Chapter 7 Chapter 7
Emily's POV
The door to my new room closed behind me with a soft click, and for a moment, I just stood there, breathing. I was really here in Noah's apartment. This was all too real now. I set my suitcase down slowly and glanced around the room. It was… nicer than I had expected. Actually, that was an understatement.
The room was simple but thoughtfully arranged, the walls were white, there was a wide window letting in late afternoon light, a neatly made bed with charcoal sheets, and a small desk facing the window. There was even a shelf with a couple of unopened notebooks and a reading lamp. I could not believe this... how neat this space looked. This was totally not what I had expected.
If someone had asked me what Noah Harris’ apartment looked like, I would’ve said something between a locker room explosion and a frat house crime scene with sticky floors, Pizza boxes, and probably a mysterious smell I couldn’t identify. Instead… It was clean. It was clean in the order that suggested someone actually cared about their environment. That realization unsettled me more than it should.
I let out a breath as I unzip my suitcase slowly, folding my clothes into the dresser drawers one by one.
Pink sweaters.
Workout leggings.
Blazers.
My therapy bands and rehabilitation tools went into a neat basket beside the desk. My laptop settled into its spot like it belonged there. It felt strange unpacking pieces of my life into someone else’s space, especially Noah's. Even thinking about his name made my shoulders tense. The reputation alone was enough to build a wall in my mind. Arrogant, reckless, emotionally unavailable, permanently surrounded by flashing cameras and temporary girlfriends. I’m not here to like him. I’m here to do my job and then leave.
I placed my framed photo of April and me on the desk. Her bright smile steadied something in my chest. “You’ve got this,” I murmured quietly.
A knock sounded at the door. My stomach tightened instantly as I looked over at the door. I smoothed my sweater before opening it. Noah was standing in the hallway as if he had stepped out of a sports magazine cover. He was tall, with broad shoulders. The dark hoodie stretched across his chest. His hair was slightly messy, like he ran a hand through it one too many times. And his eyes... They were blue and sharp, tired in a way that made something in my chest twist unexpectedly. He was annoyingly, unfairly gorgeous, which was exactly why I needed to keep my distance from him. My brain immediately replayed the articles I had seen online, such as the nightclub photos, rumors, and fights.
Stay focused.
“Hey,” he said, his voice was lower than I had expected.
“Hi.” Was all that I said. There was a brief silence where we both seemed unsure how to exist in the same hallway.
He scratched the back of his neck. “Uh… I was going to order food. Do you need anything?” he asked.
I blinked at his question, surprised that he actually asked me. Well, he is a playboy, so I shouldn't even be surprised. “That depends,” I said cautiously. “Define food.”
He frowned slightly. “Takeout.”
Of course.
Without answering, I stepped past him and headed down the hallway towards the kitchen. I heard his footsteps behind me. “Uh... Emily?” he said cautiously.
I ignored him and began opening cupboards. The first one revealed chips, there were three different brands. The second cupboard held cookies, crackers, and something that might qualify as candy pretending to be protein.
My eyebrows slowly rose. “Oh my gosh.”
“Don’t start,” Noah muttered behind me.
I opened another cupboard. There were more snacks. “Noah.”
“What?”
“Do you survive entirely on junk food?” I asked.
“I’m alive, aren’t I?”
I walked to the fridge and pulled it open. There were beer cans, energy drinks, and two sad-looking lemons. Further on, there was nothing else. I stared disappointingly at the inside of the fridge before slowly closing it.
I turn towards him. “You’re an NCAA athlete.”
“Yes.”
“You play a physically demanding sport.”
“Yes.”
“And this...”I gestured dramatically at the fridge, “Is your nutrition plan?”
He shrugged like it was no big deal. “It works.”
I walked over to the trash can and opened the lid. There were a lot of Takeout boxes. From Chinese, Burgers, Pizza, and something Thai. I closed the lid slowly. “Noah.”
“Emily.”
“This is a nutritional crime scene.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, and irritation crept into his expression. “Can you not go through my stuff?”
I straightened. “I’m not snooping.”
“You literally just inspected my garbage.”
“I live here now. We share a kitchen.” I said calmly.
“That doesn’t mean you get to audit my lifestyle.”
“It absolutely does when your lifestyle directly affects your physical recovery.” His jaw tightened. “And your shoulder rehabilitation.” I added.
He rubbed his face. “I knew this was coming.”
I pulled out my phone. “I’m ordering groceries.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No healthy rabbit food,” he said firmly.
“It’s not rabbit food.”
“It is if it’s green.”
I rolled my eyes. “Athletes require balanced nutrition for muscle repair, joint recovery, and inflammation control.”
“Yeah, well,” he muttered, “I’ve been doing fine without kale.”
“You’ve also been injured.”
“That was a hit.”
“Your diet doesn’t help.”
He exhaled sharply. “You’ve been here ten minutes, and you’re already taking over.”
“I’m not taking over, I’m improving conditions,” I said as calmly as I could.
“That sounds like taking over.”
I began scrolling through a grocery delivery app. I tapped on Chicken breast, Vegetables, Whole grain pasta, and Greek yogurt. Noah stood next to me, watching the screen as if I were ordering explosives. Him being this close to me felt so wrong. I felt the heat coming off him.
“I’m not eating quinoa,” he warned.
“You will.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Emily.”
“Protein and complex carbohydrates are not optional.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, frustration radiating off him. “You’re impossible,” he muttered.
“Healthy,” I corrected. But then something caught my attention.
His posture.
The way he was leaning slightly to one side. The subtle forward slump of his right shoulder. My professional instincts kicked in instantly. “Stop,” I said as I turned fully towards him to inspect with my naked eyes.
He blinked. “What?” His brows furrowed.
“Stand up straight.”
“I am standing straight.”
“No, you’re compensating.” His brow furrowed again.
I stepped even closer before I could stop myself. “Your right shoulder is rotated forward,” I said quietly. “You’re protecting it.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” I reached out instinctively, stopping myself just before touching him. The space between us suddenly felt very small. I swallowed as he stared at me. “Lift your arms,” I demanded, but he hesitated.
“Why?”
“Just do it.” He raised his arms slowly. His jaw tightened slightly when his injured shoulder lifted. The pain was there, it was subtle but real. “You see?” I said softly.
He lowered his arms again. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
“It’s manageable.”
“It’s a compensation pattern,” I replied. “If you keep favoring that side, you will create a muscular imbalance in your upper back.”
He stared at me. “You figured that out in thirty seconds?”
“It’s my job.”
He exhaled slowly. For the first time since I arrived, his defensive posture softened slightly. “You’re serious about this,” he said quietly.
“Yes.”
“Even the food thing?” he asked.
“Yes. Even the food thing.”
He looked at the grocery list on my phone. I had added more things to the list. They were Chicken, Spinach, Avocados, and Salmon. He grimaced. “You’re ruining my life.”
“I’m extending it.”
He shook his head, but there was something different in his expression now. It was curiosity, a reluctant respect, or maybe it was just resignation. “I hate vegetables,” he muttered.
“You will survive.”
“You’re bossy.”
“You’re reckless.”
He snorted and for a moment, the tension between us shifted into something that was a bit normal. He cleared his throat and stepped back. “Order whatever,” he said. “Just don’t expect me to enjoy it.”
I smile faintly. “We will work on that.”
As I finalized the grocery order, I felt his gaze on me again. I realized something unsettling. Living here wasn't going to be simple, not because Noah was difficult, but because beneath the headlines and bad habits… There was a human being standing in front of me. And that might make this internship far more complicated than I ever planned.