Mediterra wasn't trying too hard to impress anyone, which is probably why it worked so well. The kind of place where you could close a book deal over perfectly grilled octopus without feeling like you were performing for the other tables. Noah had picked it on purpose. Hope deserved somewhere that matched her success, and the booth in the back would give them privacy to talk about what he was pretty sure would either be genius or career suicide.
Sunday lunch meant thinner crowds. Mostly couples who looked like they actually liked each other, and a few business types who couldn't let the weekend go by. Noah spotted Hope immediately; she was sitting at a back booth, her long dark hair catching the afternoon light streaming through the large windows. She looked up as he approached, with her beautiful Spanish features and those expressive golden-brown eyes. But it was her smile, warm, genuine, and tinged with mischief, that reminded him exactly why they'd stayed friends for years despite all the industry bullshit.
"Well, well, there's the literary genius." She stood up to hug him. "You look like shit. What happened? Late night?"
Noah slid into the booth, sinking into the leather with a grateful sigh. The high backs made it feel like they were in their own little world. "Something like that. Thanks for doing this on short notice."
"Are you kidding? When Noah White calls with mysterious talk about 'making big moves,' I clear my schedule." Hope's golden-brown eyes sparkled with curiosity as she studied his face. "You were pretty cryptic on the phone. What's going on?"
"Before Noah could answer, their waiter arrived. A young man with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested he was new but eager to impress. "Good afternoon. Can I start you with something to drink?"
"Absolutely," Hope said, settling back into her seat. "I'll have a gin and tonic, and make it a double. Light on the tonic." She shot Noah a pointed look, her lips quirking into a familiar smirk. "And my friend here will have his usual sparkling water with lime, because, despite being so big and strong, he holds his liquor like a freshman sorority girl."
"Aw, geez, come on, Hope…" Noah felt heat creep up his neck.
"What?" She grinned at him, completely unapologetic. "As a former sorority girl, I don't think there's anything wrong with it."
The waiter glanced between them uncertainly, pen hovering over his pad like he wasn't sure if he should laugh or flee.
"Just the sparkling water," Noah confirmed with an embarrassed smile, then turned to Hope with mock exasperation. "You're really not going to let it go, are you?"
Hope laughed as the waiter hurried away, clearly grateful to escape their banter to fulfill their drink orders.
"Nope. Not until it stops being funny." She traced the rim of her water glass with one finger, her expression shifting slightly. "But seriously, when's the last time you had an actual drink? Like, a real one, not that half a beer you nursed at my book launch last year."
Noah shrugged, choosing not to mention the awkward mess he'd made while drinking with Rose earlier that weekend. The memory still made him cringe. "You know I don't handle alcohol well."
Yeah, but honestly, sometimes, I think you don't handle anything well when you're not in complete control." She leaned forward slightly. "Remember that night in Chicago, after the conference?"
The question hit him like a cold wave. Noah's hand tightened around his water glass as images flashed through his mind. The hotel bar, the asshole who wouldn't take no for an answer, the moment when his carefully constructed facade had cracked and something darker had emerged, and the satisfying crack of his fist connecting with the man's jaw.
Her tone remained light, but her eyes were serious. "You had exactly two drinks, and then... It was like seeing a completely different person."
"Yeah, and that's exactly the problem," Noah said quietly, genuine self-loathing bleeding through his composure. "I still can't believe how I acted with you. And that I would even hit someone." Noah shook his head with a mortified expression, "That's not who I want to be. I'm a writer, not some thug that solves his problems with violence."
He knew it was a lie even before he said it. In truth, he was very familiar with solving his problems with violence, efficiently, and permanently. What genuinely disturbed him was the fact that underneath his manufactured horror at his actions lay a cold satisfaction at how quickly the problem had been neutralized.
But Hope couldn't know that. Instead, her expression softened, remembering the way he took charge of the situation and defended her. "Well, I didn't mind. That asshole deserved it, and it felt nice to have someone stick for me so passionately."
She placed a hand on his, the warmth of her touch sending an unexpected jolt through him. After three years of friendship, she knew him well enough to recognize the self-loathing in his voice even if she didn't understand its true source. "Noah, I know you, and you're a good man. You're not some monster waiting to break free. You're just... human."
The validation struck him unexpectedly. Instead of recoiling in fear. Hope had felt protected by him. Safe… around him? The realization created a hairline crack in his emotional armor.
"Am I?" The question slipped out before he could stop it, carrying more vulnerability than he expected. He immediately wished he could take it back.
