What He Fights (What He Wants, Book Ten) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) Read online

  “Thank you,” Noah said. “Just coffee for now. We’ll wait for our party to arrive before ordering.”

  The waiter slipped away and Noah regarded me over the table.

  “What?” I asked, feeling self-conscious under his gaze.

  “I just… “ he trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words, which was very unlike him. “You are so goddamn beautiful.”

  My face flushed as the waiter returned and set down a carafe of coffee on the table. Noah picked it up and went to pour some into my cup, but I stopped him.

  “I don’t like coffee.”

  He didn’t listen, instead filling my cup to the brim and watching to make sure I took a sip.

  The liquid was rich, and even though I was drinking it black, it wasn’t bitter. It went down hot and smooth.

  “It’s good,” I admitted. I wasn’t sure if my newfound taste for coffee was because the coffee here was just that good, or because of the pleasure I got from pleasing Noah.

  I noticed for the first time that the table was set for four.

  “Is Josh coming?” I asked.

  “He’s not.”

  “Then who’s the fourth place for?”

  “An associate of Colin’s,” Noah said.

  “An associate?” I frowned.

  “Yes.”

  “For what?”

  “Now that the trial is staring, he thought it would make sense to have more help.”

  “Right.” I set my napkin in my lap and twisted it hard to keep from screaming in frustration. I didn’t want another associate on Noah’s case, didn’t want another pair of eyes looking everything over. I wanted to ask Noah when it had been decided that another person would be working with us, if it was before or after it had been found out that I was on the witness list. Had Professor Worthington brought on another associate because he knew I was about to be thrown off the case?

  I told myself that didn’t make sense. You wouldn’t bring in another lawyer to replace a law student. And murder trials this big always had a team of people working on them. In fact, Professor Worthington had probably had multiple people helping with the case already.

  And now that Noah had been arrested and charged, it would make sense that those people would become more involved.

  Noah reached into his briefcase and pulled out the folder that had been delivered to him this morning. He set it down on the table between us.

  “Charlotte,” Noah said.

  “Yes?” My hands had gone cold, and I reached out and grabbed my coffee cup, taking another sip before setting it back down on the table and wrapping my hands around it, trying to get some warmth back in my fingers.

  “Whatever is in this folder doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

  Tears pricked at the back of my eyes, and I was hit with a sudden surge of emotion for him, for this damaged man I was falling in love with.

  I wasn’t sure how to reply, wasn’t sure what to say. I wanted to choose my words carefully, to make sure I let him know that I believed him, that I knew he cared about me, that I knew he would never hurt me.

  But before I could figure out exactly what it was I wanted to say, Professor Worthington came bustling into the back room of the restaurant. He was wearing a tan trench coat that was slick with rain, and a waiter rushed over to whisk it away as soon as he took it off.

  “Wow,” he said as he sat down next to Noah. “It’s really coming down out there.”

  “Nice to see you, Colin, as always,” Noah said.

  “Likewise.” Professor Worthington turned to me and gave me a nod. “Charlotte.”

  As I nodded back at him, I could feel someone’s presence next to me, standing at the periphery of my vision. I turned to come face to face with a woman’s torso.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Professor Worthington said as the woman slid into the seat next to me. She smelled like an expensive perfume, something fruity that made me want to take a deep breath so I could inhale more of it. “This is my associate, Clementine Hayes. Clementine, this is my client, Noah Cutler, and my student, Charlotte Holloway.”

  I turned to look at her. She had brown hair that fell in loose waves over her shoulders and everything about her was dark -- dark eyes, dark hair, dark skin. Except her eyes, which were shockingly blue.

  “Nice to meet you, Charlotte,” she said, reaching her hand out to me. I shook it, surprised at how warm it was. Her nails were perfectly manicured, painted a sophisticated taupe color that matched the silky turtleneck she wore under her black suit.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” I said. She brushed her hair back from her face before turning her attention to Noah, and something about the gesture, something about seeing her from that angle, as the light hit her face, made me gasp.

  I’d seen her before.

  She was the woman who’d been out on Noah’s terrace the night I’d spent at his apartment, the night he’d shut me in the dark and then disappeared. She’d given him papers and a green scarf.

  I let out a sigh of relief, thankful, at least, that this part of the mystery was over. Obviously this Clementine woman worked for Professor Worthington, obviously she had some kind of connection to Noah’s case. She’d probably been over there dropping off papers or something, and Noah didn’t want me to wake up because he’d wanted to keep whatever it was private, the way he’d kept the Audi James situation private.

  It wasn’t ideal, obviously – but it was much less sinister than what it could have been.

  But why would an associate be dropping off papers at three o’clock in the morning, dressed all in black, and why would she be handing him a green scarf?

  The question entered my mind just as Noah reached across the table to take Clementine’s outstretched hand. I waited for them to explain they already knew each other.

  But instead, Noah held onto Clementine’s hand for a beat longer than necessary. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Hayes.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Cutler.”

  My heart slipped into my throat.

  Why were they pretending not to know each other?

