NOAH.
I took a long sip of the warm coffee, finishing what was left in the cup. After swallowing it, I crushed the cup until it was hard to use as a recyclable material, before tossing it into the huge trash can five feet away. The air was stale, filled with the carbon waste of the smoke that seeped from the nearby chimney.
I reached for my handkerchief, wiped my fingers clean, then pulled my face cap further over my face to shield it from any curious onlooker. The last thing I wanted was to be identified out here. I wasn't running from the press, but my brothers. They would want to know why I was downtown, and I wasn't about to be laughed at one more time. I hated the dismissive manner in which Damian had waved off my question about the lady I met at his club, as if I were hallucinating. Not that it helped not to know her name either.
Lila's face had haunted me for the last week. Her sharp cheekbones, her eyes, and alluring lips all refused to fade. I couldn't shake it, no matter how many reports I skimmed or meetings I sat through. So, I did what I always did when obsession took hold of me. I acted.
I would easily have sent for one of the artists on Atlas' payroll, but that would mean involving Zane and the other brothers. Instead, I drove downtown to hire a sketch artist who had received a great recommendation online. And I fed him every detail I could recall of Lila. He didn't ask questions, he merely listened with his pencil in hand as he scratched away at his pad, his eyes flicking up occasionally to gauge my certainty. When I was done describing, I excused myself to get some air outside while he completed his sketch.
I glanced at my wristwatch and noted I had been standing out there for thirty-five minutes. I crossed my right leg, shifting my weight as I leaned against the pole. I had barely done that when the artist popped out of the door, beckoning me inside.
I hastily made my way into the shop, the sketch stared back at me. I couldn't believe my eyes. He had sketched it to look so close to the real thing it sent a chill down my spine.
"Thank you, this is good," I said, as I reached into my wallet, grabbed a few dollar bills that were more than double what he had charged.
"Please call again," he said, beaming at me as he tucked the notes into his pants pocket,
"You have to keep this between us. I will not appreciate you breathing a word of this to anyone."
"I totally understand you. Thanks." His nod was curt, and I left with the sketch folded tight in my jacket pocket.
When I drove back to my office in Atlas, I fed the sketch into our advanced facial recognition system. As the COO, I had access to data most governments could only dream of; we have databases that cross-referenced faces and aliases from the dark corners of the world. While the system hummed,, scanning through the faces, I turned my attention to my other task, which was tracing the location of the missing shipment. It had vanished somewhere between Shanghai and LA. My brothers were counting on me to handle it, especially with Liam and Ethan out of town. I wasn't about to let them down. Not again.
My phone buzzed. Zane's name flashed on the screen. I sighed, picking up.
"Noah, where the hell are you?" His voice carried that mix of irritation that only an older brother could pull off. "Groomsmen fitting was an hour ago."
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. "Work's got me buried, man. I'll reschedule."
"Buried, huh? Or avoiding?" Zane's tone sharpened. He knew me too well.
"Work," I said flatly, cutting him off. "I'll handle it."
"You'd, better, Sienna would happily grill you all over." He chuckled.
"Got ya" I said, and I hung up before he could push further. The truth was, I didn't have time for fittings or small talk. Not with Lila or whoever she was lurking in my head, and not with a shipment missing that could tank our quarter.
The facial recognition system pinged, notifying me it had found a match. My heart kicked up a gear as I leaned forward, my eyes locked on the screen while I checked out the profile of the name it had matched with the sketch.
"Oh my days," I whispered, as it stared back at me. Harper West. Journalist. Freelance. Her bylines appeared in high-profile outlets, including the Times and the Guardian, as well as some gritty investigative pieces on the dark web. My stomach twisted instantly.
Lila was a freaking journalist! A journalist sniffing around Atlas wasn't just trouble, but a five-alarm fire blaring off. And Lila was not just a random nosy journalist wanting a piece on Atlas but one clearly digging into the cartel. Harper West wasn't just a face in my head anymore. She was a high-level threat.
I dug deeper into her profile, my fingers flying across the keyboard relentlessly. Her digital footprint was meticulous, but trust me to find even the minute detail about her now that she was no longer my one-night stand Lila. By the time I had finished digging into her activities for the past month, I discovered that I wasn't her only target. She attended a gala last week with Audrey, our head of PR. Seeing a picture of Harper, all sharp smiles with her arms linked with Audrey's, like they were old friends, almost made me jump out of my seat with fright. She was watching us and circling, looking for cracks in the empire. Why hadn't I seen it then? Why hadn't I clocked her the second she walked into that lounge?
"Fuck the booze!" I screamed, banging a clenched fist into the desk. I was tempted to call the brothers and inform them that we were being marked, but I decided against it. I had to keep it to myself for the time being. Telling my brothers would only spark chaos, and I needed control to handle this alone.
I copied out her office address and left the office. An hour later, I was tailing her, yet I kept my distance. I needed to know what she was up to and if she had dug up enough on the cartel to raise an alarm. Lila...no Harper was headed into a bar, one known among the cartel gangs for gathering intel.
"What the hell was she doing here? Lila."
I slipped inside, and after seeing Harper sitting at the bar, her back to me, nursing a drink, her eyes scanning the room, I took a seat in a shadowed corner, making sure my cap was low enough to shield my face while I watched her.
She was good in the way she carried herself; subtle movements, all calculated, but I could tell she was waiting for someone. Was she meeting a source? A cartel contact? Or was she just fishing, hoping to catch a lead?
