by Ford, Hannah
The ache in my ass and my pussy deepened, a reminder of how he’d filled me.
“So there was an article published?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer. “Like you were expecting?”
Noah nodded. “Online.”
I swallowed and reached for him, running my fingertips over the smooth skin of his chest. I began to trace a random circular pattern, and then let my fingers trace out the words I LOVE YOU. I liked that I could do that without him knowing, like it was my own secret way to let out my feelings, to make him feel as if he were mine.
“What did the article say?” I asked, bracing myself.
“Nothing unexpected.”
“What does that mean?” I was done with my I LOVE YOU and I started again back at the “I.”
“Charlotte.”
The tone of his voice made me sit back up. “What?” I asked, staring at his face, which had gotten serious. “What is it? Is it something bad?”
He hesitated, then reached up and pushed my hair back over my shoulders. “There’s a quote in there from your mother.”
I sucked in a breath through my teeth, my chest suddenly tightening. My mother who’d cheated on my stepfather and had a one-night stand with a reporter. “What did it say?”
“Charlotte –“
“Noah, what did it say?” I was sitting up completely now, pulled away from him, his body separate from mine.
“It said something about our fight, about how you had a temper. About how you’d sometimes expressed that temper physically.”
My throat tightened. “That’s ridiculous,” I said. “I don’t…I hit her one time, Noah.” Slapped her once. After she’d said such horrible things to me that I felt like I couldn’t take it anymore.
“I know,” he said. “It’s a stupid article, Charlotte, and it was only one line. Everyone knows that people say things in articles that aren’t true.”
“But it was true. I did hit her.”
“Why do you care what other people think?”
“I don’t. I care what she thinks.”
“Come here.” He pulled me close, letting his hands run up and down my bare back as I resumed my secret little game of writing I LOVE YOU on his chest. “Have you talked to her?” he asked.
“No.” I knew I should have called her and told her what had happened at Lameuix’s house, but I couldn’t make myself do it, even thought I was sure she was going to read about it in the papers. She obviously already had, and she hadn’t called me, hadn’t even been worried enough to see if I was okay.
“What about Clementine?” I pressed, anxious to change the subject.
“I’ll look into it.”
“Noah.”
“Everything will be okay,” he said. “Trust me.”
He sounded so sure that for a second, I let myself believe him.
He pulled my hand from his chest, where I was halfway through another “LOVE” and kissed my knuckles. “I love you too,” he whispered in my ear.
I smiled.
Even when I thought I was being so sneaky, nothing got past Noah Cutler.
* * *
I showered and changed in the bathroom that was off of my office, the office that was on the other side of our sex room, or whatever you wanted to call it. A sex room sounded so crass, but what else was it, really?
When I was finished, I dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a soft baby blue pullover I found in the bathroom closet, figuring if I was going to the doctor, I might as well be comfortable. I shook my head as I took the tags off the yoga pants – two hundred dollars for a pair of pants you were supposed to exercise or lounge in seemed insane. But I had to admit that when I put them on, the material slid over my skin like butter and the pants made me look ten pounds lighter than I actually was.
“What am I supposed to call that room?” I asked as I walked back through it and into Noah’s office, shutting the door behind me.
“What room?”
“That room. The sex room.”
He was back at his desk, not a hair out of place. He’d put his suit back on, and retied his tie, and he looked luscious and perfect. He was frowning at a document on his computer.
“I like ‘the sex room’,” he said, sounding so dead serious I wasn’t sure if he was joking. “You should call it that.”
“I’m serious.”
“Why do you have to call it anything?”
“I don’t know.” I frowned.
“Are you planning to tell someone about it?” He sounded amused at the thought.
“No.”
“Then it’s just a bedroom.”
“Okay.” I sighed, still marveling at the way he was able to compartmentalize things to easily. To him it was just a bedroom, because there was a bed in it. There were other things in there, too – whips, handcuffs, all sorts of sex tools and torture devices – but he didn’t think about that. Or rather, he didn’t let himself think about it. I was jealous of his ability to do that, even as I wondered what was healthier – doing that, or overanalyzing things the way I did.
“Are you ready for your appointment?”
“I guess.” I shrugged. “I’m going home to walk Docket first.”
He started to protest, but I thrust my chin in the air. “He’s my dog. He’s our dog. He can’t always be with dog walkers, Noah, it’s not fair. I want to walk him. And besides, you already agreed to it.”
“Fine. But you’ll text me when you’re done.”
“Of course.”
“I made reservations for 8 o’clock at Ironwood.”
“Ironwood,” I said, repeating the name of the five star restaurant he’d chosen. “Very fancy.”
“I will walk you downstairs.”
“I can handle the paparazzi.”
“I know you can,” he said, but he was already standing up, buttoning his suit coat and getting ready to take me downstairs.
When we walked out of Noah’s office, a hush fell over his employees. It was interesting to me, seeing how everyone reacted to Noah as a boss. They all straightened up, pretending to work as they watched us out of the corners of their eye, wondering if Noah was going to notice them, to make a comment, good or bad.