  The waiter arrived and took our order. I went first and ordered blueberry pancakes. The rest of them ordered light—fruit or a bagel or a plate of scrambled eggs with dry toast.

  It was just another reminder that I didn’t fit in. The three of them were dressed up, on their way to their offices. I was wearing jeans and a sweater, my hair frizzy from the rain, my palms slick with sweat.

  I sipped my smoothie as the three of them made small talk about lawyers in the city, different cases they were working on, people at the DA’s office they knew, plea bargains they couldn’t believe had happened.

  I sat there, quiet, like a child, my focus on Noah the whole time, wondering what he was thinking, why he had pretended he didn’t know this woman, Clementine. This beautiful woman, Clementine, who had gone along with Noah’s rouse that he didn’t know her, who had unfettered access to him in the middle of the night, who’d stood on his balcony and touched his hand.

  Once our food came, the three of them got down to business.

  “I think,” Professor Worthington said, “that we should start with the evidence and see what we might be able to get thrown out. Charlotte, have you been contacted yet by the DA?”

  “No.” I shook my head.

  “They’ll contact you today, I’m sure. You’ll be asked to go down there for an interview. See if you can get it for tomorrow afternoon. They’ll probably only ask you a few questions – that’s all they’ll need to try to get this brought to trial -- but your answers will be important.”

  I could feel Noah’s eyes on me, feel him studying me carefully as the professor talked.

  “Okay,” I said.

  Professor Worthington opened his appointment book. “Can you be at my office tomorrow morning at seven, Charlotte?” he asked. “So that you can go over your testimony with Clementine?”

  Bile rose into the back of my throat. Clementine? I was supposed to sit in a r
oom with this woman while she asked me questions about my sexual relationship with Noah? My heart thrummed in my chest, panic rising inside of me. The tingling sensation returned to my fingers, the one that had overtaken me in the hotel room right before I’d had my panic attack.

  “Tomorrow morning?” I frowned, pretending to think about it. I took a sip of my coffee. “What time?”

  I caught Noah’s eye across the table. He was still looking at me, his gaze steely. Do something! I wanted to scream. Do not let these people humiliate me any further. Do not make me sit in a room and discuss my relationship with you with another woman, one who was at your house for some unknown reason you tried to keep from me!

  I waited for him to jump in, waited for him to say that he would coach me, that he would tell me what to say when the DA interviewed me. But he stayed silent, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “Seven am,” Professor Worthington repeated, sounding slightly worried at my obvious inability to pay attention. He looked at Clementine, who nodded her approval. She pulled out a slim appointment book, an old school leather one that was monogrammed with her initials. She made a note of it with a fancy-looking pen.

  “That would be fine,” she said. She gave me a friendly smile that was designed to put me at ease, but I looked away without returning it. Somehow, her attempt at kindness only made things worse.

  “Good.” Professor Worthington pulled out a sheet of paper. “I had my paralegal draw up a one-sheet based on the evidence provided to us by the DA’s office.”

  He handed copies out around the table.

  I forced myself to wait a beat, forced myself not to immediately look at the sheet.

  Noah had his head down, like he was looking at the paper he’d been handed, but he was really watching me, waiting to see how I was going to react to whatever it was I was about to read.

  I told myself that whatever was on that paper, whatever I was about to find out, I needed to have no reaction whatsoever. Not in front of these people.

  I lowered my eyes and began to read.

  It was a bullet-pointed list, with each of the main areas of evidence bolded into its own section.

  I thought I’d have already known at least a couple of the things I was about to find out, thought I would have at least known some of the evidence the DA’s office had against the man I was falling in love with.

  But everything on the list was new to me.

  Every single thing.

  It started with the least damaging – an eyewitness, Daniel DiMatteo, who claimed to have seen Noah in the park with Katie on the morning she was murdered. This in and of itself wasn’t news – Noah had been in the park that morning jogging. However, this Daniel person had said he’d seen Noah arguing with Katie that morning, which didn’t match Noah’s story that he hadn’t seen Katie. But still. Eyewitness testimony was notoriously shaky – people could get things wrong all the time. Professor Worthington would do his best to discredit Daniel DiMatteo. I felt the lump in my throat start to loosen just a tiny bit.

  But at the next bullet point, things started to get a little dicey.

  People in Noah’s office claimed they’d heard Katie and Noah fighting, had heard raised voices in Noah’s office a few weeks before Katie had been killed. Katie had come storming out, crying.

  It was damning – but again, people got into fights with their bosses. It didn’t mean their boss was a murderer.

  My throat stayed the same.

  And then things took a horrible turn for the worse.

  A photo had surfaced showing Katie leaving Noah’s apartment building in the middle of the night.

  And his fingerprints were all over her apartment.

  My throat began to constrict.

  It got even worse.

  Noah’s DNA had been found under Katie’s fingernails.

  And then, finally the worst part.

  Emails had been recovered, sent from secret accounts Noah and Katie had set up. Someone in the DA’s office had thought to look for other accounts, someone smarter than us. I cursed Professor Worthington for not finding the emails sooner, but it didn’t matter who had found them. They were a blow either way.

