Noah
Tossing and turning on the lumpy office couch, Noah checked his phone for what felt like the hundredth time that night. The screen remained stubbornly blank, no new messages from Hannah.
He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting.
“Damn it, Hannah,” he muttered under his breath. “One simple thing. That’s all I asked.”
He had been clear about the conditions of her trip. If she didn’t want to bring a bodyguard, fine—well, not fine, but he couldn’t really argue with her—but she was supposed to text him each night to let him know she was safe. It wasn’t such an unreasonable thing for a husband to request of his wife, was it?
Rising from the sofa, Noah paced the length of his office, unable to shake the uneasy feeling in his gut. He knew Hannah could take
