Free Marked. Part II: Becoming Noah Baxter by J. M. Sevilla Page B

voice shouts into the phone as it throws open the doors to the CEO of Cole Private Bank and Trust.
    The ironclad form of Jay Lincoln stands in the doorway, phone inches from his mouth, skin a raging curtain of red, veins popping, murder flaring in his eyes. “Vault, we have a fucking prob.. lem ...” his voice lowers and comes out slow and robotic as he takes in his surroundings and sees me staring at him. His maddened features slip into stunned silence.
    We both stay rooted in our spots, eyes glued to the other.
    “She's here you shithead,” he growls into the phone. He shoves it into his pocket, eyes never leaving mine. 
    I try to hush the choir singing in my veins at the sight of him, but it doesn’t help when the high soprano is hitting a five-octave in the center of my core. I didn't realize how much I missed everything about him; I've missed him so much that even though he's standing in front of me I still hurt, worse than before. I've missed his beautifully sculpted body that screams destruction; his northern light eyes; the three scars that mark his face, determining his destiny; everything right down to his uniform of jeans, gray shirt, and black combat boots.
    He looks bigger. Is that even possible, or has it been so long that I don't remember just how huge he is?
    He definitely looks tired. His eyes droop in the way people's do when they are emotionally spent. Other than that he looks exactly the same, cursing and easily letting his anger erupt.
    How long have we been standing here staring at each other? I don't think one of us has blinked. Why hasn't he come to me? Why haven't I gone to him?
    I'm the first to blink and that draws us out of our trance. Jay's expressionless face hardens and his jaw grinds back and forth, a scowl working his upper lip. I'm having a flashback to the day we first met, except this time I don't cower back. I stand up straighter and match his features.
    “What the fuck are you doing here?” He grinds out.
    “ It's good to see you too,” I snap, pretending that he didn't just twist the shit out of my heart with his words and demeanor. I seize the paper off Ben's desk.
    I begin my tantrum stomping, ready to give Jay a piece of my mind. Like why the hell do I have three million dollars in my name! Not once in my life did I ever think I would be pissed off to be a millionaire.
    I open my mouth as I'm fast approaching him, but I recall his anger that brought him into this room.
    My feet skid to a stop, “You were the one having me followed!”
    “ Babe...” is his reply, his face showing me the answer is obvious.
    “ Think you could have let me know that? Dammit, Jay!” I stomp my foot, pointing an angry finger at him with the same hand that's clutching the paper, crinkling it in my grasp, other hand at my hip, “I was seriously freaked out by him! All you had to do was have him say, 'Jay sent me.' That's it!”
    “ Babe,” he has the nerve to say again, with the same expression of this being self-evident.
    “ Don't you babe me, mister!” Now my hand has formed a full fist, showing him I'm ready to take him out if need be.
    He looks up to the ceiling as though he's asking for the strength to deal with me, “If you knew why he was there, you would have been over there every day with pie, trying to become his new best friend.”
    Humph, he thinks he knows me so well. I don't care if he's right.
    Jay's trying to suppress his entertainment over my tantrum.
    I'm glad he's enjoying this.
    Jerk.
    My fingers scrunch even tighter together, crinkling the paper further and reminding me why I'm here.
    I make my way closer, stopping a few feet away and tilting my head back, almost giggling at how it keeps having to tilt further and further until the crown of my head hits the start of my spine.
    “Care to explain this to me?” I slam the statement into his chest, giving it a push, but of course he doesn't budge. Damn him and his muscular awesomeness.
    His hand clutches over mine,