  The emails showed Katie and Noah had been having a relationship – none of the emails were printed on the one-sheet, but there was a summary of what they contained.

  Katie had been about to end it. Noah had gone insane, begging her to stay. The emails got crazier and crazier, until finally they stopped.

  The one-sheet ended with a summary of the prosecution’s theory.

  That Katie and Noah had been having an affair. That she’d tried to end it. That he became obsessed with her, that they’d met in the park that morning, they’d fought, and then, finally, he’d strangled her.

  Motive.

  Means.

  Opportunity.

  I could feel the bitterness of coffee mixed with acid in the back of my throat, and for a moment, I was sure I was going to throw up. I took a sip of water and tried to stay calm.

  I put the paper back on the table, not wanting to read it again.

  Professor Worthington and Clementine began talking, something about trying to get the testimony of Katie’s friend Madeline thrown out – that she hadn’t ever seen them together, that the whole thing was hearsay.

  The walls seemed to be closing in on me, and I turned my napkin in my hands again, trying to keep myself grounded.

  Noah was still looking at me.

  But this time, when I met his eyes, I didn’t see anything.

  They were emotionless, cold.

  I stared back at him before finally looking away.

  I couldn’t deny it any longer.

  He was a killer.

  **

  The rest of the breakfast passed in a blur. I don’t remember anything that was said, just that the three of them were all business. No one expected the preliminary hearing to go our way – a prosecutor was never going to charge a defendant unless they were sure they had enough probable cause to go to trial.

  It was unusual for these cases to be thrown out by a judge.

  Especially one in which a young woman had been murdered.

  My world felt like it was crashing in around me, and yet, these people were acting like it was just another day at the office. Which, for them, it was.

  Once we were done eating, they lingered over their coffee.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I have to get to class.” It was a half-truth. I did need to get to class, but it wasn’t like I couldn’t miss it.

  I went to push my chair back, and I backed into our waiter. “Oh, I’m sorry, “ I said.

  “No problem, Miss,” he said kindly, and for some reason his kindness made my eyes fill with tears.

  He looked down at my plate, which was still full. “Was there something wrong with the pancakes?”

  “No,” I said. “They were delicious.” I’d taken one bite, and they’d felt like cardboard sliding down my throat. I was sure it wasn’t because they were bad, but because I was so sick to my stomach that nothing would have tasted good.

  “Would you like to take them to go?”

  “No, thank you,” I said. “I really have to go.” I thought about reaching into my bag and pulling out money for my food, but something told me that would be gauche, would show that I didn’t know how this worked even more than I already had.

  I said hasty goodbyes to the table.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Charlotte,” Clementine called after me.

  I pretended I didn’t hear her, hurrying through the lobby, my shoes sliding over the marble floor that was wet with the rain people had dragged in on their coats and umbrellas.

  Once I was outside, I took in a deep breath of cool, wet air. The drizzle had gotten a little stronger, still not a complete rain shower, but enough for me to feel the drops hit my skin.

  At first it made me feel better, and the cobwebs in my head began to clear as everything came back into focus. I thought I was going
to be okay.

  But then a sharp pain hit my side, and it felt like my stomach was rolling over on itself.

  I was going to throw up.

  I spotted a trashcan a few feet away, and I got to it just in time, heaving what little was in my stomach – coffee and a few bits of pancake. Once my stomach was empty, my body didn’t stop its betrayal. I began dry heaving, once, twice, three times.

  When it seemed like I was done, I kept my head over the trashcan for a minute just in case, waiting.

  I was just about to stand up, when I felt a hand on my back.

  “Charlotte.” His voice was laced with concern.

  I whirled around.

  “Don’t,” I said when I saw him.

  “Are you okay?”

  I stared at him incredulously. “Am I okay?” I repeated. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Charlotte-“

  “Do not say my name!” My body was filled with rage, rage like I had never known before, rage I didn’t know I was capable of feeling. I felt like I could kill someone, that I might kill him if I had something nearby to do it with.

  “I’ve called the car,” he said. “Jared will take you back to the suite. You can wait for me there.”

  I didn’t even try to address the fact that what he’d just said was ludicrous. If he’d thought I was going to go back to his hotel suite after what I’d just found out, he was insane.

  “Why, Noah?” I asked. I hadn’t realized I was crying until I tasted the salt on my lips. My tears had mixed with the rain, leaving my cheeks damp. “Why did you do that?”

  “I didn’t kill Katie.”

  I shook my head. “Not Katie. Why didn’t you tell me what evidence they had against you?”

  “I was trying to protect you.”

  “From what?” I screamed. A woman passing by with a baby carriage stopped and looked at us, making sure I didn’t need help. She must have decided it was just your normal run-of-the-mill boyfriend/girlfriend fight, because after a second she kept going.

  He’s a murderer, I wanted to yell after her. Did you know that?

  “From everything.” He kept his eyes on me, and I saw his face soften, saw a glimpse of the Noah I was (used to be?) in love with. Apologize, I thought. Tell me you’re sorry. But he stayed quiet.