After the Storm

by Faith Andrews

  “I wish I could, Mom. But with Blaze on the mend—I’m just too busy to get away.”

  “I understand. It was worth the dose of mother’s guilt, though.” The tone of her voice switches from happy-go-lucky to melancholy. I’m a momma’s boy—no shame in that—and I hate the distance between us. I’ve even offered to build her and Dad their own place if they moved out here. I have the perfect property in mind. Close to me, but far enough that I don’t feel smothered. But they insist on staying put. They have friends, extended family, and a lifetime of memories they’re too stubborn to turn their backs on. I understand their reluctance, though. The same way Mom eventually understood my need for a change in scenery.

  “I’ll be home for Thanksgiving and Christmas, like always. It’s not that far off, so don’t get too upset, Mama Bear.”

  “I know, I know. Such is life when you have a successful, workaholic for a son. Speaking of which—I hope you’re not working too hard. I’m sure there’s not much chance to meet the woman who’ll bring you to your knee on a construction site.”

  Just like her guilt trip for being miles apart, this comes with the territory. I call it Grandbaby Syndrome. Mom’s dying for me to procreate. She once tried to bribe me to have kids with the promise that she’d move to San Diego to be my own personal nanny. As temping as it is to have my parents on the same side of the country as me, kids are not in the foreseeable future.

  “Oh, don’t start with that again. Like I said, I’m busy. Picking up a lot of slack because of Blaze, and you’re right, the site is no place to meet a woman.”

  “Argh,” Mom huffs as my thoughts trail off. There’s a nagging voice in my head reminding me about Willow. There’s a beautiful, probably still willing, workaholic woman right under your nose. Hello, McFly!

  “Fuck off, McFly,” is my internal response to that. This conversation is supposed to distract me from Willow, not bring her to the forefront of my mind—or pants.

  “Sorry to disappoint, Mom. Maybe one day. But in any event—” I zoom off topic, bringing up the weather, more of Dad’s new hobby, and planning an itinerary for the holidays.

  It holds Mom over and makes her happy. But the whole time I have the phone to my ear, listening to my mother’s coaxing voice that I miss so much, I’m thinking of another woman. The one woman I wish I could forget. Okay, not the one woman. But the current woman who has my brain all fuzzy and my heart booming with anticipation I’d long forgotten how to feel.

  “Angela, can you clear my afternoon!” I scream from my office to reception, raking my fingers through my overgrown hair. I need a fucking haircut—I haven’t even had time to do that. I’m so goddamn swamped, I’m drowning.

  At one point I feared word would get out about Blaze screwing one of our clients’ wives. I actually thought it might fuck things up for us—deter people from hiring us. But that hasn’t been the case. In fact, business has picked up so much, I’m booked well into next year and then some. I don’t know where all these people are coming from, and I should be happy as a hard-on, but I’m overwhelmed. I hate to admit that I need help, but I do—on top of all the extra hands I’ve hired temporarily. It’s still not enough. I need another set of eyes—someone detail oriented who can take a look at my sketches and tell me what they think. It pains me to the core to confess this, but I need a woman’s opinion. I need Willow, after all.

  “Angela, can you get Willow to come in here?” I shout again. This time Angela not only grunts but bellows through the office.

  Within seconds, Willow’s at my door, a cup of coffee in hand. “Yes, Neanderthal? We do have intercoms, you know.”

  I shake my head, too tired to appreciate her humor. “Come in. I need you.”

  Her eyes pop and her cheeks redden. That happens a lot when we’re together. We can’t seem to get past the innuendoes without a rush of warmth boiling through our veins. Well, at least I can’t. But I can tell from the pink tint on her sun-kissed face that I’m not the only one fighting my urges.

  “What’s up? Need lunch? Coffee? A freaking haircut? Dude, you let yourself go.” She plops herself into the chair across from me, shaking her head.

  “Don’t remind me.” I rub the top of my head. It’s never been this out of control. “Angela! Make me an appointment for a haircut tomorrow before noon!” I scream again, throwing my hands up apologetically when I take notice of Willow’s wince. “Sorry. Neanderthal, right? You’ll have to show me how to use the intercom while you’re here.”

