NOVA
“Holy crap,” Island, my hair dresser, tugs painfully on my braid. “Seriously?”
“What?”
“You’re going to wear your natural hair?”
I rip my gaze away from the file I requested from Human Resources and pin it on the woman who sees me more often than I see my doctor, my therapist, and my own family. “Yes.”
“Yes? Just like that? Just yes?”
I blink up at her.
“Nova, I’ve been doing your hair for… how long have you been working at Vision Tech?”
I shut my tablet off, lick my lips, and think about it. “Seven years.”
“Seven years.” She snaps her dark fingers. Island wears long nails and, somehow, they don’t stop her from being the best hair braider this side of the country. In fact, I think her nails are her secret weapon. “You walk through those doors every three weeks like clockwork and you’ve never once in all those seven years, asked for anything other than braids.”
Rather than answer, I turn my tablet back on and get to work.
Island tends to be on the dramatic side and I sometimes wish I could ask her to have a talk-free session, but I don’t want to risk offending her.
Despite her chattiness, she is the best in the business and one of the youngest salon franchise owners in history. She also graciously agreed to do my hair on Sundays since it suits my schedule the best.
“Are you dying?” She leans down and whispers, her eyes filled with concern.
I purse my lips. “No.”
“Then do you have cancer?” She covers her mouth with a gasp. “Are you wearing your natural hair out because all your hair might fall out soon?”
I dig my teeth into my bottom lip and struggle to maintain my composure. “No.”
Please just be quiet.
It’s no shade to Island. I find that most hairdressers tend to be the friendly, nosy type. It’s why I used to stubbornly insist on doing my own hair… until I realized that I could accomplish so much work in the six hours it took to painstakingly part and braid my curls.
Besides, no matter how good I get at doing my own hair, no one does hair like Island.
“So this is a personality shift then? Because of a new guy? Or an old one?” She gasps loudly. “Are you finally getting it on with that boss of yours?” Island thrusts her hips twice and sticks out her tongue, emphasizing exactly what part of Adam should be getting into me.
I let out an irritated huff.
“I don’t blame you, honey. That man was cute before, but when I found out he was rich too…?” She shakes her head and licks her lips.
Island is one of the few who’s aware of Adam’s real position in the company. Years ago, he made the mistake of escorting me to the hair salon. Island started chatting him up and, using that secret power of backing people into corners, got him to admit he owned Vision Tech.
Since then, Adam’s skirted the hair salon, refusing to even drive past it. I’m afraid I’ll tell her my bank account information if she gets her hands on me again.
It’s not an unfounded fear. Island either doesn’t choose to pick up on social cues or has no idea what polite conversation even is.
“White boys are not my type, but if I had to have a baby daddy, it would be him,” she adds.
I shuffle in discomfort. Under ordinary circumstances, a woman joking about wanting to have Adam’s babies would be unfortunate, but it’s even more disarming given Rowan’s surprise visit.
That reminds me…
I should check on Adam and make sure he hasn’t gone totally crazy after spending the night under one roof with his son.
Before I can shoot the text, Island spins me around so I’m facing her instead of the fancy, well-lit mirrors. She’s wearing a face full of makeup and her wig is long and grey. On anyone else, the look would be tacky, but Island is young and charismatic enough to pull it off.
“Are you not answering because it’s true? Did you finally bed the billionaire?”
What is that? The name of a cheesy romance novel? “Adam and I have a boss-employee relationship.”
She rolls her eyes. “Honey, no boss in the world would hire a driver for their employee.” Island gestures with a rat-tail comb to the glass door through which we can see Steve parked outside, waiting for me. “And they definitely don’t insist on paying for their employee’s trips to the hair salon. I’ll never forget the day that hunky man slapped his card on my counter and told me that you were never to pay for your own hair. I almost jumped him then.”
“The way I present myself is important to the image of Vision Tech,” I argue.
Island bats away my explanation like it’s cheap cologne. “No, sweetie. No one in their right mind would believe that.”
Well, it’s a good thing Island isn’t in her right mind.
Realizing she’s going to harp on me and Adam if I don’t tell her what she wants, I admit, “I’m changing my hair because I’m entering a new phase of my life.”
