Page 21 of Noel
The Stargazer Hotel—Midtown Manhattan
My nerves are shot.I’m trying to act like I belong here, like this is just another event walkthrough, but my heart hasn’t stopped pounding since we stepped through the doors.
The Stargazer’s ballroom is breathtaking—polished marble floors, a domed ceiling painted to look like a midnight sky, strings of lights cascading down like falling stars—but all I can think about is how small I feel standing in it next to Noel Kane.
He moves through the space like he owns it, calm, steady, precise.While I’m fidgeting with the hem of my blouse and trying not to hyperventilate, he’s scanning exits, checking corners, talking quietly into a comms mic in his ear.Every inch of him radiates control.
And somehow, that only makes my insides twist harder.
Because I can’t decide if I want to strangle him for being so bossy—or melt a little every time his low, sure voice brushes over me when he says,“Stay close.”
I try to focus on the job.On the gala.On anything other than how he smells—clean leather, cedar, and a little danger.
Then one of the hotel managers—a woman with perfect posture and a bright smile—hurries up to me.
“Hi!I’m Annabeth, so nice to meet you, Holly.I came in to do a last-minute check before you arrived half an hour ago.We’ve got a corporate event tonight, but we’ll have your team back in tomorrow morning for setup.”
She gestures toward the stage.
“Anyway, that was sitting there for you?—”
Her hand points to a small, awkwardly wrapped box on a chair.
The kind of innocent detail you’d never notice—except for the tag with my name written on it.
My name.
In the same looping, jagged handwriting I’ve seen before.
I freeze.
My brain short-circuits.
It’s the same marker, the same scratchy style as the notes.
“No,” I whisper, throat tightening.
“No,” Noel agrees, voice low and dangerous.
He’s moving before I can even take a step.Long strides, controlled, efficient.
The man doesn’t hesitate.He’s at the stage in seconds, gloved hands already lifting the package while he fires questions at Annabeth like bullets.
“Who left this?Did anyone see a delivery person?You got surveillance on the loading dock?I want timestamps.”
She blinks, startled, fumbling for words.
“I—I don’t know.It was just, um, there.”
She shrugs.
My stomach lurches.
Fear rises like acid, hot and sharp.
Noel crouches, scanning the package with a handheld device that chirps once and quiets—no explosives, thank God—but he studies every detail.
The tape, the paper, the string, the smell.
