The Soft Spot part 2

The investor dinner started exactly on time.

Noah sat to my right, just as I had arranged. The table was full of carefully chosen faces, men and women who controlled capital and expected polished answers. Conversation moved through market trends and projected returns. I kept my replies short and precise. Noah spoke only when asked, his tone steady, never overreaching.

I felt his eyes on me more than once.

Not the usual professional glance, longer and quieter. It unsettled something under my ribs and made it harder to keep my expression neutral. Twice I lost the thread of a sentence and twice I recovered before anyone else noticed. Heat crept up my neck anyway.

When the final course was cleared and the last investor stood to leave, I kept my voice even.

“Brooks. Stay.”

He remained seated while the room emptied. The staff moved around us in practiced silence. Once we were alone I turned to face him fully.

“Why were you staring at me like that?”

He met my eyes without flinching. “Like what?”

“Not the normal way, you kept looking and It was distracting.”

A beat of silence. Then he said, quietly, “You looked beautiful. I didn’t see the point in pretending I hadn’t noticed.”

The words landed harder than any argument he had ever made in a meeting. Heat rushed to my face. I felt the flush and hated that he could see it.

“That’s enough,” I said, sharper than necessary. “Go home. We’re done here.”

He studied me for a second longer, then nodded once and left. I stayed in my chair until the color in my cheeks faded.

The rest of the day blurred, meetings stacked on top of each other. I answered everything on autopilot. By late afternoon the floor had thinned and the usual weight in my chest felt heavier than normal. I poured from the bottle I kept in the bottom drawer and stopped counting after the second glass.

I didn’t hear the door open.

“Hey.”

Noah stood just inside my office, jacket over his arm, eyes moving from my face to the glass in my hand. Surprise flickered across his expression before it settled into something more careful.

“You’re still here,” I said. The words came out looser than I intended.

“You didn’t look right earlier. Everyone else missed it.” He stepped closer. “How much have you had?”

“You can’t drive like this.”

I tried to stand and the room tilted, his hand closed around my elbow, steadying me. 

“I’m taking you home,” he said.

I was too tired to argue.

In the car I leaned my head against the window and watched the city lights smear past, words slipped out without permission.

“I hate how you look at me,” I murmured. “It makes it harder to keep treating you like I don’t care.”

Noah kept his eyes on the road. “You’re drunk.”

“Doesn’t make it less true.”

When we reached my building I couldn’t find my key card. After a third failed attempt at the entrance panel he exhaled and turned the car around.

“My place is closer. You can sleep it off there.”

I didn’t fight him.

His apartment was quiet and clean. He guided me to the bedroom, helped me sit on the edge of the bed, and crouched to take off my heels. 

“Lie down,” he said. “I’ll be on the couch.”

I caught his wrist before he could straighten.

“Stay.”

He looked at me for a long moment. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Please. Just stay. I don’t want to be alone.”

Something in his expression softened. He nodded once.

He lay on top of the covers beside me, careful to keep space between us. I turned toward him anyway, fingers curling into the front of his shirt. The room was dark except for the faint city glow through the blinds.

I moved closer, my hand slid up his chest. I leaned in and brushed my mouth against his. Soft at first, then deeper.

His hand settled at my waist, still restrained and still trying to hold the line. I pressed closer, chasing the warmth of him, the quiet certainty I had spent months refusing to name.

Noah broke the kiss just enough to speak against my lips.

“You’re still drunk.”

I kissed him again, slower this time, and felt the last of his careful control begin to slip.

Noah broke the kiss and left the bed. He was about to leave, but he stood and faced me with an expression I had not seen before.

Something that looked a lot like he had finally stopped pretending this was only about taking care of me.