WHAT HE CONFIDES (What He Wants, Book Twenty-Four) Read online

  WHAT HE CONFIDES (What He Wants, Book Twenty-Four)

  Hannah Ford

  Contents

  Copyright

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  WHAT HE CONFIDES

  WHAT HE CONFIDES

  Copyright © 2017 by Hannah Ford

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  WHAT HE CONFIDES

  (WHAT HE WANTS, BOOK TWENTY-FOUR)

  WHAT HE CONFIDES

  CHARLOTTE

  I had to walk three blocks to the outskirts of the Middleton campus to get a cab. The taxi drivers knew that law students were all broke, and so they didn’t bother lining up in the campus traffic circle unless there was a special event going on, like Parent’s Weekend or the Alumni Game.

  I considered ordering an Uber to pick me up right outside of the administration building, but I knew Noah had access to my phone and if he saw I’d gotten into a car with an unapproved driver, there’d be consequences.

  So instead I cursed myself for wearing heels as I run-walked the couple of blocks back to 55th Street, where I knew I’d be able to find a taxi. It had been stupid to dress up – the only person I’d ended up seeing was Josh, and he was the last person I wanted to impress.

  Finally, I reached the part of campus that began to bleed back into the city. Now I was back in Manhattan proper, car horns honking, heels slapping against pavement, a crush of people in business attire all hurrying off to their jobs.

  I got a cab right away and hesitated a second when the cabbie asked me where I was going. I’d forgotten to ask Noah if he was going to be at the new building, the one that had an office for me and was connected to his by a room filled with all Noah’s favorite things -- whips, chains, and handcuffs.

  But I figured if he was meeting with Clementine he’d want the privacy of the new office, so I rattled off the address.

  It was ten o’clock, and rush hour should have been over, but the traffic moved agonizingly slowly. When we were about two blocks away, it came to a full stop, and I figured it would be faster to get out and walk the rest of the way.

  So I paid the fare and jumped out of the cab, maneuvering my way through the gridlock until I finally hit the sidewalk.

  When I turned the corner onto 6th Avenue, there was a gaggle of paparazzi hanging outside of Noah’s office, expensive-looking cameras slung around their necks. They were huddled loosely together, most of them drinking coffee from paper cups or smoking.

  The story Noah had warned me about this morning – the one that was going to be in the paper about what had happened at Lameuix’s – must have broken.

  As soon as the photographers spotted me, they got excited. They picked up their cameras and began taking pictures of me, all the while shouting questions so rapidly I couldn’t have answered even if I wanted to. “Charlotte, are you okay? Charlotte, is it true that you killed someone? Charlotte, is the professor obsessed with you? Charlotte, did you get hurt?” “Charlotte, are you and Noah still planning on getting married?”

  IPhones were shoved in my face as the shouting continued. I kept my head down and walked quickly into the building, trying not to think about how frizzy my hair must have looked from my sweaty run across campus.

  I gave my name to the security guard at the desk in the lobby, a big man with a shaved head who looked nothing like the kind of security guards who usually manned the desks of posh New York City buildings -- usually the guards were kindly old grandfather types or kids just out of college.

  This guy looked like the type you didn’t want to fuck with.

  “Um, hi,” I said. “I’m Charlotte Holloway, I’m here to see Noah Cutler.”

  “I know who you are,” the guard said ominously. He hit a button and the turnstile went up, allowing me access to the bank of shiny elevators. The car was already waiting in the lobby, and I slid inside.

  When I stepped off onto the floor of Cutler and Associates – or, technically, Cutler and Cutler, if I could ever manage to finish law school and pass the stupid bar – I was shocked at the amount of activity that was taking place.

  The place was full of people who, I assumed, had worked for Noah at his old office and had now been brought over here.

  A receptionist sat at the curved reception desk, already answering phones and typing messages into a shiny new chrome computer. Behind her, cubicles were scattered around the open floor plan, all of them filled with junior associates. There were a small number of offices around the perimeter and continuing down the hallway. Most of the doors to these offices were closed, but a few of them were open, and I could see smartly-dressed lawyers working away at their desks.

  Everyone was dressed in sleek, perfectly tailored business suits or similar, all in shades of black, navy blue, or dark gray. Even the receptionist was wearing a fitted black blazer and matching skirt, her blond hair pulled back in a slick ponytail. Suddenly, I felt woefully underdressed.

  “Can I help you?” the receptionist asked me brightly. She was friendly but not overly so, and I knew she had probably been chosen for this exact reason. Client satisfaction was important, but the real clients -- the ones who were important enough to count -- wouldn’t have to go through a receptionist.

  “I’m just here to see Mr. Cutler, “ I said.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, sounding like she wasn’t. “Mr. Cutler is in a very important meeting and he asked not to be disturbed.” She delivered it with a certain kind of gravitas, as if she’d been given a grave responsibility.

