What He Reasons (What He Wants, Book Twenty-Five)

by Ford, Hannah

  “I look like a mess!”

  “Good.”

  “Why is that good?”

  “Because you look exactly like you should look if you’d just been arrested for a crime you didn’t commit.”

  He let my hand go and I returned it to my lap. Noah was right. I couldn’t show up in court looking too perfect. Otherwise it would seem as if I were too glib, as if I didn’t care that I’d been arrested for murder. A normal innocent person would be distraught and messy.

  I nodded. “Okay. What else?” This was helping. Having a plan gave me something to focus on. It was like an outline for a paper I had to write or something. Number one, the arraignment. Point A of Number One, look like a woman who’d been accused of a crime she didn’t commit.

  “The judge will set your bail.” His hand tightened again around the table again, and I knew he was trying not to get emotional. He knew he couldn’t. If he did, I would fall apart, and he knew it.

  “It will be high.”

  “I will take care of it.”

  I nodded, knowing there was nothing that I could do to dissuade him from this. I knew he would gladly give every penny he earned to make sure I didn’t have to spend another minute in jail.

  And luckily, it wouldn’t come to that. Even with a high bail, there was no way it would even be a drop in the bucket of his billions.

  “Okay,” he said. “All you have to do is stay calm. Try not to freak out. I will take care of everything. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “Yes, I understand.”

  He swallowed, his voice softening. “How are you doing?”

  I opened my mouth to say I was okay, but the words wouldn’t come out. It was like they were so far from the truth that my body wouldn’t allow me to say them.

  Instead, I thought of the baby inside of me.

  Tell him.

  But I didn’t know if I could.

  Not now.

  Not when we were about to go in front of a judge.

  But how could I keep something so huge from him for even a second longer?

  Luckily, the door buzzed then, saving me from having to make a decision.

  The guard came in.

  “We’ll take her to the courthouse now, Mr. Cutler.”

  Noah nodded. “If she gets so much as a scratch on her way there...” he trailed off, not finishing his threat, and the guard looked like he was going to make a smart comment, but then thought better of it.

  “I’ll see you in a few moments, Charlotte,” Noah said.

  And then I was being led out of the room.

  * * *

  T hey loaded me into a transport van, handcuffs back on my wrists.

  When I got inside the courthouse, they took the handcuffs off me.

  I was led into a holding room, where Noah was waiting, and then we were brought into the courtroom.

  As soon as we sat down, I glanced over toward where the prosecutor was sitting, but he was turned away from me. All I could see were broad shoulders and the back of a dark suit.

  The judge came into the room, and we all rose.

  “The State of New York vs. Charlotte Holloway,” the judge recited, adjusting his glasses as he motioned for us to sit down. The nameplate in front of him said Judge Ryan Nolan. I tried to remember if I’d heard any whispers about him at school – law students loved to gossip about all the New York judges -- but my mind was blank. “We are here for an arraignment, so let’s make this quick.” Judge Nolan glanced up at me. “The charge is first degree murder. What do you plead, Ms. Holloway?”

  “Not guilty, Your Honor.” It was the only time I would have to speak, and I was surprised at how strong my voice sounded.

  The judge nodded, as if this were expected.

  “The state is asking that no bail be set in this case,” the prosecutor said.

  My heart leapt into my throat at the words, and I turned to look at him. He was a tall man, handsome, about Noah’s age. He had dark hair brushed back from his face, and striking blue eyes. I knew him. Or at least, I knew of him.

  Penn Dylan.

  The district attorney.

  More specifically, the brand new district attorney, the youngest in New York City’s history. He’d just taken the job a couple of months ago. My classmate Cora had been obsessed with how hot he was, and she loved finding him on google images and then shoving her phone in my face while making comments about what she’d like to do to him.

  But what was Penn Dylan doing here? Usually the district attorney didn’t appear in person, especially not at a simple arraignment.

  It was a bad sign.

  It meant they were taking this seriously, that my case was important, high-profile, and one they intended to win.

  I glanced over at Noah, but he was staring down at his legal pad, giving no reaction to the bombshell news that the state was requesting I be held without bail.

  “Good afternoon, Your Honor,” Penn Dylan said, as if he’d just gotten here and hadn’t already spoken. He rose from his chair like royalty and buttoned his suit in one smooth movement.

  “Good afternoon,” the judge said drily. He seemed no nonsense, and I couldn’t tell if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

  “Your Honor, we have reason to believe that the defendant is a flight risk, and given the severity of the charges, we are asking the state to deny bail.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Noah said, standing up and rolling his eyes in disgust. He sighed as if he couldn’t believe the kind of childish antics he was being forced to put up with. “My client has no previous criminal record, and the state’s case against her is thin at best, reckless at worst.”

  “With all due respect, Judge, the defendant’s counsel has no idea what the state’s case against his client is, as discovery hasn’t started yet.” Penn Dylan turned to look at Noah. “It’s very presumptuous of him.”

  Noah’s eyes narrowed. “My client has ties to the community, and has no problem surrendering her passport as a condition of her bail.”

