Page 45 of Who's Saving You
“Hm,” she hums into the phone. “Just don't get blinded by a good blow job, Warrior.”
I chuckle. “I’ll try to control myself.”
“Bye, Nik.”
“Bye, Eva.”
I end the call and pull into the underground parking garage. As I park, a thought crosses my mind.
How did Eva know about Noelle?
I never told her about the piece, and no articles have been published. I get out of my truck, grab my gym bag, and sling it over my shoulder, shaking the thoughts away. Eva knows everything PR-related. She was probably just approached to be part of the interviews, but then why wouldn’t Noelle tell me that?
17
Noelle
I've been here for three days, and I still wake with a jolt every morning. I’ve got more questions than I can even begin to string together, but instead, I'm met with silence in the morning and sideways glances at night. I walk past Nik in the kitchen while pretending I’m not aware of every move he makes. I fall asleep in the guest room, pretending I don’t want to know what he looks like on the other side of that wall.
I hate myself for these thoughts. After Dylan, I had one job to do. Be the best reporter I can. And if it wasn’t for my editor now, I’d still be floundering. She gave me the opportunity, and I took it and ran.
I have to keep running. There’s no time to look backward.
But when he brushed my leg with his thumb, I knew Iwas probably in bigger trouble inside this condo than outside of it.
Nik’s condo is spotless and quiet. It’s honestly a dream for me to write in. And the Greek touches around the house really make it feel like home.
Stupid girl.
Not home, but comfortable.
And since I’m comfortable with my VPN in place, I’m continuing to work, dig, and do everything I can to make sense of what's around me. Truth and research are how I live now; it’s how I decide where to go and how to respond. I make my own assumptions from my findings. Dylan told me I was too emotional and made rash choices, that if I was going to be a spectacular reporter, I needed to study facts and hard truths. And he was right, especially when it came to him. I’ve since learned and won’t make that mistake again.
Even though it seems that my control over things has slipped, I’m not afraid, and it feels safe here. I’ll give him that. There are no weird emails, no one has tried to grab me, question me, or drag me off like Rhett’s guys nearly did.
Still, I don’t sleep well, and I know I need to tell Nik about the picture in my email. If I’m going to get to the bottom of this, I need all the pieces, and I need him to know all my pieces as well.
Tonight, I step out of the guest room to grab water. The floor’s cool under my feet, and the city lights through the massive windows cast the living room in a soft, blue glow.
Nik’s already there, sitting on the edge of the couch in a T-shirt and sweats, barefoot, his elbows resting on his knees. He looks up when he hears me, something flickering in his expression that he smooths over quickly.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I should be asking you that.”
He shrugs. “Didn’t feel like sleeping.”
I hesitate, then cross the room and hand him the extra glass of water I brought. He takes it without a word, his fingers brushing mine for half a second too long. I hate that I can’t tell if he’s doing it by accident or on purpose to get under my skin.
“Who does your shopping?”
He looks at me, taking a sip. “I have a standing order that comes weekly.”
“Rich people shit.” I scoff, and he chuckles. “Can we maybe get some candy. A soda or two wouldn't hurt you, ya know?”
“You got something against eating clean?”
“You may be an athlete, but us normal people need some sugar once in a while.”
