His Submissive (Fifteen Volume Box Set) Page 17

  “Please give me my phone back, Charlotte.”

  “No,” I said, not because I thought he was actually going to call Professor Worthington, but because I felt like being difficult. I was acting out because I wanted Noah’s attention, or at least some acknowledgment of what was going on. He’d just been arrested for murder. He’d been handcuffed, thrown into the back of a police car, brought to Central Booking like a common thug. And now he was standing there lecturing me about how I shouldn’t have come to such a dangerous place, like that was the most important thing happening right now. “Where is Professor Worthington, anyway?” I asked.

  “He’s not coming.”

  “He’s not coming?” I frowned. “Why not?”

  “Because it pays to know people,” he said cryptically, and held his hand out. “Please return my phone to me now, Charlotte.”

  I handed the phone back grudgingly. “What does that mean, it pays to know people?”

  “It means that I know a lot of the right people who are able to get things done. And so I didn’t need Worthington.”

  My jaw dropped. “You were able to get a judge to sign an order letting you out on bail?”

  “Yes.”

  “By acting as your own lawyer.”

  “Yes.” He glanced over at me. “Don’t look so surprised, Charlotte, I am a lawyer. And in this great country of ours, you’re allowed to represent yourself.”

  “Yes, but it’s always considered a bad idea.”

  “Not when you’re the best.”

  I shook my head. How could he have negotiated his own release so quickly? And on a murder charge? I wasn’t naïve enough to think that there wasn’t a certain level of politics involved in the court system – getting the right judges, knowing the right lawyers, payoffs and back room deals. Some of it was just how things worked, and some of it was dark and against the rules, the kind of thing the people lost their careers over. Was that what Noah had done? Had he called in some kind of favor with some shady judge?

  I took in a deep breath. “Does Worthington know that you acted as your own counsel and negotiated yourself out on bail?”

  “Yes, Charlotte. I called and let him know.”

  “And he didn’t care?”

  “The contrary. He was very upset. Even so, he should have called to let you know you wouldn’t be needed at Central Booking. It was very irresponsible of him, and I don’t like the fact that he put you in harm’s way.” His jaw set in a line, and I saw him grind his teeth ever so slightly.

  “I wasn’t in harm’s way.”

  “The fact that you think that makes it even more apparent to me why you shouldn’t have been there.”

  “Please,” I said, rolling my eyes. “There were cops all over that place.”

  “And vagrants.”

  “Yes, and cops.”

  He laughed a little bit, his laugh making it clear he thought I was naïve not only for not realizing how bad the vagrants were, but for thinking that the cops could protect me. His car pulled up to the sidewalk then, and he held the door open for me. I hesitated for a minute before sliding in.

  When we were settled inside, Noah folded his hands in his lap and looked at me.

  “Are we going to talk about the fact that you just got arrested?” I asked.

  “Are you saying that’s what you’d like to talk about?”

  “No. I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want it to have happened. But since it’s a pretty big deal, you’d think we’d have some kind of discussion about it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s what people do, Noah, when something huge like this happens. They discuss it, they talk about it, they tell each other how they feel.”

  “Fair enough.” He shifted on the seat and regarded me across the car. “How do you feel about me getting arrested, Charlotte?”

  “How do I feel about it?” I exclaimed.

  “Yes. You obviously have strong feelings about it, if you’re feeling the need to bring it up.”

  “I don’t… Yes, I have strong feelings about it Noah, you just got arrested for murder. Murder, Noah. Do you know what happens to murderers? They go away for life. They get the electric chair. They – ”

  “There is no death penalty in New York, Charlotte.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t believe you’re being so callous about this.”

  “Is that what you think this is, callousness?”

  “Yes! How can you not be freaking out?”

  “Freaking out?” he repeated, like the term was completely foreign to him. “What good would that do, Charlotte? To freak out? You think this is a surprise to me? Please. They should have arrested me six years ago when Nora died. The only thing to freak out about is how obviously incompetent the police department is that they’d let me roam the streets for this long.”

  I shook my head and turned to look out the window. I blinked hard, telling myself not to cry. What was it he’d said back at the restaurant, exactly? Something about how he’d had to learn to shut his emotions off in order to survive? Was that what this was? Was Noah really terrified, but just not showing it because he’d had to learn to repress his emotions in order to survive? Or was it possible that he didn’t have emotions, that he was a cold sociopath who didn’t care about anything, including the consequences of his actions?

  I almost couldn’t decide which was worse.

  If he was a sociopath, it would be a clear cut answer that I shouldn’t have anything to do with him. But if whatever trauma he’d experienced had caused him to become so shut off that he couldn’t express his feelings, I might be tempted to try and “fix” him, to become like the countless other stupid women who met a damaged man and thought they could make him into what they wanted him to be.

  And I had seen glimpses of it here and there, glimpses of the man he could be.

  But did I really want to spend days, months, years, trying to convince him I was worthy of more than glimpses? Putting the responsibility on myself was a losing proposition, and I knew it.

