Hitched Volume 1 (Imperfect Love Book #1)

Olivia

Late the next afternoon, a knock on my office door startles me out of my work trance. “Come in,” I say automatically.

The door cracks open and Dad pokes his head in. “Hey there, sweetie. Sorry if I’m interrupting anything, but could we talk for a minute in my office?”

I blink first at him, then at my computer screen before closing my laptop. “Sure, Dad. What do you need?”

“It’s good news, I promise,” is all he says.C0ntent © 2024 (N/ô)velDrama.Org.

I follow Dad to his office, where Noah is already sitting in one of the armchairs. He stands up when we walk in.

I glance between him and Dad suspiciously. What fresh hell is this?

Dad picks up a thin sheaf of papers from his desk. “In all the recent hubbub, I forgot to tell you kids about my wedding gift.” He hands over the document with a proud smile.

I scan the first page and my heart plummets. It’s a signed lease for a furnished penthouse apartment in the heart of the city, its security deposit already paid, as well as first and last month’s rent. And there’s only one bedroom.

No way.

Realizing that I probably shouldn’t just stand here in a stupor, I say, “Oh. Um . . . wow, Dad. This is so generous.”

Dad chuckles and squeezes my shoulder. “Anything for my girl. I figured you two wouldn’t have much time to go house-hunting right now, so I found you a place myself.”

“Thank you very much, sir. I’m sure we’ll love it,” Noah interjects.

Jackass. He always knows exactly what to say, how to smooth over any situation. Whereas I’m struggling to remember how to breathe.

I force a tight-lipped smile at my dear, sweet future husband. “Yes. Noah, can we talk about this in your office? There’s a lot of arrangements that need to be made.”

• • •

As soon as we’re alone with the door locked, I let my emotions burst free.

“What the hell are we going to do? He’s already spent so much money, which T&C really can’t afford, by the way, and he’ll expect us to move in, and . . . what a clusterfuck!” I push my hands into my hair, not caring in the slightest that my perfectly coiffed bun just became a hot mess.

Noah holds up his hands. “Whoa, hey, calm down. Living together isn’t really that big of a deal, is it?”

“Of course it’s a big deal. I don’t want to move in with anyone, especially not you.”

He narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, get over yourself. I’m sure you don’t want to live with me, either.”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

I stare at him. “Why? Wouldn’t that get in the way of your drinking and whoring?”

“I told you I wasn’t going to do that anymore.” Noah rakes his fingers through his hair irritably. “Okay, just listen to me for a second. Even if we ignore the fact that you’re sex on legs and any sane man would give his left nut to spend a night with you-”

My laugh sounds ever so slightly hysterical. “You’re seriously trying to flirt right now? Is that the only way you know how to communicate with women?”

“Even if we ignore that fact,” he growls out, “we still have Tate & Cane’s public image to consider. How bad will it look if we don’t even live under the same roof?”

I rub my forehead, partly to ground myself and partly as an excuse to hide my expression. I can’t cry in front of Noah. I don’t cry, period.

Why am I even getting so upset? I already knew we’d have to live together sooner or later. I’ve seen this coming since day one. That was one of the reasons I didn’t want to sign the stupid contract in the first place. And I’m still feeling optimistic about Noah and our budding friendship. I’m not over the moon about having to share my private space with a roommate again, but I’ll survive. Hell, it may even be fun. I have a lot of awesome memories from living with Camryn.

Really, Noah’s right. It’s not that big of a deal. But for some reason, it feels monumental. Like I’m about to lose yet another piece of myself.

I just hate surprises. Dad’s wedding gift broadsided my composure and splattered all sorts of uncomfortable emotions everywhere. I need a moment to scrape myself back together.

“We don’t really have a choice, Snowflake,” Noah says. “Everyone-the media, our employees, our rivals, our stockholders-they all have to see us together. The starry-eyed young couple, poised to take over one of the nation’s biggest companies. That’s who we have to be.”

I drop my gaze, chewing my lip hard. Finally, I admit, “Yeah, I know. You’re right . . . our hands are tied. Sorry I flipped out for a minute there.”

I half expect Noah to make some perverted joke about tied hands. But instead, he just touches me on the chin-the gentlest possible hey, buck up.

I meet his eyes as his fingers tilt my face to his. Can he tell how stupid and frustrated I feel? Why can’t I hide anything from this man? Why can’t I stop exposing my weak points?