  “Your client hasn’t been attending law school, has access to an immense amount of money due to the fact that the two of you are involved in a romantic relationship, and has no close ties to her family.” I closed my eyes, remembering the article in the paper, the one with the quote from my mother. That’s what he must have been referring to when he said I wasn’t close to my family.

  “Your Honor, the prosecutor’s overreach is completely based on fantasy and fallacy of law, although not surprising given his history,” Noah said. His history? What the hell did that mean? My stomach rolled. “I understand that he’s eager to prove himself, but such egregious use of the courts to further one’s own career is disgusting.” I could tell he was upset, could tell he was about to maybe lose his temper, which definitely wouldn’t help our case. I remembered the stories I’d heard about him before I met him, that he was ruthless, that he would do anything to win, that he was hotheaded and crazy.

  “Mr. Cutler, do you have anything that would compel me to believe that your client won’t try to run?” the judge asked.

  I did, I realized.

  I had the perfect thing.

  The thing that would absolutely keep me from being considered a flight risk.

  I put my hand on Noah’s wrist, and said his name softly.

  He looked annoyed at the interruption, but bent down to listen to what I had to say.

  “I’m pregnant,” I whispered against his ear, so close I was almost sure I could feel his pulse against my lips.

  He showed no reaction. “Well,” he said. “That will do it.”

  * * *

  M y bail was set at 5 million dollars, and after Noah made arrangements for it to be posted, I was given back my personal belongings and released.

  We drove back home in stony silence.

  When we got inside the apartment – moving past the security guards who were still stationed outside our door -- Noah threw his keys down on the kitchen countertop, an
d it had been silent for so long that the sound was jarring.

  I jumped. “Noah –”

  “You need to eat something,” he said, cutting me off. He pulled out his phone and opened a delivery app, started pushing buttons, choosing things for me to eat without even consulting me.

  “I can’t eat.” I shook my head.

  “Are you sick?” He looked up quickly, his gaze sliding down to my stomach, and I knew what he was thinking. Morning sickness. At least, that’s what it was normally referred to, but I knew from all the posters that had been hung in the doctor’s office that morning sickness could hit you anytime.

  “I’m not sick. I mean, not like that.”

  “Then you should eat.” He finished placing the order, then placed his phone down.

  “Are we going to talk about this?”

  “About how you’re pregnant even though you knew that I had forbid that, or that you thought it would be appropriate to let me know while were in the middle of a courtroom in front of a judge?”

  I stared at him, aghast. “You forbid it? What is this, the 1800s? You can’t forbid someone from getting pregnant, Noah, that’s not how it works.”

  He crossed the room to the bar and pulled out his bottle of whiskey or bourbon or whatever it was that he drank. But there was no way I was going to let this turn into what he wanted it to.

  Him drinking and dominating me, shutting down his feelings and refusing to let me know how he really felt.

  I crossed the room to him and grabbed his wrist. His heart was beating so fast that I could feel his pulse through his dress shirt, leaping and jumping next to his platinum cufflink. I was surprised that he was having such a physical reaction. As long as I’d known Noah Cutler, he’d made sure to keep all this emotions completely in check. “I don’t want you drinking. Not now.”

  He looked at me with surprise, like he couldn’t believe that I would dare to order him around or contradict something he wanted to do.

  He looked right at me and took a long sip of the alcohol.

  I shook my head. “You know, you’re really acting – ” And then I realized something. Something was different from how it usually was when we first got home.

  Docket.

  There was no click of his nails on the floor, no lick of his tongue on my leg, no clang of the metal on his collar, no swish of his tail.

  “Where’s Docket?” I asked, suddenly panicked. I turned and started for the hall, calling his name frantically.

  “Docket is fine,” Noah said.

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s out with his new dog walker.”

  “What?”

  “I hired a new dog walker for him. More of a handler, really. Someone who can take care of him. She has a certification in dog training and came highly recommended.”

  “But he’s our dog! I want us to take care of him.”

  “You cannot leave this apartment, Charlotte. You know that.”

  Rage burned through me, even though I knew Noah was right. There’d already been the matter of Professor Worthington being on loose. Noah had hired guards, and I might have been able to talk my way out of that one, or at least gotten him to allow me to walk Docket once in a while. But there was no way that now that I was a suspect in a murder investigation that he was going to let me out.

  And it wouldn’t have looked right, anyway, me out with Docket, going on walks around the city or playing in Central Park.

  Even though it wouldn’t do anything for my mental health to be locked inside an apartment all day, that’s exactly what the public would expect. If I was out and about, looking like I was having anything close to an enjoyable time, I would be skewered in the media.

  There had already been two reporters standing outside of our building when we’d gotten home. No doubt they’d already heard about Noah Cutler’s fiancé being accused of murder. And it would only get worse.

  “Why did you even get a dog, Noah, if you don’t want to take care of it?” I demanded.

  He didn’t answer, instead taking another sip of his drink calmly. It was infuriating.

