After the Storm

by Faith Andrews

  I push through the door and waltz in with a smile. “Good morning, Noah, Angela.”

  Angela smiles back—through gritted teeth. Noah doesn’t take a break from his frantic rummaging of paperwork and files to acknowledge my presence. It’s easy to see from Angela’s harried expression that he started cracking the whip before the first pot of coffee has had time to brew.

  How long have they been here? Am I late? I check my watch only to find that I’m actually early. Noah’s never first in the office—poor thing is worried. He’s going to need as much reassurance as possible.

  I stow my bag and scurry to offer my help. “Hey, I’m sorry about Blaze, Noah, but I just want you to know I’ve brought my A game. Anything I can do to help?” I rest a hand on his shoulder and it tenses. Oops. Wrong move?

  “Thanks. Um . . .” He taps his finger to his lips. “I think I’m going to call a staff meeting today to assign duties and talk about how we can keep things moving without any delays.” He stacks one pile and moves to another. It’s odd to see him muddling through the paperwork—that’s what Angela and I are here for.

  “Noah, let me take care of all that. Why don’t you—”

  “Angie, do me a favor and call Pepper’s.” Noah interrupts, disregarding me. “Put a catering order in for lunch. Cold cuts, bagels, whatever. It’s going to be a long day. Let’s make everyone comfortable.” He turns on his heel with Angela’s fingers already dialing the deli, and then closes the door behind him without another word.

  I’m momentarily stunned by his abrupt exit, but whatever—I can’t analyze it.

  “Intense morning?” I ask Angela.

  “The worst! That man needs a woman. He’s wound up so freaking tight.” Her response makes me snort with laughter.

  “You’re probably right,” I whisper, thinking back to how I could have relieved that stress if he wasn’t so opposed to hooking up with an employee. I quickly delete that thought from my overstimulated brain and shift into work mode. “Anyway, I’ll start the coffee. You place the order. The easier we make this on him, the less of his grouchiness we have to deal with.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  I head off to the kitchen. Hopefully his mood is only sour because of Blaze and has nothing to do with me.

  “Connie, I’m giving you the Breakstone account—call them and get a timeframe today. Miles, you got the Steins. Let them know the stones for the walkway have been ordered, but we’ll need to push back the concrete until next week. I have the crew out on the jobs that were started last week. Tito’s covering where Blaze would have been and Mario’s got his son with him to speed things up with the Bakers.” Boss man is full steam ahead—all through the meeting. No one’s bothered to touch the mouthwatering spread delivered by Pepper’s in fear that they’ll get their hands chopped off—at least that’s why I’m refraining and ignoring the growls in my stomach.

  After another round of rapid fire shots of tasks, Noah stands and nods. Does that mean this meeting is adjourned? I fucking hope so—he broke a sweat and nearly popped a blood vessel. He needs a break.

  As he stalks toward the door to leave the conference room—without anything to eat—I shake my head. Do all men need to be taken care of? Maybe not, but I’ll give Noah the benefit of the doubt. I do my best to create a sandwich I think he’ll like, then make a smaller version for myself, and take a gulp of dignity before I approach his office with a knock.

  “Come in,” he calls from behind the closed door.

  When I walk in, his gaze falls from my eyes to my hands. He suppresses a smile and I wonder if it’s because of what happened at Sullivan’s. On the rare occasions that we’ve spent time together in the office, he’s been all smiles and niceties. He is definitely trying to avoid me today. One hundred and ten percent.

  But it’s too fucking bad. We’re adults and we both have jobs to do. He can avoid Willow, the flirty woman at the bar, but he can’t avoid Miss Jones, his office manager. I take that as my cue to pull up my big girl panties and take control of the situation.

  “I made you something to eat. You haven’t stopped all morning.” I set the plate in front of him and then close the door before I sit in the chair across from him. “I know you’re stressed and you have every right to be, but you can’t avoid me.” There! Rip it off like a Band-Aid. Get it out in the open and move the fuck on.