Hope waited, but when he didn't continue, concern flickered across her features. "Okay, what the hell was that supposed to mean?"
Noah ran his hand through his hair, feeling the familiar tightness in his chest. This conversation wasn't going according to plan. "Nothing. Forget I said anything."
"Like hell." Hope's voice carried the same stubborn tone that had gotten her through five bestsellers. "We've been through enough shit together that you don't get to sit there and make cryptic comments like that."
Noah looked out the window, watching people walk by in the afternoon sun. Normal people living normal lives. Unburdened by the weight of things they'd done in the dark. "My time in the army… it taught me things about myself. The kind of person that I'm capable of becoming. And… I'm not sure if I like that person," he said finally. The words felt like pulling shrapnel from an old wound.
"Noah," Hope's voice was gentle but firm. "You were deployed, saw combat, of course, you came back different. It's a normal story for soldiers, unfortunately."
He looked up at her then, and she could see something haunted in his dark eyes. She had no idea how abnormal his story actually was.
"True. Except my job wasn't standard." Noah's voice was barely above a whisper. The words came out slowly, like he was pulling them from some deep, dark place. "There are things I can't tell you, or anyone. Things I did, Hope. Things I'm capable of when the control slips. And alcohol... it takes away the control."
The weight of his confession settled between them like a living thing. Hope was quiet, her thumb unconsciously stroking across his knuckles. When she spoke, her voice was gentle but firm. "Noah, whatever happened over there, whatever you had to do to survive or protect others, and whatever you think you're capable of, that's not who you are now. That's not the man who holds his friends' hair back when they're sick, or who spends three hours helping me restructure a chapter because I'm too stubborn to admit it's not working."
"You don't know…"
"I know you," Hope interrupted, her conviction absolute. "I won't pretend to understand what you went through or what you had to do." She squeezed his hand. "So, I guess you're right that I don't know you at your worst."
She leaned closer, and he caught the faint scent of her perfume, something warm and sophisticated that made him hyperaware of how little space separated them. "But I like to think that I've seen you at your best. I've only seen you drunk once, and yes, you got protective and physical when someone was harassing me. But Noah, that wasn't some monster emerging. That was a good man standing up for his friend."
Thankfully, their waiter returned with their drinks before he was forced to respond to her sincere declaration.
Sensing the heavy atmosphere but professional enough not to comment. The waiter set down their drinks with practiced efficiency. "Should I give you folks a few minutes with the menu?"
"Mediterranean sea bass for me," Hope said without looking at the menu. "And he will have the lamb, with a side of roasted vegetables." She knew Noah well enough to order for him when he was like this. "And could you bring us some of those stuffed grape leaves you do?"
"Of course. I'll get that started for you."
As the waiter left, Hope picked up her gin and tonic but didn't immediately drink. "Here's what I think," she said, taking a sip. "I think it's commendable, the way you try so hard to stay in control. But, I also think staying in control has become such a habit that you've forgotten what it feels like to just... be yourself."
Noah picked up his sparkling water. The bubbles rose to the surface in tiny, frantic streams. He was just grateful to have something to do with his hands. "What if being myself is the problem?"
"Then we'll figure it out together. That's what friends are for, right?" Hope said simply with determination in her voice. "But I won't stop pushing you to loosen up because I have a feeling that the real Noah White, the one underneath all that careful control, is still someone worth knowing."
He wanted to argue, to explain that she was wrong, that the careful control was all that stood between the world and someone darker. Someone consumed by loss and wrath, and who would stop at nothing to achieve his goals.
But looking at her face, seeing the absolute faith in her expression, he felt something loosen in his chest. Not enough to let go of his anger, but enough to breathe a little easier and wonder what might have been possible if he'd met her before Alexa.
"You know," he said, his voice rougher than he intended, "that's probably the most dangerous thing anyone's ever said to me."
"Good." Her smile was soft but had an edge that made his pulse quicken. "I've always liked a little danger."
The moment stretched between them, charged with something that had been building for years. Then Hope blinked, seeming to remember herself, and took a sip of her drink.
"But speaking of dangerous," she said, her tone shifting to something lighter. "You're going to have to tell me about this mysterious proposition that made me put on actual pants on this beautiful Sunday." She gestured to her form-hugging black slacks and elegant cashmere sweater with a deep neckline with theatrical dismay. "I mean, if I didn't know any better, I would think that you were trying to hit on a married woman," she said with a teasing smile, "but knowing you, whatever this is, it's probably brilliant… or completely insane."