“New how?”
“I’m moving on from Vision Tech.”
“Moving on? To what?”
“To unemployment. I’m resigning.”
The comb slips out of her hand and rattles to the floor. Her jaw drops right alongside it.
Keeping my tone level, I add, “I’ve always been interested in learning how to care for my natural hair, but I didn’t have the time. Plus, I wasn’t sure if it would be professional to wear my hair out at work. Now that I’ll be stepping down from my position in a month, I’d like to start learning.”
She blinks unsteadily.
Did I do the unthinkable? Did I break the unstoppable chatterbox?
“Why are you resigning?” Island stammers.
My phone lights up with a call from Adam.
“Excuse me.” I put the phone to my ear. “How was your first night with Rowan?”
“He ruined my kitchen!” Adam hisses. From the low volume of his voice, it’s clear he doesn’t want Rowan to overhear. I can picture him ducking in the bathroom, railing about his son behind closed doors.
“What do you mean?” I ask calmly.
“The kid made waffles by throwing flour on every surface in the kitchen and hoping some of it hit the bowl. My sink looks like a murder scene. And there’s a banana peel on my freaking chandelier, Nova.”
“Okay, then ask him—nicely—to clean up after himself.”
“You think he’ll listen to me?”
“He has to take responsibility for the mess he made. He probably got to this point because his mother was always cleaning up after him. If he learns that cooking messily comes with cleaning duties too, he might learn to be more careful.”
Adam lets out a sound that’s part grunt, part groan. I bet his stress line—the lone wrinkle that appears on his forehead—is out in full force right now.
“I don’t think I can do this,” he admits.
“It’s only been a few hours.”
“Exactly. How much worse is it going to get?”
My lips twitch. “Ask him to clean up and offer to help him. It can be a good bonding moment for you two.” Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Island listening in keenly. Clearing my throat, I say, “I’m at a hair appointment now, but I’ll come over when I’m done.”
“Thank you.” He sounds relieved.
I hang up and put the phone away.
“Was that Adam?” Island asks, grabbing the scissors and cutting off the tail end of a braid.
“Yes.” I open the tablet again.
“Have you told him? About resigning?”
Another braid falls to the ground like a defeated snake.
I don’t respond, but Island comes to her own conclusions. Tutting, she shakes her head. “He must be drowning in regret. That man relies on you like you’re his best friend, lover, and business partner all rolled into one.”
My throat squeezes tightly. I feel that noose again and it makes me want to grab a paper bag and blow into it.
“What is he going to do without you?” Island makes another sympathetic sound in her throat. The scissors snip and a braid sinks to the floor. “Girl, that’s cruel of you to leave him on the lurch when he needs you so badly. You better have a good reason for ditching that job and devastating that gorgeous man or you’re just… well you’re just a bad person.”
“Why am I a bad person?” I snap heatedly.
Island goes still.
“Do I owe him my life? My body? My future? Am I expected to give him everything just because he treats me well?”
Island’s eyes are wide enough to take over most of her face. She blinks at me.
I realize I lost control and shame burns my heart like a brand. I hang my head, pick up my tablet again and studiously swipe through the files.
Island, by some miracle, gets the hint and doesn’t say another word.
I touch my curls and chew on my bottom lip nervously. My head feels a lot lighter now that I’ve changed my hairstyle.
I glance at the ground. My shadow looks like I have a cotton ball for a head. Having this much volume is going to take some getting used to.
Steve, a mild-mannered man with brown eyes and a quiet smile, gives me an approving nod as I approach the car. “You look stunning, Miss Delaney.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He opens the back door for me.
I climb in and glance at the salon. Island’s last words as she handed me the bottles of natural hair gels, creams, and conditioners echoes in my head.
Just because you want something new doesn’t mean you have to kick the old to the curb. You can rock your natural hair and you can always go back to having braids. Doesn’t have to be one or the other for the rest of your life, honey. It’s not a prison sentence.
It felt like Island was trying to tell me something, but I’m not interested in learning life lessons right now. I just want to resign from Vision Tech with as little friction as possible.