  “And teach you some manners too. She’s not your slave, Noah. She’s way more qualified than you think. I don’t know why you didn’t give her my job.”

  Because you wouldn’t be sitting here in that tight-fitting suit, making me drool, that’s why. “I’ll look into giving her more responsibility and stop being so Mad Men about my secretary, but in the meantime, I actually have a very good reason to put why I hired you to good use.”

  Her shoulders stiffen and her eyes glisten with curiosity. “Oh, really? Like what?” She sets her coffee down on my desk and pulls her chair closer.

  “You mentioned the other day that you dabbled in architecture in college.”

  “No, I didn’t.” She pulls back.

  “Yes, you—” Shit! No, she didn’t. Sloane did. When I was snooping around for more information. Fuck! Caught red handed. Recover quickly, dumbass. “Oh, Sloane might have mentioned it at Blaze’s the other night. Why didn’t you tell me? Kind of pertinent info to the job, don’t you think?”

  “I didn’t mention it because I got my degree in business and you were looking for an office manager. There was nothing in the job description that mentioned a background in architecture. In hindsight, I should’ve said something, but I didn’t want you to think I was overzealous. I wanted the job and didn’t want to come off as a kiss ass, know it all.” It’s an honest answer, but I still want to scold her for selling herself—and her value to this company—short.

  “Well, then—” I clear my throat. “Enough about why you didn’t tell me; it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you can actually help me out more than you already have—if you’re up for it, that is.”

  “Oh, don’t go there. I’m always up for a challenge.” Her eyes sparkle, the color changing from turquoise to purple, and back to that clear ocean hue again. Is that what happens when she’s happy? Surprised? Motivated? Whatever it is, it’s mesmerizing.

  “Okay, good. Can I start by giving you this layout I put together for the Henderson remodel? I’m kind of stuck in a corner—no pun intended.” I push the whiteprint drafts in her direction, scratching my head.

  Willow grabs at them like a greedy caffeine junkie in need of her Starbucks. Her lips curl up into a satisfied smile when her fingers rub the plans between them. “What are we looking at?”

  “This right here. I’m just unsure, and I’m never unsure,” I boast, but then come down to reality. “I’m shot with all this extra shit going on these days.”

  Taking a pencil from the cup on my desk, she starts marking ticks and numbers. “Okay, so what if you decrease the scale of the island like this?”

  I watch as she sketches and draws, her lips twitching as the pencil glides across the paper. Smooth strands of hair fall loose from her bun. She’s loving this—and so am I. I can’t believe she gave it up to manage a bunch of construction workers and secretaries. This is obviously her passion.

  When she’s done messing around, she turns the large sheets in my direction, waiting for approval. “How’s that?”

  With my hand cupping my chin, I take note of her changes. The measurements are spot on, her adjustments beneficial to the entire floor plan. “Hmmm,” I muse, rubbing my thumb across the stubble I neglected to shave this morning. “This might actually work. Thanks, Willow. I’ll consider it. As a matter of fact, can you take a look at one more for me?”

  “Of course, I’d be happy to!” She practically rubs her hands together, bouncing in her seat.

  “Yo
u like this don’t you?”

  “I love it, actually. I wish you’d asked me sooner.”

  “So do I,” I admit, happy I had the balls to pry the information from Sloane in the first place.

  “Noah?” she asks, as I turn to grab the other floor plan that’s been keeping me up at night.

  “Mmm hmm?”

  “Thanks for trusting me with this. It means a lot. I miss this, and I’d love to have it back in my life.” Her voice is soft and appreciative. Sweet. It makes me even happier that I extended her duties past payroll and invoicing.

  “Can I ask why you didn’t pursue this? You have a knack for it; I can tell already. And your face lights up with that pencil in your hand.”

  She lowers her eyes to her hands, balling them into little fists. “I gave it up for Kurt. Sounds so asinine, right? He wanted me barefoot and pregnant, not some career woman. Now that I think about it, I was a threat. I would’ve been the breadwinner had I continued doing what I loved. He’s just a mediocre musician who makes a living giving lessons at his parents’ music shop. Or at least he was, last I checked.”