I placed an order for some drinks, not that I was thirsty, but to keep attention off me, since the waiter was starting to glare at me inquisitively. When the waiter brought it over, I handed him an extra tip, and he left a happy man, focusing his attention on other patrons.
I was starting to rethink my decision to trail Harper when a bulky-built guy slid into the stool beside her. His cobra tattoo ran through half of his shoulder to his neck. I tensed, my hand brushing the concealed Glock at my hip, but what surprised me mostly was that Harper didn't flinch, even though I could see her shoulders stiffen, and her fingers tightened around her glass.
The thug leaned in, his voice low but carrying enough for me to catch fragments..
"...stick your nose where it doesn't belong..."
She responded just as sharply, but I couldn't make out the words. Then his hand clamped onto her wrist too roughly, and before I could think, I was out of my seat, covering the distance between our seats quickly.
He didn't see me coming, and I used that to my advantage. I grabbed his shoulder, yanking him back hard enough to send his stool crashing. His head snapped toward me, eyes wide with surprise, then narrowing with rage.
"Walk away," I yelled down at him.
He sneered, shoving to his feet. He was big, but I'd faced bigger. "You her bodyguard or something?"
I didn't answer, but I rained down my fist on his jaw, sending him staggering. He swung back, wildly, and I ducked, driving my elbow into his gut, then slammed my knee into his face as he doubled over. He hit the floor hard, blood trickling from his nose. The bar went quiet with every eye on us, but no one moved.
I straightened, my chest heaving, and turned to Harper. She was on her feet, her eyes blazing at me with defiance. "I didn't need your help," she snapped.
I stepped closer, close enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume. "You're welcome," I said, "Next time, I'll let him break your wrist."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but those eyes didn't waver. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded.
I smirked, leaning in just enough to make her tense. "Someone who knows you're in over your head, Harper West."
Her eyes widened enough to tell me I'd hit a nerve. But she recovered fast, lifting her chin. "You've been digging into me. That's cute. But you don't scare me."
"You should be scared," I said. "You're poking at things that'll get you killed. Drop it."
She laughed, the sound sent a jolt through me. "You think you can just waltz in, play hero, and tell me how to do my job? I don't take orders from strangers."
I held her gaze, my pulse thudding in my ears. She was infuriatingly stubborn. But there was something else about her pulling at me. "Walk away, Harper," I said, softer this time, but with an edge. "Or next time, I won't be there to pull you out."
I turned, leaving her standing there. I didn't look back, but I felt her watching me. My hands were still shaking as I stepped into the night, the cool air doing nothing to calm the storm in my chest.
֍
I had told Harper to stay away. But I couldn't stay away. Four hours later, I found myself outside her office again, waiting in my car. The window blind was on, but I knew she was in there. I told myself it was about protecting Atlas and about keeping her from blowing up everything we'd built. But deep down, I knew it was more than that. I needed to know why she was doing this, what drove her to chase a story that could end her life. Money? Or mere foolishness.
I slipped inside the office and was appalled to find the space a mess. Papers were strewn on every desk, she had pinned photos and notes to a corkboard, her laptop humming softly. I scanned the board, my eyes catching on a photo of our company, Atlas's name with three question marks scrawled in red marker.
The door creaked behind me. I spun, hand on my Glock, but it was her. Harper stood in the doorway, a takeout coffee in one hand, her eyes narrowing as they locked onto me.
"Breaking and entering now?" she said. "You're not as subtle as you think."
I relaxed my grip on the gun, stepping away from her desk. "You're not as careful as you think. That place is a deathtrap."
She set her coffee down, crossing her arms. "What do you want, mystery man? Another cryptic warning?"
I hesitated. The truth was, I didn't know what I wanted. To stop her? To understand her? To pull her closer or push her away? My mind was a tangle, and her presence wasn't helping. "I want to know why you're doing this," I said finally. "Why are you risking your life for a story?"
Her eyes softened, just for a second, before the steel returned. "Because someone has to. People deserve to know the truth about your precious Atlas."
I flinched at her words, but I kept my face neutral. "The truth gets people killed. You included."
She stepped closer, close enough that I could see the flecks of fire in her eyes. "Maybe. But I'd rather die chasing the truth than live hiding from it."
"Look," I said. "I get it. You want to make a difference or make money. But you're not just taking on the cartel. You're taking on people like me. And I don't lose."
Her lips quirked in a smile. "You're not as scary as you think, you know. I've seen worse."
I laughed softly. "You haven't seen anything yet."
She tilted her head, studying me. "Why do you care what I do? What's it to you if I get myself killed?"
The question caught me off guard. I didn't have an answer, not one I could say out loud. Because the truth was, I didn't know why I cared. Why was I standing in her office at midnight instead of letting her crash and burn?
Instead, I said, "Maybe I just don't like loose ends."
She smirked, stepping back, "Well, I'm not your loose end to tie up. But... thanks. For the bar. You didn't have to do that."
I shrugged, my throat tight. "It was my treat for your services in the hotel. Don't make a habit of it."
For a moment, she merely stood there, ogling at me. Then she grabbed her coffee, took a sip, and said, "You know, for a guy who breaks into offices and beats up thugs, you're not half bad."
I raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at my lips. "And for an escort turned nosy journalist, you're not half bad either."
She laughed. I turned to go, but her voice stopped me.
"Hey," she said, quieter now. "I am not the only one chasing your folks."
I paused, my hand on the door. "I see," I said, glancing back at her. "You can quit the story, for a start."
Her smile was small, but it lingered in my head long after I left. She was tougher than I had assumed her to be. Tough yet sexy enough to stay unforgettable.