  “Fine.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “You don’t want to talk about Docket, you don’t want to talk about how I’m pregnant.” The word “pregnant” still felt foreign on my tongue, the seriousness of it settling around me like a heavy blanket. I was pregnant. I was carrying a child. And I’d been accused of murder. Those were serious things, and if Noah refused to talk about it, well…

  His hand tightened around his drink at the word pregnant.

  “So this is how you’ve chosen to deal with the situation?” I asked. “By drinking and getting rid of our dog?” I shook my head. “And refusing to talk about the fact that we’re going to have a child.”

  He set his glass down on the counter and raised his eyes to look at me. “Stop saying that.”

  “What? That we’re going to have a child? Why? It’s the truth.” If he expected me to have an abortion, he could forget it. There was no way. I had no problem with the idea of abortion, always believing that it was a woman’s choice. I’d even thought that perhaps if it ever came down to it, I’d be able to make that choice for myself.

  But now that there was a real baby inside of me, there was no way.

  It was half me and half Noah.

  And the thought of that made me want him or her.

  Noah stayed silent.

  He began to loosen his tie, and my heart clenched with emotion.

  He was just to beautiful, so sexy, so…. My heart beat faster as I took in his strong hands, his strong jaw, the width of his chest. I wanted more than anything to be close to him, wanted the raw masculinity that radiated from his every pore to take over my thoughts, my mind, my body, to obliterate everything else as I gave him my body and soul.

  I loved him more than I would or ever could love anyone else.

  “I think I should leave for the night,” I said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Charlotte.”

  “I’m not being ridiculous. You’re being impossible.” My eyes filled with tears, because more than anything, I wanted to be here with him, to be close to him.

  Instead, he was acting like a complete asshole.

  “Because of Docket? If you care that much, I’ll call and get him back here.” He picked up his phone to call the dog walker, like him summoning our dog back was going to fix everything.

  “Jesus Christ, Noah, you know this isn’t about Docket! But yes, call her and get him back here, please, because I’m taking him with me.”

  “You’re not going anywhere.” He set his phone and drink down on the counter, his voice a low warning.

  “I’m not a prisoner here, Noah.”

  “You. Are. Not. Going. Anywhere.”

  I turned on my heel and walked to the bedroom, pulled a suitcase from the closet and set it down on the bed. I wasn’t joking. This wasn’t a ploy for him to come and run after me. It wasn’t a tantrum, or an ultimatum. As much as I loved him, as much as I wanted to be with him, if he wasn’t going to even talk about the fact that I was pregnant, well, then I wasn’t going to stay here.

  He could come and talk to me when he was ready to act like an adult, instead of a spoiled child.

  I had no idea where I was going to go. I supposed I could go and stay with my mother, although after what she’d done, talking to that reporter, I wasn’t exactly thrilled at that possibility.

  Not to mention I would have to take the train and I would have a dog with me.

  I wondered if I could find a dog-friendly Uber.

  Noah came into the room and shut my suitcase.

  He took my wrist.

  “No,” I said, wrenching away from him. “Is this worth it to you?” I demanded. “Sending Docket away, why? So you can prove that you’d be a horrible father? Keeping me here, why? So you can prove you can control everything?”

  His jaw set in a strong line, his temple throbbing.

  “Why, Noah?” I pressed.


  “Because I’m no fucking good at this shit, that’s why!”

  “What shit?”

  “This.” He grabbed me and pushed me up against the door, my back against it. “See?” he said. “See?” His breathing was coming in short gasps, and I could feel him pushing against me, his body pinning me to the door behind me.

  His hands were around my wrists, squeezing against my pulse points.

  “You don’t fucking get it, Charlotte. I don’t just want to. I need to.” His hands squeezed my wrists again and then he let them go. He took a step back, scrubbed at his face with his hand. “And now you’re… and I can’t…”

  I knew what he was saying.

  He needed to be able to dominate me.

  To punish me, to use me, to spank me.

  And now on top of all his qualms about being a father, he couldn’t take out his emotions on me sexually the way he needed to.

  “You don’t have to,” I tried, but even as I said the words, I wasn’t sure if I believed them.

  He turned from me and walked to the bed, sat down and put his head in his hands.

  I swallowed. “Look, I’m scared, too. I’ve barely even held a baby.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t understand, Charlotte.”

  I wanted to say that I did understand, but when he looked up, the look on his face stole my breath away.

  He’d never looked at me like that before, so vulnerable, his face filled with emotion.

  “I can’t… I won’t be any good for a baby. And what I need to do to you… I can’t do that if you’re…”

  For the first time since I’d known him, Noah Cutler was at a loss for words.

  I crossed the room and kneeled in front of him, took his hands in mine.

  “Let’s just try,” I said. “We can just try to be normal.” I brought his hands to my lips and kissed them softly. “We can do other things. “

  He reached down and pulled me to him, until I was on his lap, straddling him.

  “No.” He shook his head. “No.”

  “It will be okay,” I said, placing his hands on my backside. “Maybe we can ask the doctor if it’s...”

  This seemed to anger him, and he reached up and pulled me off him slowly, set me down on the bed and walked away, back to the other side of the room by the door. I thought he was going to leave, but instead, he leaned against the closed door, pressing his forehead against the heavy wood.