  Kurt is the asshole who burned her. What a douche. I’d never dwarf my woman’s dreams for my own insecurities. “There’s no time like the present, Willow. Fuck that jerk and never doubt yourself again.”

  “Have you been dipping into my Pinterest account? You sound like a post I just pinned the other day.” She takes a sip of her coffee, giggling. God help me if that sound isn’t contagious so I go with it and laugh along.

  “Here’s where I admit that I have no fucking clue what the hell this pin interest thing is you keep talking about.”

  “Oh my God. Really? You do know what Facebook and Twitter are, right?”

  “Yes. You manage the Matheson social media accounts, remember?”

  “Well, get with the times, old man. Matheson Contracting needs a Pinterest page! You should be posting before and after shots and the progress of each project on there. It’s a great tool for marketing.”

  Is there anything this woman can’t do? “Will you set it up for me? I take pictures using my phone that I have uploaded and saved on the server. I can give you access to them if you want to play around with your pin thingy.”

  “Pinterest. One word. Here, look.” She shoves her phone in my face, open to an app with a capital P in red. I click on the first thing I see—called a board—and it’s a bunch of pictures of half-naked men covered in tattoos.

  “Tatted and Sexy?” I ask, reading the title of the board.

  “Shit! Gimme that!” She reddens and reaches to grab the evidence of her naughtiness from my hands.

  I pull back, teasing her as I scroll through the underwear models with my mouth open wide. “Willow, this is the kind of guy you like? I thought you were into a clean cut blond with an athletic build.” I describe myself on purpose. Let’s see her reaction.

  “Please, Noah. Give it back. I’m mortified.” She covers her eyes with her hands, shaking her head back and forth. “I think I just died. Please.”

  It’s impossible not to laugh. In fact, it’s impossible not to smile in her presence. “Here,” I say, proffering the phone. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you are full of surprises.”

  She snatches her sexy man wielding device from my grip, groaning. “I try to do something good and I make a fool of myself.”

  “Not at all, darling. I got clear insight into your mind. You love blueprints and men with ink.”

  She juts her chin, readying a remark. “And you love—”

  We’re interrupted by a knock at the door.

  “Noah?”

  I recognize the voice immediately—Tori. What’s she doing here?

  Before giving her permission to do so, she opens the door and steps foot over the threshold. Her normal confident strut is spoiled by the sight of Willow. “Oh, sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” she says, eyeing Willow with jealousy so green it seeps from her dark cocoa eyes. She threw that baby in there for spite.

  “We were just finishing up,” Willow states, her back arching like a predatory cat. Shit! What was that? “Let me know when you’d like me to look over those other sketches. I’ll start on the Pinterest page now.”

  I smile at the memory of teasing her, my grin growing wide, before returning my attention to an impatient Tori, who’s already making her way toward me.

  She plants a kiss on my cheek—clearly marking her territory—and I want to roll my eyes at how ridiculous this is. Tori has no possession over me, and Willow has no reason to believe so. And why is she jealous? She doesn’t want me, so what’s it to her if someone else does? Either way, none of it matters, so I shrug it off. “What’s up, Tori?” I notice she’s intent on Willow’s actions, waiting for her to exit the room.

  “I came to surprise you. Aren’t you happy to see me?” She presses her body against mine, provocatively and with obvious delight in how it makes Willow react—blistered by the sight of me with another woman. It wears heavily on Willow’s striking features, which are now wary and humorless.

  “I’ll leave you two alone. Call for me if you need anything, Noah.”

  “Thanks, Willow. And I’ll use the intercom,” I reply, but it comes after the door slams shut behind her.

  “Pretty girl,” Tori comments. She backs away now that Willow’s no longer a witness.

  “That she is. What can I do for you?” Let’s get to the point. I don’t conduct anything but business behind this desk and I’m certain Tori isn’t here to discuss work.

  Gnawing at her thumbnail, she paces the floor, never making eye contact. “I have a little bit of a problem. And we need to talk.”