  Taking a large bite of the hoagie I made him, he grins. “Who said I was avoiding you?”

  “I said. It’s silly and I’m sorry.”

  Chewing a rather large mouthful—ha! I knew he was starving—he tilts his head. “Sorry for?”

  Jesus, is he going to drag it out of me, bit by bit? How humiliating! “For Friday,” I say with a voice so low I want to smack myself for being so nervous.

  “What about Friday, Willow?” His jaw tightens and I can feel the vibration of his leg bouncing underneath the desk. Why, Dear Lord, is he playing with me?

  “Oh, Lordy be, for being forward. For getting drunk. For making a fool out of myself. I’m sorry I crossed that line. It won’t happen again.” Phew. I take a deep breath. He notices. It makes him smirk—bastard.

  He adjusts himself in his chair and leans forward on his elbows, staring. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. Seriously, Willow. In fact, I should thank you.”

  “Thank me? For what?”

  “For helping Blaze,” he answers, while wiping a spot of mustard from the corner of his mouth.

  “But I didn’t—”

  “You were there,” he interrupts. “Sloane told me it was you who called 911. I know you had to get home, but if it wasn’t for the two of you finding him and Sloane getting him to the hospital—” He trails off, looking up at the ceiling. “Just—thank you.”

  I silently lift up a prayer to the gods of compassion, and relax. “Well, I guess you’re welcome then.” I take a moment, fiddling with the chain of Buddha, Hamsa, Crucifix, and four leaf clover charms around my neck. A girl can never be too lucky, right? “Can I say one more thing about Sullivan’s then?” It’s a brave move, but I won’t be able to move forward without getting it out of the way.

  “Sure,” he huffs. “But it really isn’t necessary.”

  Maybe not for him, but for me—it totally is. Part of my OCD. “With Blaze laid up we’ll probably be working more closely together. I don’t want what went down at the bar to make anything awkward. I want to be friends—nothing more. Me being all flirty was just the alcohol talking. It won’t happen again, okay?” So much of what I just confessed is a lie, but whatever; he doesn’t need to know that I would go back and do it all over again if it meant a different result. All he needs to know is that I can still be the professional he hired to do my job.

  I gulp back the last of my fears and appraise Noah. He’s biting his inner cheek and his eyes are roaming. Is that a tinge of disappointment on his face? Holy fuck, I think it is. But either way, he straightens, clears his throat and cuts to the chase. “Deal. Friends. Now, would you mind if I occupied your next hour to give you a very detailed run around? I’ll be out on a job tomorrow and I want to make sure you have all the information you need to operate efficiently.”

  I nod and straighten in my seat. “Of course.”

  Just like that the switch is flipped. Most of the awkwardness fades. The hint of yearning that we experienced at Sullivan’s disappears. And I’m hopeful that Noah and I can move forward the way he wanted to all along—as boss and employee.

  Never in a million years would I have pegged Willow to be the man—er, I mean woman—to fill Blaze’s boots.

  “I shuffled a few of the new clients’ appointments so you can clear up all loose ends on the existing jobs. Everyone was understanding. They seemed pretty concerned about Blaze, too.” Willow is a machine. A well-oiled, pencil-skirt wearing, gorgeous machine. Carrying the weight of not only my duties, but Blaze’s as well, has left me little time in the office this past week.

  Even though we agreed to be friends
, ever since the night at the bar, when I do see Willow, it’s been in a different light. The kind of light that lures you in like one of those anglerfish in the cold depths of the dark ocean. It’s mysterious, dangerous and altogether appealing as fuck, but I’ve found a way to stand my ground.

  No eye contact. Only engage in small talk. And no interaction outside of work.

  “Thanks, Willow. I really appreciate it. I’ll be heading out to the Jefferson’s to oversee the installation of their kitchen cabinets, but I’ll swing back around tonight before closing time.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I turn to leave, but Willow’s delicate hand at my shoulder makes me freeze. “Hey, Noah. How’s he doing?”