He commanded the whole entire room, took up all the space, his presence magnetic. It was a sight to behold, and yet I couldn’t help but wonder if going into business with him was the best idea – how could I be sure to find my place here when this place was so Noah?
He’d done his best to make sure that I had a place here, that the décor of my office fit me perfectly, and he’d done an amazing job. But there was still that feeling of having something handed to me, of this not really being my place. I pushed the unwelcome thoughts out of my mind as we stepped into the elevator and Noah pushed the button for the lobby. It was the last thing I needed to be thinking about. With my law school career going the way it was, I was a long way from worrying about where I was going to work when I graduated.
As the doors started to close, I noticed that Ciara wasn’t at her desk.
“Where’s Ciara?” I asked dryly.
“I fired her.”
I turned to him. “You what?”
“I fired her.”
“When?”
“When you were in the shower.”
“For what?”
“Charlotte, please.”
I still gaped at him incredulously. “Are you joking?”
“Again with the joking,” he said. “When I’ve told you multiple times today how I feel joking.”
I shook my head. “You are a shark, Cutler.”
“She’ll be fine,” he said. “I’ll give her a meddling reference.”
“How will a meddling reference make her fine?” I asked.
“A meddling reference from me will mean more than an amazing reference from someone else.”
We stepped out of the elevator and he led me out of the building, walking me to the curb, where Jared was waiting with the black town car. Noah opened
the back door and I started to get in. At the last second, he stopped me.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“You’ll be careful?”
“Yes, of course.” He reached for me, pulling me close and kissing me on the lips. I was instantly aware of the sound of cameras going off behind us. If they couldn’t get us to comment on what had happened at Lameuix’s compound, they’d settle for a shot of us kissing.
“There’s reporters,” I giggled.
“Do I look like I give a fuck?”
“No,” I said. “You look like a man that gives no fucks.”
He kissed me again.
His cell phone rang from inside his pocket. It was a ringtone I hadn’t heard before.
He pulled it out and frowned, his jaw tightening.
“Did you change your ringtone?” I asked.
“No.” He answered the phone without any further explanation. “Cutler,” he snapped. I was close enough so that I could hear the voice on the other end, a male voice that was speaking with an accent. English? French? I couldn’t hear well enough to tell. A second later, I thought I heard him say the name “Audi” but I couldn’t be sure. Noah’s brother.
Noah’s brow furrowed, a vein in his neck throbbing at whatever the person on the other end of the phone was saying. “Are you fucking kidding me? When?” His hand tightened around the phone, so tight that his knuckles began to turn white. “Yes, I would say now would be as good a time as any,” he said sarcastically. “Where are you?”
He trailed off as another black town car pulled up behind us, this one with tinted windows so dark I couldn’t see inside of it.
“I see you,” Noah said to whoever was on the other end of the line – apparently the person in the car. “Don’t get out. I’ll be right there.” He clicked off.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Everything’s fine, Charlotte.” He reached out and cupped my chin in his hand, ran his thumb over my lower lip, giving me that look he gave me that melted me, the look that made me feel like he was as awed by me as I was by him. “I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too.”
“Please be safe.”
“Promise.” I slid into the car and Noah leaned down to talk to Jared. “Please make sure she gets home safe, Jared. She’ll walk Docket, then she has an appointment on 43rd Street at three o’clock that she must not be late to.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
“Of course, sir,” Jared said.
Noah shut the door and I turned and watched out the back window as he walked back toward the car that had pulled up behind us. He got into the backseat and the car sped off, sliding into the midtown Manhattan traffic like a crazy person before Jared even had a chance to pull out.
As we watched the car go by, I thought I saw a look of concern cross Jared’s face, which I could see in the side mirror.
“Wow, whoever that is, they’re driving crazy, even for New York,” I tried, hoping perhaps he’d feel like offering some information.
“Yes,” he agreed, but said no more.
“Do you know who it was?” I asked, trying for nonchalant and failing.
“I’m not sure, miss,” Jared said. He reached over and turned on the radio, letting the classical music that he favored fill the car. I had a feeling he might not be telling me everything, had a feeling that he might have known who it was in that car after all. But his loyalty was to Noah, and always would be.
I knew that’s how it should have been, but I couldn’t help feeling a little perturbed that perhaps this was just another secret Noah was keeping from me.
* * *
I walked Docket, making sure to stop at the luxury pet store that was a few blocks down so he could get a treat from the woman who worked there. Then I took him all the way to Central Park where we played ball for a few minutes. (If you could call me throwing the ball and Docket looking at me mournfully while I encouraged him to go fetch before going to fetch it myself playing ball.)
By the time we got home, we were both tired and hungry, but I didn’t have much time before I needed to leave for my appointment. Even though I wasn’t relishing going, I didn’t want to be late. I’d said I would go, and I would. Besides, it wasn’t the doctor’s fault that Noah had set up the appointment without me knowing about it. She deserved to have her time respected, too.