  And yet when we pulled up in front of his apartment, I was hoping he would invite me inside, was feeling like I needed and wanted to spend more time with him, was afraid he would send me back to my apartment. I wanted to be in his presence.

  So when we got onto the sidewalk and he ushered me inside, I was relieved and happy.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked once we were in his kitchen.

  “No.”

  “But we never got to have our dinner.” He shook his head and grinned. “I left our takeout containers in the back of the police car. The officers probably brought them into the station and enjoyed a nice meal on me.” He laughed, like this was the funniest joke he’d ever heard.

  “You think this is funny?” I asked. “You think it’s funny that you’ve been arrested for murder?”

  He shrugged, then crossed the room to the refrigerator and surveyed the contents. He shut the refrigerator door, obviously not happy with what he saw. “We’ll order in,” he decided, crossing the room and opening a drawer filled with takeout menus. “You need to eat, Charlotte.”

  “No, I don’t,” I said automatically, annoyed that he was still trying to boss me around. “And you shouldn’t be, either.”

  “I shouldn’t be eating?”

  “No!” I said. “You should be upset or angry or scared! Not standing in your kitchen like some kind of fucking statue looking at takeout menus!”

  “Charlotte,” he said, his voice a warning. “It’s been a very long day.”

  I walked over to him and put my hand on his forearm. “Noah,” I said softly. “Noah, what are you doing?”

  He turned and looked at me, his eyes serious, his breathing suddenly slightly labored. “I’m not scared to go to jail.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No. In face, in some ways, it would be a relief.”

  “A relief?” I slid my hand down his arm and intertwined my fingers with his. “Why?”


  “Because then I would finally get what I deserve.” He said it matter-of-factly, with just a trace of sadness, the way you’d talk about a tragedy in the world you couldn’t do anything about, like world hunger or terrorism.

  I took in a ragged breath. “Noah,” I said. “Are you… did you…?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I didn’t kill those women. But I may as well have.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  But he was done talking. He picked up his phone and ordered the food, again without asking me what I wanted.

  When he was done, he went to go shower.

  And this time, I knew better than to push him.

  The Chinese food arrived about twenty minutes later, just as Noah was finishing his shower. We ate at the dining room table in silence, and soon after that, he retreated to his office, telling me had work to do.

  I stayed in the living room, curled up on the oversized couch, doing my reading for my classes the next day. I was somehow able to lose myself in the case studies and the legal briefs, turning pages and making notes, highlighting passages in my books and on my iPad. I blocked out everything that was going on – that Noah had been arrested, that he had withdrawn from me again, that he’d opened up to me about his childhood and told me something horrible that might have only been the tip of the iceberg.

  Finally, at around midnight, Noah came back to the living room.

  “Charlotte,” he said. “It’s time for bed.”

  “I’m not tired.”

  “I don’t care. You need your rest.”

  I sighed and packed my books and papers back into my bag.

  I followed him into the bedroom. He was already dressed for bed, in just a pair of loose-fitting grey drawstring pajama pants and no shirt. The pants hung low on his hips, and I admired his body as we walked down the hall, letting my eyes linger on his tight ass and his chiseled back muscles.

  I got ready for bed in the master bathroom, quickly brushing my teeth, washing my face, and slipping into a long t-shirt. The bedroom was dark when I got back, and Noah was already in bed. I slid in next to him, turning over on my side and facing away from him, toward the windows.

  I held my breath, hoping he would reach for me, or whisper something, or pull me close. I didn’t even care if it was just about sex, if he just wanted to use me to satisfy some kind of urge. I yearned for some kind of connection with him, and if I had to settle for a physical one, I didn’t care.

  “Good night, Charlotte.”

  “Good night, Noah.”

  I lay there for a while, hoping there would be something more, but there wasn’t. I pressed my eyes together and prayed I would be able to fall asleep. And miraculously, after a long time, I did.

  When I woke, the room was pitch black.

  The blinds had been open just a crack when we’d gone to sleep, allowing a tiny strip of the city lights to filter into the room. The bedroom door had been open as well, the nightlight in the hall throwing a faint circle of light onto the carpet.

  But now there was just blackness. For a moment, I was disoriented, blinking hard, trying to make out any objects in the dark room. I groped for my phone on the nightstand and unlocked the screen.

  2:08 am.

  I turned over and shined the light around the room.

  The door was shut, the blinds were closed.

  And Noah was gone.

  I swallowed hard, wondering where he could have gone at two in the morning. He’s probably just in his office, I told myself, working. I didn’t need to go and check on him. It would have been perfectly normal for him to have had trouble sleeping, to decide it was better to get some work done than to lie in bed tossing and turning. He was a grown man in his own house.

  A grown man who’d just been arrested for murder.

  I slid out of bed, making my way to the bedroom door and opening it slowly. The apartment felt eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that came from an empty space.