Once I find someone who can adeptly handle the responsibilities to both the company and to Adam, I won’t feel so torn anymore.
“Where are you going, Miss Delaney?” Steve asks.
“Adam’s.”
He drives silently. I love that Steve feels no need to fill the quiet with chatter. It’s why we’ve gotten along so great for the past seven years.
I enjoy the peaceful car ride and I don’t even realize we’ve arrived until Steve gently calls to me.
“Miss Delaney.”
I glance up from my tablet, almost in a daze. Just outside my window is Adam’s two million-dollar manor. “Oh, thank you, Steve.”
“Should I wait for you?” Steve asks.
I check my watch. “No, it’s a Sunday. I’ll take a cab.”
He looks worried.
“I don’t want to take up any more of your time,” I explain.
“It’s my pleasure, Miss Delaney. Mr. Harrison pays me well to make sure you don’t have to drive yourself around or take cabs.”
“A cab ride every once in a while won’t hurt me.” I pop the door. “Enjoy your Sunday with your family, Steve.” I stop halfway out of the car and scoot back in my seat. “Oh, I spoke to the MIT advisor. If your son is really interested in interning this summer, he can contact them.”
“Wow. Thank you so much.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I leave the car and walk up to the porch.
Cracking my bag open, I fish around until I find the key Adam gave me. I’d only been working for him for a year when he presented the key to me with the excuse that it was too much hassle to hear me arriving when he was in the lab.
I let myself in and hear the television. It sounds like a cartoon show. Taking a few steps out of the foyer, I see Rowan stretched out in the sofa.
Adam doesn’t believe Rowan is his son, but I believed it the moment I looked into the child’s brown eyes. He’s got the same intensely focused gaze, high nose bridge and smile as his father. He’s also lanky, which means he’s going to be tall like Adam too.
I don’t know what Alexa looks like, and I’m sure Rowan takes after her in some ways, but—to my eyes—Rowan is his father’s son.
“Hey.” Rowan sees me and scrambles to a sitting position. His gaze is on my hair. “You’re back.”
“Hi, Rowan.” I glance past him and notice that the kitchen is still a mess. I cringe when I see the flour everywhere and the sink piled up with dishes.
Adam’s lab always looks like a hurricane ran through it, but he’s militant about keeping his living area clean. It’s a quirk that I’ve learned to roll with.
Unfortunately, Rowan hasn’t picked up the memo.
“Where’s Adam?” I ask.
Rowan shrugs. “I dunno.”
Leaving an eleven-year-old unattended for hours without checking in? I guess Adam isn’t trying to ace this dad thing.
“I’ll go find him.” I take a step in the direction of the back door.
“I like your hair,” Rowan says.
I turn back around. Isn’t that sweet?
“You look even prettier.” Rowan grins. “Like a model.”
“Thank you.” I smirk. “You and Adam have that in common.”
“What?”
“You’re sweet-talkers.”
He scrunches his brows together. A little line forms in the middle of Rowan’s forehead and it almost knocks me flat off my feet.
That expression…
Adam looks exactly like that when he’s perplexed.
A little freaked out, I back away from Rowan and hurry across the yard. I hear Adam working on something before I’ve taken a step inside the lab.
He’s by his worktable, arc welding. I wait until he’s done before stepping beyond the shadows and making myself known.
“Ehem.”
“Nova.” He speaks even before he’s turned around.
Then he does.
And the welding machine slips out of his hands. It crashes to the floor with a loud clang.
Adam clumsily reaches for the machine and fumbles around with it as if he doesn’t know what to do next. He’s still wearing the welding mask, so I can’t see his face to gauge his expression.
I move purposefully toward him. “What happened? I thought you were going to ask Rowan to clean up?”
Adam rips the welding mask off his face. His eyes are stuck on my hair, the same way Rowan’s was. Except Rowan’s slack-jawed stare didn’t make me feel little tingles of pleasure in my stomach.
“Why didn’t you talk to him?” I ask.
“Who?” Adam stammers.
“Rowan?”
“Who’s Rowan?”
I fold my arms over my chest and give him a pointed look.
