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Including Noah.

In the past, he finessed Danson for me. He schmoozed Martin and the others in advance. He always paved the way for my success, looked over my presentations before I gave them, and offered suggestions. Like everything, he plotted and planned, never leaving anything to chance or anyone else’s judgment.

But not this time. Now, I’m on my own. The project and its outcome are totally in my hands.

It feels good. And scary. Worst of all, knowing I’m going to see Noah for the first time since that terrible night in my bedroom makes my heart weep.

I enter through the double glass doors of the conference room, files and equipment in hand. Danson waits at the head of the table with an encouraging smile. I try to smile back.

Noah, sitting just to his right, distracts me. The pull of his heavy presence hits me. Thick air. Utter silence. I feel his eyes all over me, assessing. Devouring.

I look away and try to keep my hands from shaking. There’s enough gossip about why I switched management teams so abruptly already. No need to feed the rumor mill, even if I’m desperate to look at the man. Even if I ache to touch him.

I have it bad, waking up in the middle of the night in a sweat, my body aching for something only Noah has ever given me. I crave him—his tousled hair, the smile in his blue eyes, the way he held me.

That’s all gone. It’s for the best—or that’s what I keep telling myself. If I hadn’t put an end to us, how long before some other woman was the target of his next planned seduction? That would have flattened my heart.

Still…what if he meant what he said that night, for real? What if I’m not just a challenge or a notch on his bedpost? What if he truly, genuinely loves me and has waited a decade for me?

I can’t resist anymore. I steal a quick glance at Noah. And still he stares, unflinching, unyielding—and looking so unhappy.

Is it possible he actually was truly unmoved by hordes of cheerleaders and models and was utterly fixated on me? God, I want to believe…and yet fear swallows my words every time I think about telling Noah that I love him.

“Ready?” Danson asks, breaking into my thoughts.

“Just about.”

I focus on my presentation setup, determined to chase away these stubborn thoughts of my former boss.

As soon I’m ready, Danson hits the lights. I pass out my materials, start my PowerPoint slides, and give my spiel. I believe in this project, and I’m convinced it will help the restaurant chain.

My confidence projects as I field questions. A thoughtful expression crosses Martin’s face. He’s always been my big detractor, and so far, he’s yet to utter a single “voice of reason” comment.

I avoid eye contact with Noah. But I can’t escape the weight of his stare.

At the end, Danson asks me to step out of the room. Nervously, I nod and exit.

The five partners gather around the table, and I surreptitiously peek at their interaction. From his expression, it seems obvious that Martin voices a concern. Big surprise. Danson counters. Gilbert nods. Miles comments. Martin shrugs, as if conceding a point. Danson adds a few words. A moment later, my new boss rises and calls me back in.

Noah didn’t say a single word—not in the project’s defense, nor to vindictively crush it. Not to play whatever angle suits him best.

He said nothing.

With my insides jumbled like the contents of a blender, I enter the conference room and sit, nervously folding my hands in my lap. I can’t stop myself from glancing at Noah. His face is unreadable.

“Lauren,” Danson starts, “we’ve talked it over as a team. The research is spotless and the results obvious. Your presentation made the uncertain seem inevitable. We’ve decided to go ahead with your full recommendation. We’ll pursue three new sites, two north of downtown, one further west. We’ll go for the social media and radio blitz, as well as participate in local community events to spread the word—the works.”

Triumph beats a harder drum in me with every word. I’ve done it! Somehow, in the middle of all my tumult and worry, I’ve managed to get beyond my inexperience in this business, put together an idea that works, and persuade five savvy restaurateurs to go for my proposal. And I accomplished the last, crucial step on my own.

“Congratulations,” Gilbert says, offering me his hand.

I shake it. “Thanks, sir.”

“If you’re ever looking to switch management teams again, call me first next time.”

“Hey, hey,” Danson protests. “No thieving of employees. Back off.”

With a laugh, Danson packs up his stuff and heads for the exit. The others follow suit with good-natured chuckles. I rush to get in behind them, but gravity has nothing on the pull of Noah’s presence. With him standing so close, I can’t forget the feel of his mouth on mine, stop aching for the way he ignites my body, or push aside the shredded torture in his voice when he told me he loved me.