  “I’m Charlotte. I’m his fiancé,” I said, showing her the ring on my finger as if this proved it.

  “I’m sorry, but Mr. Cutler said no exceptions. And he made no mention of a fiancé.” She gave me a slightly smarmy smile, as if to say ‘if you were that important I would have heard of you.’

  What was with this chick? I didn’t have time to play Prove You’re Important Enough To See Noah with some girl I’d just met, so I ignored her and headed for Noah’s office, aware of her calling after me and the curious looks some of his staff shot my way.

  I wondered if anyone here who I was. I’d passed them in the hallways of Noah’s office sometimes, but I knew none of them, hadn’t been introduced to any of them. Did they know my name? Did they even know I was the other Cutler on the sign? Or was this another example of Noah keeping me at arm’s length?

  I knocked on the door of his office but didn’t wait for a response before walking in.

  Noah was sitting behind his desk, and Clementine was behind him, leaning over as she opened a manila folder.

  “Charlotte,” Noah said, frowning. He stood up and crossed the room to me, his eyes darkening. One look at my face, and he could tell I was upset. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, she just pushed her way in,” the receptionist said from behind me. “I told her there were no exceptions, but she wouldn’t listen.” She bent over and held her side, pretending to be out of breath, like she’d been chasing me down
the hall or something.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Charlotte is not an exception,” Noah snapped. “She owns half of this office, and is therefore your boss.” He glared at her. “Go back to your desk, Ciara.”

  Ciara’s face clouded with disappointment and surprise, the look of a girl who wasn’t used to being scolded. But she recovered quickly. “Yes, sir. Please let me know if you need anything else.” She walked out, shutting the door behind her.

  “What’s wrong?” Noah demanded again once she was gone. His eyes traveled my body, instinctively checking for any signs of damage. It was something he’d been doing a lot lately, so much so that I was starting to get used to it. “Are you hurt?” He’d taken off his suit coat since I’d seen him that morning, and the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt were rolled up, exposing his muscular forearms.

  “No, I’m not hurt.”

  His face softened in relief.

  “But everything’s not okay,” I added quickly. I glanced over at Clementine, who sighed and crossed her arms over her chest, as if my intrusion was akin to a child bothering its parents. “I found out who made the disciplinary complaint against me.” I handed Noah the copy of the complaint.

  I waited as he skimmed it quickly, his eyes scanning down the page until he reached the signature.

  “It was Clementine,” I said, although I wasn’t sure why since obviously Noah could read, and obviously Clementine knew she’d done it. “She made the complaint against me. Against us.” My heart was still pounding, and I held my breath, waiting for Noah to kick her out of the office.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Clementine said. “Why the hell would I do that?” She was wearing a black sheath dress with cap sleeves. It was printed with soft pink and white flowers, and a thin black belt emphasized her tiny waist. Her hair was pulled back in a chic, loose chignon. She looked professional and sexy, yet totally effortless at the same time. I hated her.

  “Two reasons,” I said, somehow feeling emboldened. “Either you’ve been in on everything this whole time, or you just wanted to fuck with me.”

  “And why, Charlotte, would I want to fuck with you?” She sounded completely exasperated.

  “You tell me.” I wanted to hear her say it, wanted to hear her say that she was still in love with Noah, that she resented the fact that we were together, that she hated that loved me and we were getting married.

  “I have no idea,” she said. She blinked at me innocently and then looked at Noah, as if to say, what the hell is this chick talking about?

  “Really, Clementine? You have no idea?” I shook my head. “We need to call the police.”

  “What?” Clementine asked. She laughed. “That’s completely ridiculous. Call the police and tell them what?”

  “That you might have had something to do with the girls from Force.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a little weird, don’t you think? That you just happened to be the one who called Noah and made sure he took the case?”

  She narrowed her eyes, her lips curling into an evil smile. Up until now, our resentment for each other had simmered below the surface. But now it was completely boiling over. “It sounds like you’re feeling a little bit insecure about your relationship, Charlotte. And I’m not the person you need to be taking that out on.”

  “Clementine, it’s time for you to go,” Noah said. “We were finished here anyway.”

  I thought for sure she would protest, but a second later, she shrugged. She gathered her papers from the desk, put them into a sleek black briefcase, and began to walk toward the door.

  She brushed her hand against Noah’s chest as she passed by. “Call me later.” I knew she was just touching him because I was there, because she wanted to act as if no matter what, he was still hers.

  When she left, I could still smell her perfume.

  As soon as the door shut behind her, I whirled around to face Noah. “She was the one who made the complaint. You know that, right?”

  “I don’t know that, Charlotte.”

  “What?” I crossed my arms as he walked back over to his desk, loosening his tie as he went. He was staring down at something on his desk, some other work, as if perhaps the conversation we were having was over. “You can’t be serious.”