Adam blinks once, twice and then seems to come back to himself. “Right. The kid. Uh, he said he’d do it ‘later’.”
“And you just dropped it?” I ask, gawking.
“What was I supposed to say?”
I roll my eyes to the ceiling. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that Adam is a genius. Especially when he acts like the simplest concepts are beyond him.
“You say ‘I gave you an instruction. Do it now, young man’.”
His eyebrows knit in confusion.
I toss another sigh at the ceiling and turn on my heels.
Adam tosses his gloves and lengthens his stride to catch up with me. “Your hair…”
“What about my hair?” I slam to a stop.
My hair is a touchy subject because it’s been so closely-tied to my professional appearance. The more responsibility Adam entrusted to me through the years, the more I didn’t want to let him down—not with my work ethic, my speech or my look.
I wait for his assessment with a pounding heart.
“You look amazing.” He clears his throat and drags his eyes away from me. “Like… really, really good.”
A smile presses against my lips and I fight to hold it back. “Thank you. Now let’s deal with Rowan.”
“Deal with him?” Adam’s eyebrows fly up. He takes big steps to keep up with me. Even though I have shorter legs than him, I tend to move fast.
“Yes, we’re going to deal with him,” I say matter-of-factly.
Adam looks a little scared.
We stride across the yard and I throw the side door open. The television is still on. Rowan hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch. The only difference now is that he has his phone to his face.
Rowan glances up, sees me and brightens. Then he sees Adam and the smile immediately falls flat.
Adam grunts. “He always stares at me like I’m enemy number one.”
“Maybe if you smiled at him more, he’d smile back,” I mutter.
Adam huffs.
I stalk ahead of him. Leaning decisively over the sofa, I snag the remote and take off the television.
“Hey, I was watching that!” Rowan throws his hands up in betrayal.
“You’ve had breakfast and you’ve had time for the food to go down. You need to start cleaning the kitchen now.”
“Isn’t he rich?” Rowan flings himself into the chair and points at Adam. “Doesn’t he have a maid or something?”
Adam scoffs as if he can’t believe how immature Rowan is. I don’t know what he expects. That an eleven-year-old who just got shoved into a strange man’s house would be perfectly behaved and overflowing with eternal wisdom?
Rowan hears his father’s grunt and narrows his eyes in response.
I get between the two of them, but I maintain eye-contact with Rowan. “Mariana doesn’t clean up after people who don’t know how to clean up for themselves,” I tell him crisply. “Aren’t you embarrassed to let someone see that mess?”
“No,” Rowan says without a care in the world.
I curl my fingers into fists. Enough with the good-cop routine. “Rowan…” I swing around to face Adam. “What’s his last name again?”
“Vaughn,” Adam supplies helpfully.
“Rowan Vaughn, I am not asking. You need to get into the kitchen and start cleaning up. Now.” I put enough of a black mama bark in my voice to let him know I mean business.
Rowan’s lips push out so far he could knock the TV over, but when he sees pouting isn’t going to change my stance, he climbs out of the couch with the exasperation of a much older teenager.
“Fine.” He throws the word at me as if I—somehow—am the one who’s being tolerated.
“Wow.” Adam looks impressed.
I fold my arms over my chest. “What are you doing?” Jutting my chin at the kitchen, I command, “Go help him.”
“Why do I have to clean up? I didn’t make the mess. I didn’t even eat the breakfast.”
I give him a scolding look.
Adam throws his hands up. “Fine.”
I laugh when his back is turned and add his belligerence as one more point for him and Rowan being related.
How are they so similar when they’ve never met before?
I notice Rowan’s frown deepen when Adam joins him in the kitchen. The two work on opposite ends of the room. While Adam expertly wipes down the counter, Rowan is sweeping the flour back and forth on the floor.
I snap my ponytail holder from my wrist and try to put my braids up when I realize I don’t have braids anymore. Awkwardly hefting my curls off my neck, I approach the two reluctant boys in the kitchen.
“Rowan, what kind of music do you like?”
“I dunno.” He stabs the broom on the floor and keeps his head down.
“I like to work with music on. I’ll turn on the speakers if you don’t mind.”
