass-walled office, I sensed his attention shift toward me.
"Any messages?"
The corners of my mouth curled into a knowing smile. "Mia is wondering when you'll be free tonight. I told her you're visiting your ailing mother."
His eyes widened, almost comically.
Unfazed, I continued, "Charlotte is under the impression that your grandmother has passed. Carla thinks you're the one who's ill, Shantelle got a reality check, and Nicola is less than thrilled about your new secretary."
His expression changed, this time to one of impressed curiosity.
"And on the business end?"
"Remarkably quiet," I stated, placing the files on his desk.
"Stephanie," he paused, seemingly reassessing me, "you're not like other assistants I've had."
"Good," I retorted, "because I don't intend to be."
"I'm sorry about..." Noah began, but I cut him off.
"With all due respect, I'm not interested in your personal life, boss. I'm here to handle your messages, not your emotions."
A pause.
"Thank you," he finally said, "I knew you were smart."
I didn't reply, instead making a move to exit his office. He stopped me.
"Stephanie, the documents?"
"Apologies, I made four copies, just to be safe."
"I'm impressed," he remarked.
Once back at my desk, I let out a low sigh.
There was no denying that the man was handsome—a kind of magnetism that was hard to ignore. But he was my boss, and a notorious playboy at that, and I couldn't afford to mess up this job. Men like Noah have an uncanny sense for detecting emotional vulnerabilities, and I knew he sensed mine.
"Get a grip, Stephanie," I muttered to myself.
A buzz from the intercom broke my self-talk. It was Noah, beckoning me back into his office. This time, he personally opened the door for me, and as I stepped in, I found myself dangerously close to him—just inches away.
"Yes, boss?"
"Please, call me Noah," he said, moving gracefully back to his desk.
"Alright," I nodded.
"I need to ask you a favor," he said, locking eyes with me.
I waited, meeting his gaze.
"I need you to break up with every single woman on my contact list."
The request was so surreal that it took me a moment to process it.
"Noah, you've got over twenty women on that list. Are you sure?"
His eyes gleamed, hinting at something more than mere mischief.
"Tell them I've found the one."
"The one? Should I inform them that you've completely lost your mind?" I couldn't help but quip.
He laughed—a genuine laugh that momentarily revealed a different person beneath the polished exterior.
"No, just tell them that I've moved on."
Something about that moment, perhaps his smile, changed the atmosphere in the room. There was an unspoken tension, a kind of magnetic pull that neither of us could completely ignore.
"I'll handle it," I assured him, reaching for the door handle to exit his office.
"Stephanie?" His voice had a timbre that caught me off guard.
I paused.
"Yes, Noah?"
"You are so damn beautiful."
Time stood still. His compliment wasn't just words; it was a revelation—a moment that seemed to defy the barriers of our professional relationship. It was like hearing a song you didn't know you needed but suddenly couldn't stop humming.
"Thank you, Noah," I whispered, holding his gaze for just a moment longer to capture the sincerity that flickered there.
As I closed the door behind me, I rested my forehead against its cool surface, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
The office grew eerily quiet as the last of my colleagues trickled out, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Well, not entirely alone; Noah was still there.
Over the past few hours, I had undertaken the uncomfortable task of contacting every single woman on his contact list, informing them that he was no longer interested, and then blocking their numbers. I had no real understanding of why I was doing this or what had led him to this decision. All I knew was that I had hurt a lot of people today, and the thought weighed heavily on my conscience.
"It's part of my job," I reminded myself.
I couldn't afford to get attached or to take things too personally.
As the clock struck five, the door creaked open.
"You're still here?"
I looked up to see Noah standing in the doorway.
"I wasn't sure if I needed your permission to leave," I replied, trying to keep my tone light.
He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"If it were up to me, I'd keep you here all the time. But you've finished your shift, so you can go."
"Thank you," I said, gathering my things.
"Do you need a ride home?" he offered, holding out my coat for me.
"Only if it's on your way," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
Top of Form
"Where do you live?"
"Madison Avenue."
He grinned.
"I live close by. I'll take you."
As we walked out of the building and toward his car, I noticed the same two coworkers who had been gossiping about me earlier.
"Great," I muttered under my breath.
"What's wrong?" Noah asked, concern filling his eyes.
I sighed.
"They're already gossiping about how long I'll last because you supposedly sleep with every secretary."
His eyes darkened.
"Who said that?"
I waved my hand dismissively.
"It doesn't matter. I'm tougher than I look. I just don't want them spreading false information about me."
"Stephanie, you have nothing to worry about," he assured me.
I nodded but couldn't shake off a twinge of doubt. "Can I ask you something personal, Noah?"
He nodded.
"Why do you treat women that way?"
He sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"I'm too busy for a relationship, so I often end up with women from one-night stands. Even though I make it clear that I'm not interested in anything more, they often paint a different picture of me in their minds, thinking they can change me or have more with me," he explained, a wry smile on his lips.
"I don't know why."
I studied his face, looking for any sign of insincerity but found none. Perhaps there was more to Noah than met the eye.
"Then why keep calling them back?" I pressed, trying to reconcile the discrepancy in his story.
He looked straight ahead at the road.