Noah felt his pulse quicken as the conversation shifted toward safer ground, though what he was about to propose was its own kind of dangerous territory. This was the moment he'd been building toward. Years of careful friendship, support, and intimacy could potentially collapse into a pile of worthless interactions. Or, this would be the moment when Hope Lockman unknowingly became the cornerstone of his revenge.
"I've been thinking about our careers. About this whole industry." He ran his hand through his hair. "Hope, the way publishing works right now is screwed."
She raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. "Go on."
"These publishers take the majority of our profits, control how our books get marketed and sold, and the second our sales dip even slightly, they drop us like we never existed." Noah's voice gained strength as he moved into territory he'd been obsessing over for months. "Why the hell are we letting them have so much power over our work?"
Hope leaned back, her business mind already working as he'd hoped. "So what are you suggesting? Self-publishing? Because I've looked into that route, and the amount of work involved in marketing, distribution, editing..."
"Not self-publishing," Noah interrupted, his excitement building as he saw genuine interest rather than dismissal in her eyes. "Hope, I think we should start our own publishing company."
Hope nearly choked on her gin. "Our own... Noah, do you have any idea what that would involve? The startup costs alone… "
"Would be way less than what we're pissing away to traditional publishers over the next five years," he said, leaning forward. "Think about it. We both have readers who'll buy our books no matter who publishes them. We know editors we trust, designers who get what we're going for, marketing people who actually know how to reach our audience."
Their food arrived, beautifully plated dishes that looked almost too perfect to eat. Noah's lamb was perfectly pink, accompanied by roasted vegetables that smelled like herbs and sunshine. Hope's sea bass was elegant, surrounded by a delicate sauce that caught the light.
"Distribution," Hope said after taking a thoughtful bite. Her fork paused as she worked through the logistics. "How would we handle getting our books into stores without the backing of a major publisher?"
"We start digital," Noah said, cutting into his lamb. "E-books, audiobooks, print-on-demand. Build revenue, prove concept, then contract with distributors for physical books. We keep control but leverage existing infrastructure."
Hope nodded slowly, her fork pausing halfway to her mouth. "Digital makes sense. Lower overhead, faster market response..." She chewed thoughtfully. "But we'd need to build a brand identity beyond just our individual names."
"Maybe," Noah said, then grinned. "Though let's be real, you're Hope Lockman. Your romance novels have fans all over the world. If there was a Pulitzer for smut, you'd have won it five years running."
She actually blushed, but Noah caught something else in her expression, a flicker of uncertainty he rarely saw from her. "That's... thanks, Noah. Really. But just because something works in one situation doesn't mean it'll work in another. We'd need real marketing strategies, brand development, and ways to find new readers beyond the ones we already have."
"We don't have to figure everything out today," Noah reached across the table, covering her hand with his. The contact sent warmth up his arm. "That's what consultants are for. We outsource what we don't know."
Hope laughed, but she didn't pull her hand away. "This day just keeps getting weirder."
Noah raised a questioning eyebrow, his thumb unconsciously stroking across her knuckles.
"Don't give me that look. I mean, listen to us. Thirty minutes ago, you were worried about being a monster, and now we're talking about hiring consultants for our imaginary publishing company."
"It doesn't have to be imaginary," Noah said, surprised by how sure he sounded. "Not if we don't want it to be. So tell me what you think? Really?"
She took another sip of her strong drink, and Noah watched her process the idea, seeing the familiar concentration that meant she was taking it seriously. "Honestly? It's risky as hell. But you're right about the traditional model being broken. And the profit margins..." She shook her head. "When you put it that way, it seems almost foolish not to try."
Noah felt a surge of excitement. "So you're interested? Actually interested, not just being nice?"
Hope's fingers drummed against the table, a nervous habit he'd noticed when she was making important decisions. "You know what? Yes. I'm interested. But," she held up a finger, "we need a real plan. Marketing strategies, financial projections, legal structure, and distribution logistics. This can't be a 'figure it out as we go' situation."
Victory. But it felt different than what he'd expected. Not the cold satisfaction of a successful recruitment, but something more complicated. Hope wasn't an asset. Or, she shouldn't be. But he'd just turned their friendship into a cover anyway. Alexa would be proud. The thought made him sick.
"Absolutely," Noah said quickly. "And we keep this between us for now. Publishing is a smaller world than people think."
"Agreed. Total discretion until we're ready." Hope said.
Noah took another sip of his drink. He felt the familiar satisfaction of a plan coming together. But underneath lay something more complicated, genuine excitement about working with someone who saw his potential for good rather than his capacity for destruction.
