Page 68 of Savage Suit
“It implies I don’t have full agency, so I must wait for your consent.”
“That is of no concern to me, Ms. Hagen,” Noah said, once again fully possessed of his Noah-ness. “And you’re twisting the meaning of agency. My phone belongs tome.Therefore, I have the right to tell you when, or if, you may call me. Just as you would in a reversed circumstance.”
“But—”
Noah raised his hand. “Enough. Send me the informationnow. Then we will resume the tour. We’ve spent way too much time in here.”
As I typed Redman’s information, Noah frowned at the vent in the ceiling. “I don’t think you can have this office,” he announced as I pressed send.
My heart dropped at those words, and I jumped to my feet. I ignored the flash of anger and the bout of suspicion he’d baited me with the office, so I’d sign the contract. “No! You can’t…” But he could. My throat worked as my mind searched for arguments.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t have any office. I said you can’t havethisoffice.”
“Er, why?”
“It is so small,” he answered. “The heat will overwhelm you. When the door is closed, it will be too stifling, especially if you aren’t alone.”
Not responding, I sidled a glance at the door. Yep, it was closed, and I wasn’t falling in a dead faint, overcome with heat, or engulfed by the toxins of more than one body.
“I like this office,” I said honestly, then indicated the room with a grand flourish of my hand. “The three of us are in here and we,I,am perfectly okay. Truly.”
He hesitated.
“Do you think I wouldn’t tell you if I had an issue?Me?”
The tension in his shoulders eased, and he smiled. “So true,” he conceded, digging into his back pocket and coming up with his billfold. He emptied it of its contents and held out the little stack to me. “For whatever you want to buy for your office. I’ll have accounting reimburse me. You’re temporary, so you don’t have a company budget. Submitting an itemized list with SKU numbers and stores and prices would take two or three weeks for approval and infringe upon your time for work.”
“How much is that?” I squeaked, glad for the explanation but not giving it much consideration.
“About two thousand dollars.”
My eyes widened. “Jesus, why do you carry so much cash around?”
“A holdover from when my mother was alive,” he said absently, turning and dropping the money on my desk. “She always carried a lot of cash. She believed any situations might arise where physical money was needed. I never forgot that lesson.”
He brushed past me, opened the door, and walked out the office.
Reid raised the folder he still held. “I’ll have your copy within three days,” he promised, then nodded to the money.
“I only wanted a chair and a painting,” I said before he could speak. “I don’t need all that money. Three hundred dollars tops.”
“Then keep it for your petty cash,” he advised. “Or use it on whatever you need, Ryan. Noah doesn’t give a damn as long as you’re comfortable.”
“Does he do this for all his employees?”
“Does it matter?”
“If I want them to regard me with fairness, then my treatment from him must be equal.”
Reid stared at me. “He doesn’t see you in the same light he sees anyone else.”
“Meaning?”
A sad half-smile lifted one side of his mouth. “Not what you’re thinking,” he said after a moment. “I only meant you’re the answer to his prayers.”
“What the fuck—?”
“He wants that Amage contract, and he wants Aunt Réjane’s perfume available on January 9th, Ryan. Let me stop with the theatrics. A holdover from my college days. I’ll put my meaning in simpler terms. If you requested a meal of avocado toast and yak milk for the duration of your contract and it meant your ideas were flowing, then you’d have avocado toast and yak milk three fucking times a day. Do you understand now?”