  She always makes a point to ask me about Blaze. Can’t she just find out from Sloane? They’ve become friends—without benefits—since the accident. Sloane might even know more than I do, but there’s no harm in answering her. This isn’t exactly personal information I’m sharing and she has saved my ass since picking up the slack around here. “He was doing a lot better when I checked in the other day. The casts are a killer, but he’s dealing. There’s still no plan for when he can be on his feet and back to work, but you’re doing great, so thank you again.”

  “You know I’m here to help any way I can.” It’s an innocent offer, but the warm smile that accompanies it makes me think of all the other ways she could be of help to me.

  She continues before I can put any more thought into it. “Has he changed his mind about Mr. Fitzgerald?”

  I leaf through a few invoices on my desk, then pause to shake my head. “Nope, if it were up to me, he would’ve pressed charges, but he’s a stubborn moron.”

  Willow tilts her head, surveying me. “I guess he feels like it’s some sort of penance.”

  I laugh. It’s kind of obnoxious, but she has no idea what she’s talking about. “Blaze is my best friend, Willow. I can promise you he doesn’t understand the meaning of that word. This isn’t the first time he’s dipped his foot in someone else’s pool, if you know what I mean.”

  “He seems like such a nice guy. I don’t get why he’d . . . you mean he does this kind of thing often?” She seems surprised and it shouldn’t matter, unless she’s fishing for information for her friend. If so, she’s got the wrong guy. I’m not selling him out.

  “If Sloane’s interested, she should steer clear of asking about his past. It’s not pretty.” I realize it comes out like a bark, and I immediately regret my crass tone.

  Her eyes narrow and her face contorts into one of disgust. “That’s not why. You know what, never mind, Noah. I’ve got to get back to work. This paperwork isn’t going to file itself.”

  She stalks off with a murderous grip on the files before I can apologize for sounding like a dick. I’ve obviously pissed her off. Serves her right for trying to extend our conversation past the employee/boss boundary. Hasn’t she picked up on my rules yet? I can’t be nice, because nice means soft. And if I turn soft, she’ll find a way to make me hard—in my pants. I need to stay away from her. It’s the best thing for the both of us.

  I throw my hands in the air and shrug it off. I have better things to do than worry about offending Willow.

  Or do I?

  When the hell did I become such a prick?

  When I pull up to Blaze’s house, Sloane is heaving a bag of trash over her shoulder with a set of keys in her hand.

  I jog toward her and offer to help. “Hey, let me get that for you.”

  “It’s all right. I’ve got it,” she says, and empties the bag into the trash can with an out of breath humph.

  “He’s really got you working, huh? You shouldn’t let him take advantage, you know.”

  She wipes her hands on her yoga pants, her eyes narrowed with contempt. “He’s a friend, Noah. And I offered to help. I feel bad for him.”

  Strange for a normal, self-respecting woman to feel bad for a man who got his ass kicked for committing adultery with his assailant’s wife. But I digress.

  “How is he today?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “Good. Tired. He weaned off the pain meds and started with the over the counter stuff. I’m actually headed out to get more Tylenol. He’ll be happy you’re here. I don’t think he was expecting you.”

  Again, this is weird. Blaze has been my friend for five years and I suddenly feel inferior to someone he’s known for five minutes. I ignore the hint of jealousy lurking somewhere deep within, and try to play nice. I’ve been too uptight lately; it’s starting to show.

  Reaching into my back pocket, I take out my wallet and hand Sloane a hundred dollar bill. “Here. Why don’t you pick up a few of his favorite things at the market while you’re out? I’ll make us all dinner. My way of repaying you for waiting on him hand and foot. You’ve been amazing, and I’m grateful you stepped up since I can’t be here as much as I’d like. His mother is flying in next week, but until then . . . you’re a sweetheart, Sloane. You and Willow have been nothing short of perfect through all of this.” I’m not sure why I mention Willow. Maybe because it will get back to her and I want to make up for acting like a jerk earlier today.