"I don't. They call me."
"Ah, of course," I said, a hint of amusement in my voice.
"We're here," he announced as he pulled up to my building.
"Thank you, Noah," I said, stepping out of the car. The moment the door closed behind me, I felt a shift—as if I were stepping out of one world and into another.
As I entered my building, I found Emma and Dave already in the throes of a tipsy evening.
"You're coming with us," Emma declared, her eyes a bit glazed.
"I need to change," I protested.
"No time," Dave interjected, gripping my arm in a friendly yet insistent manner.
Before I knew it, we were back outside, hailing a taxi that whisked us off to a nearby bar called Coyote. The place was packed, a buzz humming through the air as professionals in their work attire sought refuge from the Monday grind. Emma ordered shots, and the liquid fire quickly coursed through our veins.
As the techno beats pulsated around us, I found myself swaying and dancing, the music providing a momentary escape from the chaotic whirlpool of emotions within me. The clock didn't seem to matter anymore, nor did the four hours that had apparently slipped by, unnoticed, until I glanced at my phone.
"Shit, it's almost ten. I must be at work by seven tomorrow," I told Emma as she tried to pull me back onto the dance floor.
"Come on, Steph, we're having fun," Emma slurred, her eyes a little unfocused.
Just as I was considering another dance, my phone buzzed incessantly in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw Noah's name flashing on the screen.
NOAH: "Stephanie, I can't find the files for the Gerald case. Do you know where they are?"
His message read.
ME: "Nope."
I texted back, my thumbs dancing on the screen with less grace than I had displayed on the dance floor.
NOAH: "You were the last one to have them," he responded almost immediately.
ME: "I don't remember."
I typed, feeling the weight of my inebriation in my fingertips.
NOAH: "Are you alright?"
ME: "Yep. Just having fun."
NOAH: "Have you been drinking? You know you start work at seven, right?"
His words, even in text form, carried a tone of concern mixed with authority.
ME: "Only four, maybe five shots."
I typed, aware that even one would have been too many for a work night.
NOAH: "Where are you?"
He asked, and for a moment, I stopped to consider not just my physical location, but also where I stood on the spectrum of responsible choices and reckless escapism.
ME: "Coyote bar."
I finally replied, sealing the fate of a night that would likely be both unforgettable and full of regrets.
My phone buzzed incessantly on the sticky surface of the bar. Noah's text popped up.
NOAH: "I will be there in ten minutes."
I turned to Emma, letting out a snort of laughter.
"I think my boss is on the warpath."
Emma giggled, her eyes a little unfocused.
"Let Xander cover for you. Who cares?"
Pushing myself off the barstool, I mumbled, "Got to pee," and staggered toward the restroom, my hands skimming the walls for balance.
Just as my vision began to blur, a familiar voice cut through the haze.
"Stephanie."
I squinted, recognizing Noah's stern face.
"What are you doing here?"
He didn't reply. Instead, he effortlessly hoisted me over his shoulder and guided me out of the crowded bar, his grip firm. I flopped into the passenger seat of his car, muttering 'Asshole,' under my breath, before succumbing to the pull of unconsciousness.
"Stephanie." Noah's voice was a soft whisper, pulling me back to reality.
I blinked my eyes open, finding us parked in front of my apartment building.
"What floor?" he asked, his voice tinged with impatience.
"Apartment 71," I mumbled.
Noah scooped me up, wincing when I informed him, "No elevator."
"You just had to live on the top floor, didn't you?" he grumbled as he scaled the stairs, each step echoing through the dimly lit hallway.
Once we reached my door, I fumbled with the key, my trembling hands betraying me.
"Let me," Noah interjected, smoothly unlocking the door on his first try.
As we entered, he glanced at the adjacent bathroom, then steered me directly into the shower. A rush of cold water jolted me awake.
"Don't be an asshole," I sputtered, water dripping down my face. "I was trying to like you."
His lips curled into a reluctant smile as he turned off the water.
"Better?"
"Much," I said, stepping out gingerly. Just then, I slipped, plummeting straight into his waiting arms. Our eyes locked, and in that frozen moment, my lower lip became involuntarily caught between my teeth.
"Stop that," he warned.
"What?" I feigned innocence, even as his thumb lightly traced my wet lip.
"Doing that," he clarified, his voice gravelly.
"Make me," I retorted.
His gaze intensified, yet he stepped back. "Stephanie, you're drunk. This isn't the time."
The air seemed to thin as he spoke, laden with unsaid words and unfulfilled desires.
I didn't know what overcame me, but I surged forward, capturing his lips with mine. My tongue tentatively caressed his.
For a heartbeat, he was frozen; then his hands cradled the back of my head, drawing me closer and deepening our impromptu embrace.
"Fuck," he breathed, pulling back as though scorched.
"Then do it. Take me like one of your one-night stands," I rasped, my gaze ravenous.
He shook his head vehemently.
"Stephanie, you're drunk," he reiterated, the weight of his resolve evident in his tone.
Without another word, he hoisted me up and carried me into the bedroom, gently laying me down on the bed. The moment my head hit the pillow, I succumbed to heavy, dreamless sleep, oblivious to the maelstrom of emotions I had just unleashed.