"Right. And look, it might be lean at first, but the profits will come."
Hope paused, studying his face. "I have to ask, don't you have people who'd want a say in a decision this big? Family? Someone special?"
Noah couldn't help but smile. "Hope, the only person whose opinion I value on this is sitting across from me right now. That's why I called you. You're the only one that I would want to do this with."
Something shifted in her expression, a warmth that made her suddenly aware of how close they were leaning across the table. "That's... that's really good to hear, Noah."
"But what about David?" The question had been nagging at him. "I know you've mentioned things are complicated, but this is a major life decision."
Hope's entire demeanor changed. Her shoulders tensed, and she looked down at her plate. "David doesn't... he wouldn't understand." The words slipped out before she could stop them, and immediately, she looked like she regretted the admission.
Perfect. Another vulnerability he could leverage if necessary.
Noah felt something cold settle in his stomach. The way his mind immediately turned towards manipulation disgusted him. But he pressed on.
"He doesn't support your writing?"
Hope's entire demeanor changed. Her shoulders tensed, and she looked down at her plate. "He thinks writing is just a cute hobby that happens to make money."
Noah raised an eyebrow, allowing genuine surprise to show. Hope was one of the most successful romance writers in the country. Treating her career as a hobby was either breathtaking ignorance or deliberate diminishment.
"A hobby? Hope, you're… "
"I know what I am," she said quietly, still not meeting his eyes. "But he sees it as this adorable little thing that his trophy wife does to occupy her days. He doesn't understand that it's my career, my life's work." She finally looked up, and there was something brittle in her smile. "So no, I don't need to run this by him. This is my decision."
The way her voice went flat, the way she wouldn't meet his eyes, there was more going on here than she was saying.
Noah could tell this was sensitive territory. "Okay. If that's how you feel."
She relaxed a little. "Thanks for understanding. Now, where were we? Planning our path to world domination?"
Noah chuckled while glancing at his watch and felt a jolt of surprise. "Shit. Hope, I'm sorry, but I need to… "
"You need to go?" she asked, but there was something forced about her casual tone.
"Yeah," he said, feeling awkward about cutting their conversation short. "I have plans tonight."
Hope's eyes widened slightly. "A date? I didn't know you were seeing anyone."
"It's nothing serious," Noah said quickly, probably too quickly. "Someone I met recently."
Hope nodded, but he caught something in her expression, disappointment, mixed with something that looked almost like longing. "I see. Well, don't let me keep you."
"Hope, are you…" He started to ask if she was okay, but something in her expression stopped him.
"I'm fine, Noah. Go enjoy your evening." Her smile was bright but didn't quite reach her eyes. "We can pick this up later."
"I'm really excited about this," Noah said, standing. "Building something together... it feels right."
Her smile became more genuine. "It does. Like we're finally taking control instead of letting other people decide our destinies."
"Destiny..." Noah snapped his fingers as an idea hit him. "Destiny Press. What do you think of a company name?"
Hope laughed, shaking her head. "Destiny Press? That's either brilliant or terrible, and honestly, I'm a little buzzed so I can't tell which."
Noah placed two crisp hundred-dollar bills on the table, enough to cover both of their meals as well as a generous tip. He chuckled as he stood, "Well, we can workshop it together." His gaze lingered on her, reluctant to part. "But I'm really excited about this. Building something together..."
"It does feel right, doesn't it?" Her voice was soft, and when she stood to hug him goodbye, she lingered in his arms. "Like we're meant to be partners."
The word 'partners' hung in the air between them, loaded with possibilities neither would voice. But underneath, something else stirred. An uncomfortable recognition that Hope deserved better than what she was getting from David, and possibly better than what she would ultimately get from him.
"I'll call you tomorrow," he said, his voice rougher than he intended.
"I'll be waiting." She held him a moment longer than friendship required.
As Noah walked toward the exit, he caught Hope's reflection in the window, still sitting at their table, staring out at the street with a thoughtful look that was equal parts longing and resignation. She looked beautiful in the afternoon light, but also achingly vulnerable. He found himself wondering about her marriage, about what "complicated" really meant, and about that look in her eyes when he'd mentioned his date.
But he pushed the thoughts away as he stepped outside. They were potential business partners now, and that was complicated enough. Besides, he had other complications waiting for him tonight.
He pushed the thoughts away as he stepped outside. She was an integral part of his plan, and they were potential business partners now. All of that was complicated enough.