Page 14

A Stylish Crisis

Claire glanced over her shoulder at the clock. She had seven minutes before she needed to leave, one shoe on, and no coffee.

She could make it downstairs, order, and still reach the office on time. Probably. If the elevator cooperated. If the line was short. If Manhattan collectively agreed not to inconvenience her for once.

A knock sounded on her door. She furrowed her brows in confusion.

Who would be at her apartment at the ungodly hour of she-hadn’t-had-coffee-yet?

She was not taking visitors before coffee.

She opened the door. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but it was not Noah Carter standing there with an iced coffee.

She blinked. “Good morning?”

“Morning.” He held out the coffee.

“What is this?”

“Coffee.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why are you asking?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you giving me coffee?”

He shrugged. “Because I’ve noticed you usually leave your apartment looking like you’re five minutes away from a crisis.”

“Excuse me?”

“A very cu—” he stopped. “Stylish crisis.”

Claire froze. Was he about to call her cute? Surely not.

Clearly, she needed this coffee. She was hearing things.

“That does not help your argument,” she told him.

“You literally rush out the door and barely manage to get your coffee. I just thought I’d save you some time and get the coffee.”

Claire stared at him. “You pay attention to my morning routine?”

Noah smiled slightly. “I’d like to make sure you’re surviving.”

“I survived before you,” she shot back.

“Barely.”

“Noah, you’ve gotta quit doing that.”

“What? Being nice? Being observant?”

“Acting like you care about me.”

“Maybe I do,” he said simply.

The cup suddenly felt too cold against her palm.