Page 3 of Cold Mercy

“They were on sale,” he says, mouth tipping. “Besides, I know you love them. I’m ready to suffer her accountant speech for your smile.”

“They were not on sale,” I smile, catching his gaze and holding it, letting him see the amusement in my eyes. She’ll pretend she’s off the clock and then whisper in my ear that we went over budget by exactly twelve percent.”

“Good. Someone should keep us in line,” Noah responds in a slightly instructive tone.

The lobby greets us with warm light and marble underfoot. A discreet sign points to the rooftop event space. Noah’s hand finds the small of my back as we walk. A simple touch, steady, claiming, the kind that says you’re mine even in a crowd.

He leans down, voice low enough that only I can hear.

“You know, for someone who hates attention, you look like you were born for it.”

I glance up at him.

“And you look like you know exactly what you’re doing.”

His mouth curves into that half-smile that could talk a room into burning down for him if he asked nicely. The soft light catches the edge of his glasses, which makes him look even more dangerous in a suit.

We step into the elevator. The doors close, and suddenly it’s just the two of us. Noah leans in before I can breathe, his body caging mine. His mouth meets mine, slow at first, testing, then deeper, hungrier. The taste of him floods every part of me I thought I had under control. His hand slides up my thigh, the edge of his fingers grazing silk and skin, enough to make me forget why we’re here at all.

Six years in, and he still kisses me like he’s learning me for the first time. My back hits the mirrored wall. His breath ghosts over my neck.

“Careful,” I whisper. “There’s a camera.”

He grins against my skin.

“Then let them learn something.”

The elevator hums, numbers flashing by, time thinning between us. When the bell finally chimes, he pulls back, voice low and rough.

“We’ll finish this at home.”

“Our car’s comfortable too,” I murmur.

He pulls back just enough to look at me. The playful glint in his eyes softens into something quiet and overwhelmingly gentle. He studies my face for a heartbeat, his thumb brushing my cheekbone as if he wants to memorize this exact moment.

“I love you, sweetheart.” he says, kissing my forehead again.

When the doors slide open, we step into another world. For the next few hours, we drift from group to group, shaking hands, exchanging smiles. Noah does most of the talking. He's clearly born for this kind of spotlight, and I watch him work the room with that easy confidence that once made me fall for him.

Between speeches and polite laughter, I catch sight of the tulips he fought over. Hundreds of them in tall glass vases, white, blush, and cream. I hate to admit it, but they’re perfect.

He sees that I’m lost in thought, staring at them, and leans toward me.

“Still think they were a mistake?”

I don’t even look at him.

“You’re lucky I’m too busy pretending you were right” I respond with a cocky smile.

Hours later the final lot closes, and the boards hold steady at several hundred thousand pledged. I know every dollar will land exactly where it should because I will personally make sure it does. We won’t save the whole world tonight, but somewhere a six-year-old is pressing herself small against a wall, keeping quiet for safety, and waiting for the mercy of strangers. Tonight this room kept its promise to kids like her.

“It’s time to thank everybody,” I say, looking up at him with a smile that trembles just a little, tears of pride shining in my eyes.

Noah stands first, hand out.

Fingers laced, we step into the rooftop light.The stage isn’t grand, but it is perfect for just the two of us; simple dark wood with a clean lectern and two microphones already waiting. A hush gathers as we climb three shallow steps. From here the buildings feel close enough to touch, standing like witnesses.

He squeezes my hand once and lets go. He takes the mic, and I can hear it, the breath he pulls deep when nerves tap his shoulder - I know him too well not to see it, although it's rare.