  “Okay.” I draw out my reply. It’s been a long day.

  She looks up at me with tears in her eyes and blurts out, “I’m pregnant.”

  He’s fucking that ho in there, isn’t he?

  She waltzed in there, throwing her arms around his neck like she owned him, and now they’re fucking and there’s nothing I can do about it. There’s nothing I should want to do about it. But damn, I definitely wish I could do something about it!

  “Who took the pretty summer glow from your face, hun? Did you eat lunch? You feeling okay? Need to sit down?” Angela sneaks up behind me, assessing my noticeable repulsion to what just took place.

  “Are Noah and that woman Tori together?” It flies out of my mouth before I can consider how it sounds. It sounds like I’m interested. Or jealous. And the last person I need jumping to conclusions about me and Noah is Angela. I love her to death, but she’s a busybody—a very nosy, very gossipy, busybody—who will get this rumor spreading faster than a forest wildfire.

  “Why do you ask?” she hums, her ears already eagerly perked up.

  “I was in a meeting with Noah and she kind of barged in. I got the impression it was urgent. And that she didn’t like me being around him.” A girl knows what another girl’s thinking. I had the same thoughts, and I don’t go around kissing him on the cheek and calling him baby. But he didn’t object to any of it, so it must be something they do often. And if they do that—by the looks of that tramp—they do a lot more too.

  “To be honest,” Angela creeps her voice down to a whisper as she leans closer. “No one really knows the deal with those two. I think they’ve hooked up, but then again, she might’ve been with Blaze, Tito, and Mario’s son. There’re lots of stories circulating about that one.” Her thin eyebrow arches up in exaggerated, upside down V as she nods her head.

  My lids pop open. Busybody knows her shit, and Tori gets around. Wonderful. She’s currently making her rounds with your hot boss—the one you still can’t stop thinking about.

  “Good to know,” I retort. I don’t want to hear any more.

  “No prob, Lo.” Angela heads back to her desk, unaware that she just fed the burning fire in my belly.

  Stupid fire! Be gone! What Noah does—or who he does—is his business, and it’s stupid to get myself all
worked up over it. I vow to put it out of my head and to make sure I’m not around when she leaves his office with a satisfied smile and that lipstick smeared all over her smug, exotic face.

  Wanting to avoid a run-in with the tramp, I make myself useful by heading to the post office. When I get back, Noah’s gone and so is the Raven Haired Wench. I return to my office and lock myself inside to get my Pinterest on. I would normally feel guilty about fooling around online, but Noah gave me permission. So what if I take a break from constructing the Matheson page to create my very own “Villain” board where I pin pictures of raven-haired women with red lips and long fingernails? It’s therapeutic!

  Just like tonight’s gossip session with Sloane will be.

  She just doesn’t know it yet.

  Me: Hey, nursemaid. Can you leave Blaze for one night and indulge in some dirty, dirty, filthy martinis with your BFF?

  Her reply doesn’t take long.

  Sloane: Fo sho! I’m down! He drove me crazy yesterday and I need to put some distance between us before I smother him with a pillow.

  Me: LOL. Sounds like you’re just as desperate for a night out as I am. See you at 8?

  Sloane: Desperate doesn’t even come close. Can’t wait!

  Me: Me too!

  I push my phone to the side, hoping a night out with my bestie will keep my mind off Noah.

  “Okay, so what exactly did he say when she walked in? Did his features soften, like Oh my God, the love of my life is here! Or did he stiffen, like Shit! I don’t need Willow getting the wrong impression?”

  These are the kinds of questions I’ve had to endure since we sat to order our cocktails. The waiter hasn’t even had a chance to bring my martini and Sloane’s glass of wine, yet she’s already managed to fire off twenty questions. All of which I simply don’t have the correct information to answer.

  “I don’t fucking know, Sloane. I can’t tell what he was thinking! It’s not like he cringed when she touched him, so that has to mean something.” I dip a piece of warm bread into the fig infused olive oil, trying hard to recall every minute detail of the train wreck that took place earlier.