NOT MY STORY BUT I WANT TO SHARE
Chapter 1
Francesca glanced around when Ian Noble entered the room, mostly because everyone else in the
luxurious restaurant bar did the same thing. Her heart jumped. Through the crowd she saw a tall man
dressed in an impeccably tailored suit remove his overcoat, revealing a long, lean body. She immediately
recognized Ian Noble. Her gaze lingered on the elegant black overcoat draped over his arm. The random
thought hit her brain that while the black coat was right, the suit was all wrong. He belonged in jeans,
didn’t he? Her observation made no sense whatsoever. He looked fantastic in the suit, for one, and for
another, according to a recent article she’d read in GQ, he was reputed to almost single-handedly keep
London’s Savile Row thriving. What else would a businessman who was the scion of a minor branch of
the British monarchy wear? One of the men who had entered with him reached to take his coat, but he
shook his head once.
Apparently, the enigmatic Mr. Noble wasn’t planning on doing more than making a cursory appearance
at the cocktail party he was hosting in Francesca’s honor.
“There’s Mr. Noble now. He’ll be so pleased to meet you. He loves your work,” Lin Soong said.
Francesca heard the subtle note of pride in the woman’s voice, as if Ian Noble was her lover instead of
her employer.
“He looks like he has far more important things to do than meet me,” Francesca said, smiling. She took
a sip of club soda and watched as Noble spoke tersely on a cell phone while two men stood nearby, his
overcoat remaining slung in the crook of his arm in readiness for a quick getaway. The subtle slant of his
mouth told her he was irritated. For some reason, this all-too-human display of emotion relaxed her a
little. She hadn’t revealed it to her roommates—she was known for possessing a ‘whatever, bring it on
attitude’—but she’d been strangely anxious about meeting Ian Noble.
The crowd returned to their conversation, but the energy level of the room had somehow amplified with
Noble’s arrival. Odd that such a distinctive, sophisticated man would become an icon for a tech-savvy,
T-shirt-wearing generation. He looked to be thirtyish. She’d read Noble had earned his first billion with
his breakthrough social-media company years ago, before he’d put it up for a public offering, made
thirteen billion more, then promptly started another hugely successful Internet retail business.
Everything he touched turned to gold, apparently. Why? Because he was Ian Noble. He could do
anything he damn well pleased. Francesca’s mouth curved in amusement at the thought. It somehow helped
to think he was arrogant and unlikeable. Yes, he was her benefactor, but like artists throughout history,
Francesca had a healthy dose of distrust for the patron shelling out the money. Sadly, all starving artists
needed their Ian Nobles.
