Wicked Torture (Stark World 3)

That morning, Noah would have agreed. Now, he feared that Damien was asking too much.

To keep Damien from seeing his frustration, Noah focused on the resume submitted by the next applicant, Kimberly Porter, the owner of Crown Consulting. She'd worked on a variety of rollouts, everything from the high-visibility, nationwide retail products all the way through to announcements of new drilling techniques that were advertised only within the trade itself.

More than that, her resume suggested a certain finesse. Whether or not she had the vision for this project . . . well, Noah could only hope. She was the seventh of ten, and if one of these last four didn't work out, they'd end up even further behind the curve.

The intercom buzzed. "Ms. Porter is here," Carina said as Damien and Noah both stood in greeting. "I'll show her in."

A moment passed before Carina tapped lightly on the door. It opened as Noah glanced down at the resume on the table and took a second to say a silent prayer that Kimberly Porter was different from all the rest.

Then he looked up, saw her, and felt the room tilt absurdly to the left.

He grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself, barely even noticing that her astonished expression mirrored exactly how he felt.

She was different, all right.

She was Kiki.

5

"Noah?"

His name slips past my lips before I can help myself, and I stumble backward, as if an invisible hand has reached out and shoved hard against my chest. For a second, the thought skitters through my mind that I could spin around and bolt down the hallway to the elevator.

Of course, we're on the twenty-second floor, so the odds are good that Noah would reach me before the elevator came to deliver me to safety.

Assuming he came after me at all.

Ugh.

I'm trapped in a walking, talking, waking nightmare. The kind where the world doesn't make sense, where the ground shifts beneath you, and where the buildings rearrange themselves every time you turn around.

"Have you two worked together before?" The voice comes from the man sitting across the table from Noah. He has raven-black hair, a chiseled jaw, and a demeanor that demands both attention and respect.

I've never met him before, but I know he's Damien Stark. I did my research on the company, after all. But even if I hadn't, I would have recognized the man. How could I not? Stark's a constant fixture in the news for both his work and his personal life.

Which rather neatly illustrates how much seeing Noah has flustered me. Because until Stark spoke, I hadn't even noticed he was in the room.

Apparently, I need to get a grip, but it's not every day I see ghosts. And yet this week, I'm haunted by the ghost of relationships past.

I clear my throat and pump up the volume on my game-ready smile. "We did," I say. "Back in Los Angeles." I step briskly into the room and position myself at the head of the conference table, so I'm looking down it toward the two men. "I have to apologize. I don't usually stand in doorways and gape. I was just surprised."

"Ms. Porter did the music for a video game I designed." He meets my eyes, and I look away. I'm too overwhelmed by the force of the memories that crash over me. Our time in LA. And, damn me, that kiss last night.

"But that was a lifetime ago," Noah finishes, his voice steady and cool. And even though he's taking my lead by mentioning only our professional collaboration, I can't help the twinge of pain that comes from his easy dismissal of everything that was between us.

Good grief, I'm a mess.

I clutch tight to my leather portfolio, willing it to pull me back into professional mode. "I had no idea I'd see you here today," I say in an even tone without any note of accusation at all. But, seriously. The guy took the time to kiss me last night. Couldn't he have taken an extra two seconds and warned me?

I shift my attention back to Mr. Stark. "I did my research on the company after receiving the RFP, but I somehow missed Mr. Carter's involvement."

"That's on me," Stark says. "We issued the original Request for Proposal through the main office in Los Angeles. At the time, the Austin office was still in transition."

"I'm sorry I didn't let you know," Noah adds, reminding me of the way he always seemed to be able to read my mind. "But I had no idea you were Kimberly Porter."

"Oh. Of course." I feel like a fool. I've spent years intentionally not searching out information about Noah. At first, it was hard to force myself not to look. He'd hurt me, and like most wounded people, I'd wanted to pick at the scab even while I was trying to heal.

But I'd gathered my strength and resisted the urge. Fortunately, social media wasn't as vibrant back then. I was on MySpace with Pink Chameleon, but that was about it.