The elevator hummed upward, opening to the architectural equivalent of a deep breath. My penthouse was a modernist masterwork, a glass cage perched above the city, inviting the skyline inside. I stepped onto the foyer, my heels clicking like a countdown. The apartment was dark.
"Noah?" I called out.
A grunt answered me. I walked toward the glow of Noah's command center, three monitors and a tech project three years past its prime. To the world, he was a genius, to me, he was just a man hiding in a high-definition bunker. He didn't look up, his fingers dancing across the mechanical keyboard.
"The internet didn't just act up, Georgia," he said, his voice tight with annoyance he didn't bother to hide. "It dropped for six minutes during a sync. I lost nearly an hour of progress. Did you call the provider like I asked?"
I dropped my designer bag on the sofa with a heavy thud. "I was at a signing, Noah. Five hundred people. My hand is literally cramping."
"Right, the signing," Noah said, leaning back, the blue light turning him into a digital phantom. "The one where you get praised while I actually work. Anyway, I'm four hundred grand short for the server farm after buying that GPU. I need a transfer."
I felt a familiar, cold weight settle in my chest. "Four hundred grand? Noah, I just transferred two million into the joint account last week. That was for the utilities."
Noah stood and stretched, wearing the London hoodie and silk pajamas I'd bought him. He looked handsome in that dissipated, boyish way that had once charmed me.
"The GPU was an investment, babe. You want the startup to launch, don't you? You want me to be the one taking care of you for once? Then I need the tools to do the job."
He walked over to me, sliding his hands around my waist. He smelled of stale energy drinks. "Don't be like that. It's a drop in the bucket for G. L. Sterling, right?"
He leaned in to kiss me, but I turned my head. His lips brushed my cheek.
"I'm tired, Noah. I'm just… so tired of being the only one worried about the bucket."
"Oh, here we go." Noah groaned, rolling his eyes as he pulled away. "The 'Martyrdom of Georgia' speech. Just because I don't have a fan club doesn't mean I'm not working. I'm tech-focused, Georgia. I'm building a future. You just write about the past."
Before I could respond, a sharp, authoritative clearing of a throat echoed from the kitchen doorway.
Mrs. Higgins stood there, her coat already on, her purse clutched tightly in front of her. My housekeeper was as sturdy in build as she was in morals. She'd witnessed my rise and the parasitic drain of Noah's presence.
"The kitchen is clean, Miss Sterling," Mrs. Higgins said, her voice trembling. "I've stocked your salads and left the agency info on the island."
"Thank you, Mrs. Higgins." I stepped toward her. "I'm so sorry you're leaving us. Are you sure I can't persuade you to stay? We could hire an assistant for the heavy lifting."
Mrs. Higgins looked past me, her eyes landing on Noah, who had already turned back to his monitors, his interest in the conversation evaporated the moment it didn't involve a bank transfer.
"No, Miss Georgia," she said, her gaze hardening. "It's not my back, though I let him think so." She glared at Noah's back with pure vitriol. "It's the atmosphere. I've spent ten years cleaning, and I've learned that some stains don't come out with soap. Some things just rot from the inside out."
Noah let out a loud, mocking snort from his desk. "Is the housekeeper giving lifestyle advice now? Maybe you should write a book, too, Higgins. Georgia can give you the name of her editor."
"Noah, shut up," I snapped, but my voice lacked the bite it needed.
Mrs. Higgins looked at me, and for a moment, the anger in her eyes was replaced by a heartbreaking pity.
"I found someone to fill my shoes. She's young, she's capable, and she was very… insistent about wanting the position."
"Insistent?" I asked, a small frown line appearing between my brows.
"She is a huge fan. She's coming by tomorrow for the final walk-through." Mrs. Higgins reached out and squeezed my hand. "Watch yourself, dear. The world is full of people who want what you have, but they don't want to do the work to get it."
"I'll be careful," I promised.
Mrs. Higgins nodded, shot one last look of disgust at the back of Noah's head, and walked toward the elevator.
Noah didn't even wait for the elevator to descend.
"Great. So the new girl is a fan? Maybe she'll actually keep the coffee stocked without me having to remind her every five minutes. Hey, did you do the transfer yet? The server window closes in ten minutes."
I authorized the payment, watching my earnings vanish into Noah's digital void. Mrs. Higgins was right, some stains don't come out with soap, and I was eager to see the fan girl so desperate to help me scrub them away.