I left Docket snoozing on Noah’s side of the bed, his belly full from the bowl of food I’d given him. I set out a bully stick for him to chew on when he woke up, and made sure he had fresh water.
Then I locked up and left, texting Noah to let him know where I was. By the time Jared dropped me off in front of the building fifteen minutes before appointment time, Noah still hadn’t replied. I kept thinking about that phone call, about how he’d gotten into that car and taken off. I knew whatever it was must have been something serious and unexpected – otherwise he wouldn’t have left work so suddenly in the middle of the day.
I tried not to obsess about it as I grabbed a turkey sandwich and an orange juice from the café in the lobby of the building. I ate quickly, then took the elevator up to the fiftieth floor, where a placard outside the bank of elevators informed me that Dr. Solomon’s office was located.
She had the whole floor, and the office was beautiful, with huge windows and sweeping, panoramic views of the city and the Hudson River way in the distance. The waiting room was absolutely gorgeous, with none of the usual things you’d see in a doctor’s waiting room -- no plastic chairs, no end tables filled with dog-eared magazines piled up haphazardly.
Instead, there were two white leather couches arranged around a gorgeous glass table with criss-cross chrome legs. In the middle of the table stood a glass vase filled with all different kinds of white flowers – roses, peonies, hydrangeas – with two roses in the middle of the arrangement, one pink and one blue.
There was no reception desk.
Instead, when I walked in, a soft chime alerted, and a young woman with a sleek dark bob came out to greet me.
“You must be Charlotte,” she said, smiling.
“Yes.”
“I’m Natalie, I’m Dr. Solomon’s nurse. I’ll let her know you’re here. It shouldn’t be more than a minute. Can I get you a tea or a coffee?”
“Um, a tea would be lovely.”
“Mango? Black? Green?”
“Mango, please.”
She returned a moment later with a delicate glass teacup on a small white tray. She set it down on the glass table.
“Thank you,” I said.
She smiled. “Of course.” She disappeared back through the door on the side of the room from which she’d come.
Sitting next to my tea on the tray was a tiny cloth satchel, white (of course) and printed with pink and blue flowers, their narrow vines intertwining up the fabric. I opened it to find packets of sugar, splenda, and stevia, along with a tiny clear tube filled with cream, and a perfectly sliced lemon wedge wrapped in plastic. There was also a selection of card stock, printed with information about fertility.
Fertility?
Why the hell would the doctor be giving me information about fertility? Had she gotten confused about why I was there? No, of course not, I realized. This satchel most likely hadn’t been created just for me – it was obviously to every patient who came in.
Was Dr. Solomon a fertility doctor?
I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone, pulled up the internet browser and googled “Dr. Solomon Ob Gyn Manhattan.”
Immediately she popped up. There were hundreds of results, article after article about “New York City’s Best Fertility Expert” and “Fertility Doctor To Manhattan’s Elite” and “Luxury Medicine For Those Who Can Afford It.”
What the hell? Why would Noah send me to a fertility expert? All he’d been saying was how important it was that he never get me pregnant. He’d been adamant about it, obsessed with it even. And earlier today he’d even told me that this a
ppointment was to talk about birth control options.
“Charlotte?” The nurse was back, standing in front of the door that led back to the examining rooms, a friendly smile on her face. “The doctor is ready for you now.”
“Thank you.” I set my tea back down on the tray, not sure exactly what to do with it. I glanced around for a garbage can, figuring it would be rude to just leave my sugar packets and glass sitting there.
“Don’t worry about it,” the nurse said kindly. “Someone will take care of that.”
“Okay.”
She led me down a hallway, past doors that said “Room One” and “Room Two” and yet I saw no other patients – there hadn’t been any in the waiting room, either, and I realized this was by design. There must have been a back entrance, the office set up so that patients wouldn’t see each other, guaranteeing privacy.
Natalie opened the door to Room Three and I stepped inside. “The doctor will be in in a moment.”
“Oh,” I said, surprised that she wasn’t going to stay and ask me questions, to go over my history or take my blood pressure. “Okay.”
“Dr. Solomon prefers to go over everyone’s medical history with them personally,” she explained, seeing the look on my face.
“Great,” I said. I’d heard about this -- concierge medicine. This must be a very exclusive practice, I realized as I sat down on something that looked more like a chaise lounge in a fancy penthouse than a doctor’s examining table.
A second later, there was a soft knock on the door.
“Come in,” I said, suddenly nervous as my hands twisted together.
Dr. Solomon came into the room. She was young and beautiful. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting, but I figured that New York City’s premiere fertility specialist would have been a little older. But she wasn’t. She looked like she was in her late twenties, with golden blonde hair swept back from her face in a sleek chignon.
She wore a white doctor’s coat, but it was fitted in the back, cinched in at the waist and open in the front, showing off a black pencil skirt and an elegant white blouse with ruffled detailing.
Her legs were long and toned. A single pair of diamond studs twinkled in her ears, and a delicate heart-shaped locket hung around her neck. Her eyes were so blue I was sure they had to be contacts. I should have realized that someone with the kind of office she had would have looked like she did.