Page 33 of Blind Justice

When he broke the kiss, his forehead rested against hers once more, his voice low and resolute. “You deserve a man who doesn’t shy away from this. From you. And I swear, I’m going to be that man.”

Ruth’s hand moved to his cheek, her touch soft. “You already are, Noah. You just have to let yourself believe it.”

He let out a slow breath, his lips quirking into a small, almost reluctant smile. “You don’t make this easy, you know.”

“Good,” she said, her smile turning playful. “Because I’m not going anywhere, so you might as well get used to it.”

He chuckled softly, a deep rumble that seemed to ease the distance between them. With one last lingering kiss to her forehead, he stepped back, his hand catching hers briefly.

“Drive safe,” she said, her voice soft but firm.

“I will,” he promised, his thumb brushing over her knuckles before releasing her hand. His eyes held hers for a beat longer. “See you soon, Ruth.”

“Soon, Noah.”

As the door closed behind him, Ruth leaned against it, her fingers brushing over her lips where his kiss still lingered. Despite the heaviness of his words, her heart felt lighter. She had no doubt that Noah would be back. And when he was ready, they’d face whatever came next—together.

Fourteen

Noah walked into the office, his hair still damp from his shower, dressed in his usual sharp, no-nonsense suit. The faint smell of coffee lingered around him as he placed Ruth’s Stanley cup on his desk. He didn’t have the heart to leave it behind. As he set down his bag, Alex glanced up from his computer, a sly smile spreading across his face.

“Well?” Alex leaned back in his chair with a knowing look.

Noah furrowed his brow. “Well, what?”

Alex chuckled, folding his arms behind his head. “Uh-oh. That’s the tone of a man who doesn’t want to talk about something interesting.”

Noah ignored him, reaching for the Stanley cup and taking a slow sip of coffee. Alex’s grin widened as he pointed at it. “That’s not yours.”

“How do you know?” Noah countered, feigning indifference.

“Well, first, lavender isn’t your color, and, two, try her initials on the side. I gave her that cup for Christmas. She wouldn’t shut up about wanting one,” Alex said, shaking his head with a laugh.

Noah glanced at the initials monogrammed neatly on the side: R. A. E. “She let me borrow it,” he muttered, setting it down with a little more force than necessary.

Alex raised a brow. “Sheletyou borrow it. Right. What time did you get back?”

“Five,” Noah replied curtly, leaning back in his chair.

“And the asshole?” Alex asked, his tone shifting to something more serious.

Noah explained the events of the night—Matt’s drunken antics, his awkward isolation after security posted up near him, and the subtle implosion of his carefully crafted persona.

Alex listened intently, nodding as Noah described the subtle shifts in the room’s perception of Matt Brandt.

“Good. He’s digging his own grave,” Alex said. “So, if that’s all taken care of, why are you here at…” he glanced at the clock, “…seven thirty in the morning, after getting back at five?”

“Her secretary Melanie’s boyfriend,” Noah said simply, leaning forward and pulling up his computer.

Alex blinked. “Her boyfriend? Why?”

“Luke Andrews,” he answered just as his phone rang. The security desk was calling.

“Mr. Kandor,” the guard said over the phone, “there’s someone in the lobby asking to see you. Says his name’s Luke Andrews.”

Alex perked up. “This isn’t good.”

Noah’s stomach twisted, and his mind clicked into high gear. “I’m on my way.”

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