He lifts a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.
Adam gives the eleven-year-old an annoyed look, but I lift a hand and make a ‘calm down’ motion. It’s only Rowan’s second day here. And if he’s anything like his father, he’s stubborn to a fault. It will take some time for Adam and Rowan to find their own rhythm.
Turning swiftly, I connect my phone to Adam’s bluetooth speakers. I’ve been over here enough times that it automatically pairs.
“I found a new artist the other day.” I listen to the piano trilling through the air and smile. “It’s great, right?”
“It’s boring.” Rowan sticks out his tongue.
“Just wait for it.” I approach him, take the broom from his hand and point to the sink. “Why don’t you wash the dishes?”
“Uh, I hate washing dishes.”
“We all do things we hate sometimes.” I maintain my stance so he knows he can’t wiggle out of it.
Rowan sighs as if I asked him to climb Mount Everest and swim with hungry sharks.
While he tackles his new task, I sweep in time to the classical music and bob my head a little more when the hip-hop track twines seamlessly with the piano.
Adam gives me a surprised look. “This doesn’t seem like your type of thing.”
“What is my type of thing?”
He scrubs his chin, bringing my attention to his square jaw and full beard. “Music that doesn’t bend too many of the rules.”
“Well… my type of thing is changing now.”
He gives me a thoughtful look.
I squirm and glance away, glad to point my attention to the flour on the ground.
“This isn’t too bad,” Rowan admits, rocking his head when the bass drops and the music goes harder.
I feel a thrill of validation.
After the song ends, the room settles into a productive kind of quiet. Rowan fills the sink to wash the dishes. I finish with the floor and join him there.
Adam squeezes in next to me. He smells amazing, like flames and metal and something unique to him. When his arm brushes my hand, I feel a skitter of goosebumps on my skin.
I try to squeeze in closer to Rowan, but it doesn’t work. Adam’s hand brushes my arm again and brings a spark of awareness.
“We can assembly line this thing,” Adam says in a more upbeat voice. “Rowan, you wash. Nova will rinse. I’ll dry.”
“Why do you get the easy job?” Rowan grumbles.
“You can do it on your own then,” Adam fires back.
Rowan shakes his head. “I’ll wash.”
I smile softly and accept the bowl from him. We make quick work of the dishes.
I notice Rowan sneak off while Adam and I are wiping the stove and removing all banana peels from the light fixtures.
When Adam glances up and notices Rowan isn’t around, his expression turns thunderous. I see him gearing up to yell for his son and stop him with a look.
Adam scowls. “He thinks he’s slick.”
“He’s eleven. Of course he does.”
Adam shakes his head, makes one more swipe over the stove and then whips the rag out over the sink to dry. “At least he didn’t set the house on fire.”
“Don’t jinx it, Adam.”
My boss winces. Throwing his gaze to the ceiling, he yells, “I take it back!”
I laugh softly.
Adam watches me with an equally bemused grin.
Feeling those sparks in my stomach again, I glance down and check my watch. “It’s that late? I didn’t realize.”
“You going home already?”
I nod.
“Stay. Having you here is the only time I feel like I can communicate with him.”
“He’s not a house pet, Adam. He’s a little boy. Just talk to him.”
“Easy for you to say,” Adam mumbles. “If he’s not glued to the television, he’s glued to his phone. I don’t remember learning about humans having a mini-computer attachment in high school biology.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“Hm.” He grunts. “You really can’t stay?”
I shake my head. “I’ve got an appointment with some files.”
He arches an eyebrow, waiting for me to explain.
“I’m doing an in-depth analysis on our admin staff. Before I go outside Vision Tech to find another manager, I’m hoping I can train someone in-house.”
Adam’s smile disappears instantly. He runs his fingers through his dark hair. “You’re already looking at a replacement?”
“I only have a month to make sure we pick someone who can handle all the responsibilities. There’s no time to waste.”
Adam pulls his full bottom lip into his mouth as if he’s trying not to say something.
“What?” I prod.
He places one large hand on the counter behind him. The move causes his shoulders to roll and contract.
“Have you really decided, Nova?”
