Noah works late Monday night, not returning until the early hours of the morning. I wake up each night when the front door closes, listen to him attempt to sneak around, and then drift back off.
I also catch Cam ignoring another of Mia's calls Monday night when we're eating the nachos I made.
So, we have the same anxiety-inducing talk about what I'm going to say to her at Emily's house.
Noah's eyes are droopy when we get into the car on Tuesday morning but he blasts Simple Minds Alive and Kicking through his speakers to keep his wits about him. He drops me off late because of an accident on the motorway, so I rush out of the car once we reach the office, muttering my thanks.
Lost in my own head, I go through the usual morning routine; elevator, greet Isobel, desk, emails, coffee. That's the best part - the second vanilla latte that appears on my desk after a bathroom break.
I take my sweet time with that part of the day.
I send out multiple tweets promoting our Black Friday sales, then queue around ten more to go out over the next few days so I won't have to do them again.
I make the edits that our production team sent back on the Christmas advert script, returning the updated version alongside three smiley emojis, along with a reminder that if they need anything, that they shouldn't hesitate to email.
It's been in production for two days but is set to take two weeks to make, finalise, and get out onto television.
I've already been in contact with the finance team to confirm that our slots are still booked in between games on sports channels.
"Meeting room for birthday cake," Isobel sings, walking past my desk with a lit candle hidden behind her hand.
That's right: Liliana's birthday is today. We had done a round-robin to collect money for her gift on Friday, and then another yesterday to get her card signed by everyone.
It had completely slipped my mind with the to-do list currently filling up the position of every thought I have.
I press send on yet another email, check the twitter engagement, and walk over to the meeting room to help Morgan continue opening the boxes of Pastry goods and cupcakes. Isobel sticks the lit candle into a purple-sprinkled cake with white chocolate buttons stuck to the side of it.
"Happy Birthday!" We scream in unison as she enters the room.
We don't chat about work as we stuff ourselves with junk food over the lunch break.
Instead, Liliana tells us that her husband had helped the kids make breakfast in bed this morning and that they had managed to get a babysitter for an expensive dinner tonight. Isobel tells us that last time somebody took her on an actual date, she was fourteen, and it had been a date at the cinema.
"I've been on way too many terrible first dates to count," Danny groans. "Please, let's not."
"Ditto," I state.
Let's definitely not. Unless meeting somebody at a club at Uni counted as a first date, or a late night McDonald's trip afterwards, I hadn't been on one.
Not that I feel as if I'm missing out. I always hung out with the people I dated - either my house or theirs - but we just never went to a fancy dinner. Or dressed up to go somewhere nice. Nothing that ever felt like a 'real' date.
"I think you bought too much food," I tell Danny, eyeing the multiple pastries and muffins left untouched on the table. "Dibs on taking two cupcakes home for the boys."
Danny eyes me for a second too long.
I glance over to him, raising my eyebrow.
What?
He shakes his head and waves me off, so I grab two chocolate muffins from a box of four and open the door with my hip.
Liliana thanks me as I slip past the entryway so I throw her a big smile and slink back to my desk.
I'm not even logged back into my computer when Danny appears, leaning against the tall filing cabinet opposite my work space.
I tap my fingernails against the desk, waiting for him to speak.
"Your brother's roommate, Noah," he begins, eyes cast anywhere but my own. Fiddling with his hands, appearing uncomfortable in his stance.
My frown is immediate.
"I don't think. . . I'm saying this as your friend, not as your boss, okay?"
"Okay?"
My mind spins. I hadn't even introduced him to Noah when we were both at the office.
How Danny learnt his name is beyond me, but I'm already weary of his warning.
Noah doesn't exactly look approachable, but his tall body and resting bitch face should not warrant a talk at work. I have the word 'inappropriate' on my lips but keep them firmly pressed together.
"I thought I recognised the face," he says. "And I did. . . I saw his mugshot on my brother's coffee table a while back."
A chill runs through my body.
"Mugshot?"
"Jay says he's got a rap-sheet longer than my arm," Danny mutters, glancing at the half-empty office whilst scratching the back of his neck. "He wouldn't tell me what's in it."
Of course not. It would violate some sort of police officer's code - not to mention Noah's privacy. Despite the thought, I still wish he knew. I wish I could ask.
A thousand questions run through my mind and my to-do list is long gone, buried in thoughts of Noah having a mugshot; of him being behind bars.
"Oh," is all I can mutter.
"Just be careful," Danny smiles.
He leans forward and puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezing before walking away towards his office.
When I first started at the firm, Danny had it out for me. He said that I was too fresh out of college and gave me dirty looks when I put my ideas forward. At one point I'd even decided to quit, but then he eased off all of a sudden, like a flipped switch.