  “You think I haven’t seen that complaint before, Charlotte? You think I didn’t get a copy of it as soon as I found out it was being filed?”

  I gaped at him. “Then why the hell didn’t you tell me she was the one who filed it?”

  “Because I don’t know if she was the one who filed it.”

  “Her name is on it!”

  “It’s easy enough to put your name on something, Charlotte.” He looked up from his work, his eyes boring into mine. His voice was low and growly, and I could tell I was on dangerous ground, that he didn’t like being pushed to discuss something he didn’t want to discuss. “And you should know more than anyone that things aren’t always what they seem.” I knew he was talking about his murder case, about how he’d been accused of something he didn’t do, how he was innocent even though all the signs pointed to him. But that was different.

  “Yeah, and sometimes they are exactly what they seem. You don’t think it’s strange that Clementine was the one who called you that day, that she tipped you off about the Lilah Parks case?”

  He shrugged. “It could be a coincidence. She could have been in on it, or she could have gotten the information fed to her by someone close to Worthington.”

  “Wow,” I said, shaking my head. “That must have been some grade-A pussy she was giving you, Cutler.”

  His head snapped up at my words. “Jealousy is not a good look on you, Charlotte.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry for looking at evidence and making a judgment that any sane person would make.”

  “Come here,” he commanded, setting down the documents he’d been looking at and sitting down at his desk.

  I wanted to resist him, wanted to punish him because I felt like he wasn’t taking my side. I knew it was petty, but I didn’t care. I just loved him so much. I knew we’d been through something traumatic, but ever since we’d gotten back from upstate, there’d been this distance between us, and I hated it. Hated feeling like he was far away from me, hated feeling like his walls were impenetrable. I’d hoped that we’d be getting back to our lives, but now…now I was beginning to worry that maybe we weren’t.

  That maybe this was just how it was, how it was always going to be.

  In the end, my need to be close to him won over, and I walked over to him and let him pull me onto his lap. I buried my face in his neck, inhaling the smell of his cologne, enjoying the feel of his freshly shaven skin against mine.

  “Have I done anything to make you question my love for you?” he whispered into my hair. He wasn’t being petulant, wasn’t asking in a sarcastic way. He sounded like he really wanted to know, like he really was worried that perhaps he’d done something to make me question the way he felt about me.

  “No,” I said. “You haven’t.” It was true. I knew he loved me. I had no question that his feelings were real. What I questioned was his ability to let me in the way I craved, to let me know the real him, to own his entire heart, his body, his soul, the way he owned mine.

  “So Clementine was wrong?” he pressed. “When she said you don’t feel secure?”

  “I feel…I feel secure that you love me. I know you don’t want anyone else.”

  “But?” he prompted, tilting my chin up and staring into my eyes. My pulse leapt at his touch, at his closeness, at the feel of his strong body holding mine. His eyes were so intimidating. He took my breath away.

  “But you’re a beautiful, gorgeous, rich man. You could have whoever you want, and that’s intimidating. And it doesn’t help when I feel like there’s always something between us,” I said. “I feel like every time I try to get close to you, really close to you, you keep something there, stopping me.”

  He looked away from
me, his brow furrowing. “It kills me that you feel that way, that I can’t give you everything you need.”

  “Then why can’t you let me in?” I asked softly.

  “I’m trying, Charlotte. I really am.”

  His fingers twisted through my hair, letting the strands fall through his fingers as we sat there in silence.

  My phone rang a few seconds later, and Noah reached into my purse and took it out, picking up the call without asking my permission.

  “Yes?” he answered, his eyes never leaving mine. “Yes, thank you. Yes, she’ll be there.” He ended the call without saying goodbye. “Dr. Solomon’s had a cancellation for three o’clock today. I told her receptionist you will be there.”

  My head snapped up. With everything that had happened this morning with Clementine, I’d totally forgotten about him making an appointment for me with an obgyn. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “As I said this morning, kidding isn’t really my thing.” His hands had slipped up under my sweater and they were moving across my lower back. “Why are you wearing this heavy sweater?” he murmured. “Who bought this?”

  “You did,” I said, taking his hand and removing it from my back. “Are you even going to tell me what this appointment is for? Since you obviously didn’t seem to think it necessary to tell me that you made it.”

  His lips tightened in disapproval as I entwined my fingers with his, keeping him from touching me. “It’s an appointment to go over your birth control options.”

  “I’m on the pill.”

  “The pill isn’t one hundred percent effective.”

  “Thanks for the lesson in birth control, doctor,” I said, rolling my eyes. “But I took ninth-grade health. Nothing is one hundred percent effective.”

  “You’ll need a back-up form of contraception.” His face was impassive, his words clinical. Any sign of the vulnerability he’d shown a few moments ago was gone, and now he was back to his bossy, Noah Cutler, my-way-or-the-highway tone of voice.