Chapter 1
Noah
"Watch your step," Noah warned his brother as they maneuvered the heavy wooden bookshelf through his back door. He'd spent months working on the mahogany piece in the evenings and in between business trips.
As he lifted his end, his fingers traced the ridges and grooves resulting from the hours he'd put in carving the intricate design. A deep sense of satisfaction swept over him, along with an appreciation for Tristan's generosity. They had an arrangement. His youngest brother let Noah use his professional workshop for his woodworking projects in return for free labor whenever Tristan landed a big custom furniture order.
"Go left—no, your other left!" Noah called.
"Umph." Too late. Tristan bounced off the wall, but managed to hold on to his end of the bookshelf. They wrangled it around the corner and carefully slid it into place in Noah's sitting room before anchoring it to the wall.
"That looks great," Tristan commented as he rubbed his shoulder. "I like the way you matched the design to Granny's antique hutch. I hadn't picked up on that." He looked around. "Kitchen, bedroom, WC, and now the lounge. What's next? Or are you done with redecorating?"
Noah had purchased his English terraced house—or condo, as his American coworkers would say—ten years ago at the tender age of twenty-four and had been steadily renovating it since he moved in.
"I've been thinking about my entryway. A setup at the pub close to work gave me an idea for a combination coat rack and storage area. Cubicles up top for scarves, hats, etcetera with sturdy hooks along the bottom for coats. Perhaps a bench to sit on and remove shoes." He'd admired the workmanship in the pub's unit and thought he could replicate it using Tristan's tools. "Anyway, I'm still thinking it through in my head."
His brother moved to examine the entrance while Noah talked. "I can see it." He stretched and looked back at Noah. "You look tired, brother. You working too much again? Going for another promotion?"
Noah blew out a breath and led Tristan back to the kitchen, where he pulled out two water bottles from the refrigerator and handed one over. "No promotions on the horizon." His frustration must have leaked out because Tristan paused before taking a drink. "I'm kind of stuck right now with nowhere to go," he explained.
"What does that mean? Remind me again, how long since you made manager?"
"Too long." He winced and took a long drink of his water.
At thirty-four years old, Noah was the youngest production manager at Caprock Enterprises across all their manufacturing plants around the world. He'd worked for the drill bit manufacturer since he was a teenager. The company had helped finance university with a scholarship and he'd begun his career in earnest after graduation. He'd worked steadily up the ladder, mastering every station in the England plant before being promoted to his current position over four years ago.
"Spill it. What's really eating at you?" Tristan snagged a chair from his kitchen table and sprawled in it.
Noah sighed and took a seat across from him. He scrubbed his face, then laid his hands flat on the table. "I've seen big changes in this company over the years—mergers, acquisitions… Don't get me wrong, they've been good moves for the company. But with every big change comes a hundred minor adjustments that those of us on the frontline have no say in, but have to adapt and make it work. I know that's the way companies work, but I've seen too many decisions made by the top dogs that would have gone far smoother had they actually sought input beforehand from those doing the work."
He paused and took a drink before continuing. "The only way I can bring these issues to light is to move up where I can be part of the decision-making process and give more input." Noah shrugged. "The next step up is plant manager, and my boss isn't retiring anytime soon." Noah squirmed as he voiced the unwelcome realization he'd come to months ago. "So, if I want to keep moving forward in my career, I may have to leave Caprock. And I hate that idea."
Tristan raised his eyebrows and took another swallow from the water bottle. The bloke could say a million things without ever opening his mouth, and Noah fidgeted under his scrutiny. "What about this project they put you on that has you traveling so much?" At Noah's questioning look, he shrugged. "Mum complains about it."
Noah winced. "I think my boss suspects I've grown restless and added me to the project to keep me busy." He remembered the day Mitch put his name forth as the operations subject matter expert for the MADS update project. The software they used to track the inventory, production, and sales of their drill bits had been a pain in the neck every day since they'd inherited it. Being chosen to represent operations on the MADS project had come when he needed a new direction.
He shrugged. "The project is interesting. We're fixing this big, ugly accounting system to work for us instead of us adapting our processes to fit it." His brother's eyes glazed over. "Anyway, it's kept me on my toes with having to split my time between project work and managing the production lines at the plant. Probably why I look tired."
"And the travel? Heads up, Mum thinks there's a girl involved."
Noah groaned and rolled his eyes. "I learned my lesson the last time I tried dating someone from work. No, there is no woman involved. The travel is all work-related." Noah smiled. "I actually like the travel bit. It's interesting to meet the people I've been emailing and talking to over the phone."
He shrugged. Caprock's travel budget was legendary. Years ago, a simple miscommunication cost the company millions of dollars. Following that royal screw up, the leadership team had implemented a policy of face-to-face interactions for any big-ticket items. And because oilfield services was a lucrative industry, the company's profit margin could handle the expense. Nobody blinked when a trip was deemed necessary.
"So you're not as bored as you were then? Sounds like Mitch knows what he's doing." Tristan crumpled the plastic bottle and tossed it in the recycle bin in the corner.
"Honestly, I'm hoping something will come out of this project. I'm seeing more sides of the business and working with people in other areas of the company. This kind of visibility might open a door somewhere. I really don't want to leave Caprock. They're my second family." Noah finished his water and tossed the bottle into the bin next to Tristan's, ignoring the churning in his stomach at the thought of leaving.
"And because you're loyal to a fault." Noah opened his mouth to speak, but his brother waved him off. "I'm sure you'll charm everyone into getting your way." Tristan stood. They still needed to unload the lamps and other things their mother had sent over.
Noah followed him out the door. "Uh, you're the charming one in the family." Although he had been called charming by the ladies at work, it was always his brother's face he pictured when he heard the word.
"Well, yes, I am." Tristan winked over his shoulder. "But, I, dear brother, come by it naturally. You, however… well, you had to learn it to survive, didn't you?"
Noah stopped. "What are you talking about?"
"I always thought it odd how you swung back and forth between 'the strong, silent type' and 'charming flirt.' But after listening to Mum and Pops talk about the old days, I realized turning on the charm was a coping mechanism for you. You were always the new kid when they moved around so much. And you used charm to fit in quickly." Tristan shrugged. "The rest of us were 'Noah's little brothers.' No stigma there."