Later on he told me he was going through a rough patch and thought his job might be on the line. He thought they were hiring young graduates to push him out, which was completely ridiculous because he was under thirty himself.
Our friendship was easy after he told me. A work friendship that never went beyond the office or the occasional work party, but a friendship nonetheless.
But to have him tell me that Noah is a criminal? That I should be careful around him? It feels. . . violating. Like a clever lie I shouldn't believe, despite Danny having no reason to lie to me about a man he's never met.
My mind spins.
My emails look blurry in front of my eyes but I'm not crying.
I'm disorientated; confused.
Noah seems entirely too sweet to have a shaded past, although he did say that his previous friends were bad news.
Maybe they peer-pressured him into doing things he didn't want to do.
All I know is that I'm not getting a lot of work done for the remainder of the work day.
Brushing the fluff off of my trousers, I stand up and begin walking towards the women's bathroom. I narrowly avoid tripping over a telephone wire as I cross by someone's desk, trying to profusely apologise as I continue walking towards the door with a stick-woman painted on the front.
I push through into the dimly-lit room. Empty stalls stare back at me, the dripping of water against a porcelain sink the only sound to be heard once the door swings closed behind my body.
A criminal record?
I guess Noah Romano does have a flaw after all.
My confusion is overshadowed with my anger for Danny all of a sudden.
He blindsided me at work to protect me from a man he knows nothing about. I have so much to get on with today - so many people expecting me to get back to them and to keep up with our campaign needs.
"Men," I mutter, glaring at myself in the mirror. I huff, picking a stray hair off of my blazer and running my fingers through my hair.
Then I head back out there and keep my composure, because I will not let someone distract me from the thousands of things I have to get done today.
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"I'm sorry - he said what?"
Isobel sits opposite me, mouth agape.
"That I should be careful. He asked Jay about his rap-sheet."
"That's - I don't even know what that is," she says, sipping on her coffee, frowning at me. "It's odd."
I look out of the window at the street opposite us. The pavement outside the coffee shop is free of cars and it makes me giddy that Noah will likely pull into that space when he's finally able to pick me up.
"I'm actually a little mad at him," I admit.
"Noah?"
"No, Danny."
The smell of roasted coffee is comforting. The coffee shop is quieter than usual, a slow steady stream of customers rather than the morning onslaught that I'm used to standing among. The tables around us are empty and wiped clean.
Two workers tease each other behind the counter, pretending to sweep in between service.
"You should be mad at him. He doesn't need to be digging in your love life."
I cough, sputtering and dribbling a bit of coffee onto my white blouse.
"He's not my. . ." I start, my cheeks blazing.
I look at the art hanging from the walls instead of Isobel's laughing face. The two muffins I saved from Liliana's birthday spread sit between us on the table, looking inviting. Mouth-watering.
"Well, your crush then. Your brother's best friend. Whatever you want to call him, Danny doesn't need to stick his nose in," she states.
I nod, sipping again. Clicking my nails against the table.
"What do you think Noah did though?" I ask her.
Isobel shrugs. "Maybe he was just a rebellious teenager before he straightened out."
I don't pause to think, just spew out my thoughts as they come.
"He seems so put together. . . I can't imagine him being in prison for anything. I bet it had something to do with those guys at the club."
"Don't get any smart ideas," she warns.
She tips her head back, finishing the coffee in her mug. A worker brushes past us, collecting it with a small smile before disappearing behind the counter again.
Headlights light up the street outside, the floor-to-ceiling windows displaying the illuminated cable clearly. A flower shop on the opposite side of the road is closing its shutters.
Noah's BMW pulls easily into the empty space in front of the coffee shop.
"Maybe he sold his soul for that car," Isobel smirks, eyeing the tinted windows.
"Funny," I deadpan. I down the remainder of my coffee, now luke-warm, and place the mug on the coffee counter as we pass by it.
She teases me some more as we pass through the door into the cold of the night. I open the passenger door, feeling warm air hit my legs, and let Isobel hand me the muffins as I slip into the seat.
Clicking the seat-belt over my body, I return her big smile as she looms over the open door.
Noah's smell is intoxicating as he leans over my body, head appearing next to mine as he states, "I'll drive you to your car if you want."
So sweet.
How somebody this sweet could have a shaded past, I'll never know.
I've decided not to ask about it.
I try not to let the feel of him so close to my body go straight between my legs.
Isobel gets into the backseat and I close my door, sinking into the heated seats.
He turns the hot air on and opens the vents on my side of the car, hand brushing against my knee as he pulls back.