  Sloane eyes me while she gnaws the inside of her mouth. “I’m keeping the change.” She grins, waves the bill in the air, and then skips off to her car. “Text me what the pain in the ass wants. I’ll stop at the pharmacy first.”

  She pulls off as I nod and wave, left speechless.

  When I enter the house, the newly built shrine-to-Blaze is what I see first.

  “Hello?” I call, walking closer to the makeshift hospital bed. He seems to have nodded off, arm in a sling, propped up high, pillows encasing his plaster-casted body.

  He looks like shit.

  After reviewing the results of his CT scan, the doctors were concerned how his arm would heal. Blaze sustained three fractures in different spots of his lower arm and wrist, creating an odd, possibly irreparable, splintering of the bones. My best friend’s hands are his life. This injury affecting his right hand—the one he prefers to use—could cost him his career. And he still doesn’t want to press charges. Idiot. Cheating, adulterous, idiot.

  I take a seat on the couch, grabbing the remote to turn up the volume a drop on the weather forecast. Clear blue skies and nothing but seventy-five degree perfection. Is it sad that I actually long for a rainy day every now and then? Yeah, I guess it is.

  Blaze rustles around in the bed, moaning as he shifts his weight from one side to the other.

  “Hey,” I whisper, not wanting to scare him.

  “Oh, hey. Sloane let you in?” His voice is hoarse and strained. Poor fucker is a total wreck.

  “Yup. She just left to grab some things so I can make us dinner. I told her I’d text her what you were in the mood for.”

  Blaze scrunches his banged up nose. “I have like zero appetite, dude. Must be all the meds.”

  “Well, you have to eat something.” I stand and walk over to his bed, picking a magazine up from the floor as I go.

  “I’ll graze. Have her get whatever you want and please, stay. I could use the company . . . and the distraction.”

  “Your pretty little nurse isn’t distracting enough?” I sit in a chair next to his bed, laughing.

  “Oh, fuck off. It’s not like that with her, man. I can’t believe how nice she is. I must’ve really scared the shit out of her when she found me outside the bar. She hasn’t left my side—I like it—and there’s not one sexual thing about it.”

  I wince, certain I’ve heard him wrong. “You sure the CT came back with no brain damage? You and a woman and no sex? You’re broken, Blaze. I should call 911 again.”

  Blaze rolls his head back and forth on his fluffy pillow, groaning. Lifting his good arm, he flips me the bird. “Joke all you want. She’s a good girl. I like having her around and not because I want to fuck her. She’s sweet, and caring . . . she’s a friend.”

  How is this my same best friend who was whoring around less than a week ag
o? In fact, that whoring around got him laid up in this bed, covered in bandages and casts. “You’re serious?” I muse. I want to know his secret, because clearly, the joke’s on me.

  “Yes, I’m serious. And after the beating I just got . . . let’s just say, I think Karma is telling me to swear off all pussy—married, single, or otherwise—until further notice. Now, enough about Sloane and this shitty bed I’ll be stuck in for another century. What’s going on at work? I’m jonesing for a fix—it’s insane how much I miss using my hands.”

  I can make about a hundred Sloane jokes with that one, but I refrain. He’s been through enough. “Don’t worry about work. Willow’s incredible and the crew has everything under control. We have quite a team. I’m really proud.”

  Blaze grins and snorts through his nose. “You sound like a big ol’ satisfied Papa. I know the business is your baby, but you’re allowed to enjoy other things too.”

  Is this where he lectures me about befriending Willow the way he’s buddied up to Sloane? I take the opportunity to beat him to it and save his breath. “I do enjoy other things. Baseball, the gym, fishing. I’m fucking fulfilled. No worries here.” I’m not even lying. I’m content.

  At least I thought was . . .

  “Whatever you say. You’re so goddamn stubborn it’s ridiculous.”

  I nod, pinching my lips in a straight line, ending that conversation.