Page 62 of Under the Lies

“Wasn’t expecting you, Bridget.” Noah’s voice is a shot of whiskey, fire warming my cold, numb body.

My eyes close only to snap back open.

Right above me, the desk creaks from someone putting weight on it. My eyes widen. Noah must be leaning against the front. He sounds right on top of me.

“Sorry, there was a change of plans,” a woman with an accent says. It’s not quite British but somewhere in that region if I were to guess. “Seamus was getting a little antsy.”

I glare at nothing, not liking that her voice gets closer with each word.

Jealousy is a fickle bitch whose claws I don’t appreciate digging into me at the sound of the other woman’s voice, only for the claws to turn on me for feeling like this in the first place.

“I don’t do surprises.” It shouldn’t please me as much as it does that Noah sounds pissed off. “And you can go tell Seamus that this isn’t a bank, I don’t do loans or payments. He either gives me the money in full or every day he doesn’t, I tack on another five grand.”

Never has he taken that kind of tone with me.

A piece of me swells with triumph. Ha.

Never have I felt so petty as I smile in satisfaction.

“Noah—”

“Bridget,” he shoots back. “I owe you shit until Seamus pays me back, so get the fuck out of my office.”

It’s quiet in the room, but even from under the desk I can feel the tension.

Noah’s probably wearing his neutral face. It makes people more uncomfortable. Completely unreadable.

After a few tense moments of silence, I hear a soft sigh and one set of feet walking toward the door. Before the door shuts, Bridget says, “He’s not going to like you dismissing me.”

“And I don’t like that he thinks he can dick me around. He wants a meeting? He can come to me himself.”

Quietly, the door shuts.

Leaving me alone with Noah.

Seven steps.

That’s all it takes for his long strides to go from the door to his desk.

Each step feels like a nail being hammered into my chest.

It’s one thing to come into Noah’s office when I didn’t think he was here, to find some kind of solace and security after finding out what I thought had been stripped away, but it’s another for Noah finding me uninvited here.

It can’t possibly end well. He doesn’t sound like he’s in the best of moods right now.

The chair pulls out, his legs filling my vision.

Scuttling back, I plaster myself as much as I can into a single corner of the desk. I mean, it’s huge down here, more spacious than I’d imagine a desk to be, but I don’t know the radius of Noah’s sitting stance, how far his thighs will spread out.

He could easily spread eagle and knock into me.

Something shifts above me causing my eyes to go up on reflex. By the time I realize I’m not physically capable of seeing through the wood, it’s too late.

A hand grabs my ankle.

A scream escapes my throat.

And Pan escapes my hold, running past Noah’s crouching body.

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