The blue overalls covering his body look inviting. They look like, I should jump over the console and sit on his lap as he drives, kind of inviting. His hair is covered in soot and dirty looking, slicked back instead of the loose curls that usually sit in front of his eyes.
"How was your day?" Noah's voice is soft, polite, as we pull out of the space and begin driving towards the roundabout at the end of the street.
"She brought you a muffin."
"Shut up, Iz."
They feel heavy in my hands as he looks down at them and then back at my ever-reddening face.
"Where are you parked?" He asks Isobel, still grinning.
She gives him directions to the car park next to our office. He indicates into the area as she tells him to, drops into second gear, and then purposefully brushes his hand over my thigh.
My breath sticks in my throat.
My legs widen of their own accord, pushing his hand further onto my leg. One of his fingers presses into my leg and I suppress the urge to touch him back.
"That crappy looking one over there," Isobel states, pointing between us to her beat up Toyota. His hand drifts back to the steering wheel. "Thanks, Noah."
She winks at me as she gets out of the car.
Her door closes softly and the car immediately cruises towards the exit of the car park.
"You got me a muffin?" there's a smile in Noah's voice.
I suddenly feel as if I'm holding a romantic gesture. Like i've made a huge effort despite it only being a chocolate muffin - he smiles at me like it means something. The embarrassment coils in my stomach and creeps up my body.
"They were extras from a birthday," I explain quietly. "How has work been lately?"
He merges onto the motorway, slipping into fifth gear.
"Long," he utters, and I think that's about to be all he'll say on the matter, but a few seconds later he elaborates. "I've been taking on some extra hours. One of the guys I work with had a heart attack, so we've all split his shifts until he's back on his feet."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Noah."
He smiles towards me, and then his hand reaches out again, brushing over my knee briefly.
"It's alright, I mean he's a good guy, but I barely know him. We barely got put on shifts together."
The muffin feels entirely more appropriate now. It's okay to bring somebody baked goods when they're going through stressful situations - and not to mention I also bought one for Cam too.
I'm definitely overthinking this.
I watch the house lights flit past the window as we drive down residential streets. Low music plays out of the speakers. So low that I hadn't even noticed it until the conversation came to a natural end.
He hums quietly with the music.
I think back to my conversation with Danny, about the criminal record that's apparently longer than his arm, and can't link the two people in my mind.
Noah may look intimidating. If I'd heard about the record before meeting him it would've been easier to believe it, with his tanned skin tattooed beyond recognition and a voice dripping with devilry.
The mugshot I'm imagining doesn't line up with the tired man currently going out of his way to pick me up from the office after a long day at work. They don't correlate in my mind. Danny's words have detached themselves from the image I carry of Noah behind my eyes.
My body jostles as he mounts a curb. I eye our location quizzically - we're around five meters away from the house, parked a little before the driveway next to a bush. Car off. Handbrake up.
"You think I'm going to let Cam share my chocolate muffin?" He asks as I look over at him.
He holds out his hand expectantly so I place the muffin in his open palm.
"This one is for Cam," I explain, holding up the other. He shakes his head, pulling on the wrapper of his own in one quick motion. He gestures between Cam's muffin and my mouth, and it's all I need. "This is wrong of us."
"He can't lose what he doesn't know he had. Eat up," he commands.
I do eat up. I've been eyeing it since I finished work anyway - I turn my body towards Noah, mirroring his position - and take another bite.
His eyes sparkle.
"How are you related to your brother?"
"By blood," I deadpan.
The joke makes him laugh. Crumbs fall onto his lap; I resist the urge to reach up and wipe them away. Thankfully, he does it for me with one swipe of his thumb.
"What do you mean?" I finally ask.
He hesitates. "I just don't see the relation. He's very. . . and you're. . ."
"There are words in there somewhere, I'm sure of it," I laugh.
"You don't even look alike."
Nor have we ever.
While I got our mothers ginger hair, fair skin and curvy body, he has always been a spitting image of our father. Each of our features differ - he has brown eyes, mine are blue. He has a straight nose, mine is upturned. He would constantly complain that I got the 'height gene' as he never surpassed five, ten.
People at school didn't even know I had a brother in the year above unless they happened to come over to my house and see him there.
I place my empty muffin case on the dash.
"If you're looking for a loophole, he is most definitely my brother."
A dangerously wide grin spreads across his face.
"Why would I be looking for a loophole?"
I cough on my own embarrassment, smacking his chest as I turn away from his smug face. He pushes me back as I whine, wishing I could fall out of the car and into the hedge we're parked next to, never to reappear.
His laugh is warm and contagious.
"I'm going inside," I declare, trying not to break into laughter with him as he attempts to pull me back into the car once I open the door. "And you better start thinking of something embarrassing to tell me."