“I have.”
His intense brown eyes are staring at me like he wants my answer to change. “You can have as much vacation time as you want. Forget the rules. If you need a six month sabbatical, hell, a year off, you can do that.”
“If I take a year off, I might as well resign.”
“Are you saying no to vacation time?”
I nod.
He shakes his head, watching me. “I’ll increase your salary by ten percent.”
“My salary is already very generous.”
He rubs his lip with a thumb. “Twenty.”
I’d laugh if he wasn’t so earnest. “No.”
“Did someone at Vision Tech offend you?”
I frown. “No.”
“It doesn’t matter who they are. If they disrespected you, they’re gone. No questions asked.”
“I have a good relationship with the staff.”
It’s kind of surprising. Many of our engineers have more degrees than me and graduated from prestigious universities. All I had was my grit and determination to work hard. Thankfully, those two things mattered more to Adam than whether I went to an Ivy League.
It’s his respect for and belief in me that made me feel confident enough to lead a company like Vision Tech.
“Are you… getting married?” he asks, his throat bobbing.
I feel my cheeks heat. “No.”
“Good.”
I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean and I don’t ask. “It’s time for a change,” I say as coolly as I can, hoping he can’t tell that my heart is beating fast and my hands are getting sweaty.
Adam studies me as if he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. Slowly, he pushes off the counter and approaches me.
The air around us turns intense.
I retreat on instinct, moving away from him until my back hits the counter. My heart forgets how it’s supposed to beat and trips all over itself.
Adam leans toward me. “Don’t bother looking for another replacement.”
“Adam—”
He straightens and gives me a pointed look. “I’ll do it.”
“You’ll… you’ll do what?”
“Show me the ropes. Give me the responsibility.”
I blink once. Twice. Stunned. Adam’s the picture of practiced ease when he crosses his arms and looks down at me again.
“Are you serious?”
“It’s my company and I don’t trust it in anyone else’s hands. If someone’s going to learn from you, it might as well be me.”
“You?”
“That’s what I said.” A ghost of a smile lurks at his lips, as if he’s enjoying my confusion. After a few seconds of staring at me, he clears his throat. “Didn’t you need to leave?”
“Right.” I turn woodenly. “I’ll call a cab.”
“Did you give Steve the afternoon off again?”
I nod before I realize what I’m admitting to and then I shake my head. “No, I just… want to support the taxi industry.”
Adam arches a brow. “I’ll take you home.”
“You can’t. You have a kid now, remember? You can’t just leave him at home alone.”
My words seem to stop him in his tracks.
“I’m fine.” I assure him. “I can get home on my own.” I glance down the hallway at Rowan’s bedroom. “What are you going to do with him during the day? You have meetings at Vision Tech all morning.”
“I guess I’ll have to take him to work with me,” Adam says with a sigh.
“Do you know how long he’ll be staying with you?” I lift my phone and swipe to my notes. “I can talk to Sazuki and Dejonae about Niko’s summer school program.”
Adam’s jaw clenches. “Nova.”
“Hm?”
He runs a hand over his face. “Nothing.”
“What?”
“This isn’t your problem.”
My eyebrows hunker low. “I can handle my work and helping you with Rowan. You don’t have to look so burdened, Adam.” I stare intently at him. “My job is to help.”
“Your job…” He laughs darkly. “I know. Thanks.”
I can tell he’s upset about me leaving the company, but I feel a note of something heavier in his voice. If I were braver, I would ask what it was.
Since I’m not, I let it pass.
“I’ll call a cab now,” I say, giving him my back.
To my surprise, Adam grabs my hand. His fingers are warm and firm when they wrap around my wrist.
I gasp. “Adam.”
“Rowan!” he yells. “We’re taking Nova home! Throw on some shoes and let’s go!”
I blink rapidly. “You don’t have to do that.”
Adam gives me a dark look. “I want to.”
Rowan appears in the hallway, dragging his feet. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”
But Adam doesn’t listen to his son’s whining. He ushers us both out the door and it’s not until I see Rowan staring pointedly at something below us that I realize…
Adam and I are both holding on tightly to each other’s hands.