  “Noah?” I called. But there was no answer. My heart started to pound, wondering if I’d been wrong about him, if maybe he was a murderer, one who’d decided to just skip town and take off in the middle of the night. I started down the hallway, using my phone as a guide.

  I crept into the kitchen, peeking into the office as I went, but it was empty, the door open. The kitchen was neat and tidy, with no sign of anyone.

  I was clutching my phone so hard the hard plastic of the case was digging into my palm. I was about to call Noah’s name again, when I heard a muffled voice. It took me a second to realize it was coming from the terrace outside – the one off the kitchen.

  The door to the terrace was closed, but I could see the outline of a figure through the glass. A scream threatened to spill out of my throat, but then I realized it was just Noah, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  But my relief was short lived. Why was Noah out on his terrace, the rest of the house locked up tight, at two o’clock in the morning? My eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, and I realized now there were two figures on the terrace.

  Someone was out there with Noah.

  “…shouldn’t have come here…” Noah was saying.

  The other figure was a woman, dressed in black jeans and a black leather jacket, her hair pulled back under a black baseball cap. She was leaning back on the railing, her elbows perched on top of the bars.

  “It was important,” she said.

  “Shhh!” Noah said. “I told you to keep your voice down.” He looked behind him into the house, and I quickly crouched down behind the island, holding my breath and praying he wouldn’t see me.

  The woman’s reply was muffled, and I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I peeked around the island, hoping I could see or hear something else. But they moved out of my sight just a little bit, obstructed now by the side of the counter and the furniture out on the terrace.

  “…not to come here…” Noah said again.

  “...wanted to see you in person, Noah… the phone….”

  I watched as she put her hand on Noah’s arm, and he shook his head and grabbed onto the railing of the terrace, leaning over and looking down at the street below. He was still wearing his pajama pants and no shirt, and I hated that she was touching him, hated that she had her hand on his bare arm. It was also too cold to be outside dressed in just a thin pair of pants and no top, and I realized whoever this woman was, she must have shown up completely out of the blue.

  I couldn’t hear any voices now, even muffled ones, and it seemed as if the two of them were just standing there in silence. After a moment, the woman let go of Noah’s am and grabbed a black duffle bag that was sitting on the chair.

  She unzipped it and pulled out two items – a bulky file folder, and a dark green scarf. It was the kind of scarf that was made more for warmth than aesthetics -- it was bulky, with tassels on the ends, and I couldn’t tell from here, but it looked like maybe it had been hand knit.

  She handed Noah the file folder, and he took it. When she handed him the green scarf, she did it slowly, almost reverently, like it was of great importance. He stared down at it for a while, and she put her hand back on his arm.

  I felt like I was spying on some kind of intimate moment, like I was seeing something between two people that was supposed to be private. At the same time, there was obviously something untoward going on, since this woman was showing up in the middle of the night with documents, and Noah had obviously done his best to keep her from me.

  “You should go,” I heard Noah say very clearly. His voice was a little more raised now, and it broke the spell. They began to head toward the terrace door, and I made my way quickly out of the kitchen and back down the hall to the bedroom.

  I shut the door behind me, wincing at the noise it made.

  I climbed back into bed, my heart pounding so fast I could feel the blood rushing in my ears.

  I lay there for what seemed like forever, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe. I watched as the
clock on my phone moved from two to three to four in the morning. Noah still hadn’t returned to the bedroom. I wondered what he was doing – had he left the apartment? I hadn’t heard anyone leave, but it was impossible to know – with the door shut, the lights off, the blinds closed, the room felt more like a cave than a bedroom. Was that woman still here? Was she going to turn up dead? Was I going to turn up dead?

  Finally, at around five in the morning, I heard the sound of the bedroom door opening. I kept my eyes shut and my breathing shallow, hoping Noah would think I was still sleeping. My pulse raced.

  After a moment, I heard Noah moving across the room toward his dresser, then the sound of water running in the bathroom.

  I stayed still.

  The bathroom door opened a few moments later, and I heard the sound of Noah leaving the bedroom and moving down the hallway. This time, he kept the bedroom door open. There were rustling noises in the kitchen before the sound of the front door opening and closing echoed through the apartment.

  Noah was gone.

  I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  I sat up in bed, not sure what to do. I was tempted to start snooping around his apartment, going through his things, seeing if I could find anything that implemented him. The lawyer part of me wanted to. The part of me that was in a relationship, if you could even call it that, wanted to trust him enough not to do that.

  My phone buzzed, and I almost jumped out of my skin. I picked up my phone.

  One new text.

  Noah.

  I’d like to have a meeting with you this morning. Meet me at my office at 7.

  I arrived at the offices of Cutler and Associates promptly at 6:55. I wasn’t sure what this meeting was going to entail, and so I’d made sure to be prompt. I had class that morning, and I couldn’t afford to be late. Whatever this was, I wanted to make sure I got it taken care of quickly. Even so, adrenaline coursed through my body at the thought of a private meeting with Noah.