He found it adorable that Lily was a bookworm. He, too, loved to read, but preferred nonfiction—history and biographies. He was not an incurable romantic like Lily, which was probably a big part of his attraction to her. He longed to shed at least some of his pessimism about love. Case in point, Lily had teared up at Charlotte’s wedding, even when the civil ceremony had none of the sappy buildup of a traditional wedding. Noah was happy for his sister, but he did not get choked up. The very notion of a wedding unnerved him.
Charlotte’s voice rang out from the hall beyond Noah’s office walls.
“Sounds like my sister is here.” Back to work. Noah stepped out from behind his desk and only allowed himself the smallest of glimpses of Lily in her black skirt. Studying the sway of her hips was a luxury he couldn’t afford.
“Morning.” Noah greeted his sister in the reception area, aka Lily’s domain. Charlotte came by the office now and then, especially since involving her in the Hannafort Hotels deal, but she usually only came at lunchtime. It wasn’t normal for her to be here first thing. She was always too busy running around doing real estate agent things, and lately, mother-to-be things.
“Did Sawyer talk to you about the video?” Charlotte’s voice had a frantic edge to it as she swished her long blond hair to the side and unbuttoned her wool coat.
“Sawyer’s on a call with Mr. Hannafort,” Lily chimed in, buzzing around the office, running the photocopier, answering phones. “He left a note on my desk and said he was not to be disturbed. I’m not sure when he’ll be done.”
Sawyer’s door opened and out he marched. His suit coat was off and his shirtsleeves were already rolled up like he’d been working for hours. This was not a good sign. It was hardly ten minutes after nine. “Charlotte, did you tell Noah about the news story?”
“I haven’t had a chance,” Charlotte said.
“She just got here.” Noah felt as out of the loop as could be. “Does somebody want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Hannafort saw it. He’s not happy,” Sawyer said.
“Oh no.” Charlotte bustled into Sawyer’s office with all the dramatic urgency of a lawyer about to declare “I object!”
“Do you want to sit in on this?” Noah asked Lily. He was unsure what “this” he was about to walk into, but he and Sawyer were making a point of including Lily in high-level discussions. She’d earned the opportunity and it made everything in the office run more smoothly.
“I do, but I’m almost done with the Hannafort projections. You guys will want those for the meeting.” She smiled wide—a flash of bright white framed by full, pink lips. Noah savored that instant. He had a feeling the rest of his day was about to tumble sharply downhill. “You go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Noah wandered into Sawyer’s office. “Does somebody want to tell me what’s going on?” He took one of the two seats opposite Sawyer’s desk. Charlotte was in the other. The morning sun streamed through the tall, leaded glass windows of their office in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan. It was a bright late March day, a bit brisk for Noah’s liking, although the mood in Sawyer’s office was even colder.
“Charlotte called me early this morning,” Sawyer started.
“I tried to reach you, Noah, but I got voice mail. Why do you never answer my calls?”
Noah hated his phone. He often turned it off or simply left it in another room. There was something about being available to everyone at all times that he detested. It made him feel trapped. “Sorry. So what?”
Charlotte pulled out her phone. “I have the link saved.”
Sawyer held up a hand and turned his laptop around so Charlotte and Noah could see it. “Let me save you the time. I have it pulled up on my computer. Lyle Hannafort sent it to me.”
The webpage Sawyer had opened looked to be a spot for online gossip. Not Sawyer’s usual fare. If he was online, he was watching the markets or sports, particularly college basketball this time of year. “Now I’m really lost,” Noah said.
“You won’t be.” Sawyer scrolled down and clicked on the icon in the center of the screen. The video began to play.
Noah only needed to hear his name, purred by a woman with a sultry voice, to feel like the ground had fallen out from under him.
Big Apple businessman, Noah Locke, of the Locke hotel family, has been busy with the ladies over the last several months. And do we mean busy.
All warmth drained from Noah’s body. His hands went cold. He’d been in the tabloids before, but this was different. These were moving pictures—shot after shot of Noah walking into and out of bars, restaurants and apartment buildings all over the city. A different woman on his arm in every picture. With a number counting them off. One…two…three… They stopped at fifteen. Noah felt sick.