Chapter 22
Emma
Catharine Knowles,I learned on my first day, was very hard to work for. Her schedule was packed and grueling. Half of her business associates were flaky, the other half were rude, and I wasn’t allowed to be impolite to any of them. She had probably a dozen projects on the go, at different stages of development, and another dozen potential projects in the pipeline. She had stacks of scripts that had to be sorted, kept straight, and emailed to business associates before meetings. Besides which, the film business was packed with obscure jargon, all of which was used frequently and none of which Catharine bothered to explain to me.
I fucking loved it.
This was why I had started my own business in my early twenties instead of working for someone else: because the harder something was, the more I thrived. The more setbacks I encountered, the harder I worked to win. And I liked to win.
Working for Catharine was difficult now, but I had no doubt that within a few weeks I’d have it conquered. And then I would get bored. So this was the perfect change of pace for me, to do the hard stuff, train someone else, and then bail out. Despite being the CEO of my own company, I realized now that I’d been in a rut. The change of location, the change of pace, the assignment to get dirty on the front lines and answer the phone was good for me.
This was what I was born for, and I was good. I didn’t need Noah for this. I didn’t need any man for this. And I definitely didn’t need a baby for this. A baby would only slow things down.
I grabbed lunch to go at a small deli near Catharine’s office, a frown on my face as I stood in line. Damn Noah and his insistence on bringing up a bunch of shit I didn’t like to think about. So I was missing a few pieces of my reproductive organs. So what? My life had improved infinitely once I wasn’t paralyzed with pain once a month anymore. There had been no other choice. And now I didn’t have to use birth control.
I knew I could adopt. I’d had that drilled into my head by nearly every doctor I talked to about what was happening: This isn’t the end of the world. If you want a baby, you can adopt. My own parents had done it, I had been adopted myself, so I had no stigma about it. If I wanted to, I could have a baby without giving birth. I could be a mother.
If I wanted to.
But while I was swiping left on Tinder, I hadn’t wanted to. Single motherhood didn’t interest me; if I was going to consider a baby, I’d want some help. A co-parent, at the very least, someone who could help with the work and the worrying. My own parents were a unit, and they had done a great job. I would never achieve the level of parenting that they had, but I wasn’t willing to settle for much less.
And I wasn’t willing to be a failure, like my birth parents. That was not an option.
Why was I even thinking about this? Noah hadn’t said he wanted children. He’d been asking about the fact that we’d had sex bare, which was something I’d never done in my life. It seemed like something he hadn’t done before, either, which made it new for both of us. Of course he’d had questions.
And he’d made me breakfast, which had actually been good, and had been something I needed instead of wolfing down fast food before my first day of work. I’d been a bit hard on him, I had to admit. But I was used to being alone, and the intimacy had freaked me out.
I grabbed a sandwich and a salad to go and went back to my desk. I had to stop thinking about this stuff and focus.
Right before the day ended, I got a text from Noah. Going to my usual Monday basketball game, it said. Back later. Left a key in the fern for you. Help yourself to what’s in the fridge. Oh, and you have an office now.
I stared at the text for longer than I should have, trying to figure it out. So he wasn’t going to be home when I got home. Did that mean he was mad at me? He said the basketball game was a usual thing, but what did I know?
But it didn’t sound like a hostile text, and he’d left me a key. And what did you have an office now mean?
I texted back Okay, because I couldn’t think of anything else to say. It was probably best that he wouldn’t be home until later. I’d had a full day doing this job, but tonight I still had to conference in with Natalie and sort through candidates to interview for my replacement. I was doing two jobs as long as I was here, and I’d been in the right when I’d told Noah that I wouldn’t have any time to look after him.
Though I probably could have phrased it better, because I’d practically told him to fuck off.
Damn it. I had no idea what I was doing.
Noah had saidthat I could eat his food, but it was a matter of principle. I found a Whole Foods on the way home and bought my own groceries, because I was an independent woman who made my own money. Noah’s car wasn’t in the driveway at the house, and the only fern was a huge potted one next to the front porch that was bigger than I was. I had to rifle through its huge leaves for ten minutes before I found the key.
The house was cool and quiet when I came inside. Noah had good taste in houses, I could give him that. There was something very relaxing about this place, the way the furniture was spaced out, the high ceiling, the flow of natural light, the gentle breeze coming from the ceiling fan. I could feel the day’s tension start to drain away.
I put my groceries in his fridge, snooping without shame. For a man with a body like Noah’s, it was no surprise he was a healthy eater, his fridge packed with fruits, vegetables, lean protein, and whole grains. What surprised me was the amount of food he had. Most of the guys I’d slept with had barely managed a few slices of old salami and a couple of beers in their fridge next to the moldy takeout containers. From what Noah had, it looked like he actually cooked.
Tucked into the door of the fridge was half a bottle of white wine, the bottle he’d used to dribble wine on me and lick it off last night. We hadn’t finished drinking the bottle because we’d been too busy having incredible sex. I stared at the bottle for longer than I should have, feeling… what? It wasn’t embarrassment, but it was some kind of deep discomfort I didn’t want to examine too closely. Sex with Noah was disconcertingly close to not being “just sex” for me. If my body could flush this hot at the sight of a half-empty bottle of wine, the memories practically traveling over my skin, I needed to be careful. And at the same time, I craved more of it the way a junkie craves a drug.
I closed the fridge, possibly with a little more force than was necessary, and decided to change. But when I turned toward the bedroom I noticed that a corner of the living room had been rearranged.
Noah had moved the sofa. There was a chair with a floor lamp next to it, flanked by a small side table and faced with a raised and elegant surface perfect for a laptop. I blinked stupidly, realizing that this was what Noah meant when he said I had an office. He’d made me a space to work in, with light and a spot for a drink, without asking.
I stood frozen, staring at this simple thing while my emotions tumbled inside me. He’d rearranged some furniture, that was all. He’d likely already owned the laptop table, had it stashed somewhere for his own use. All he’d done was put it in the living room and move a lamp. It was nothing.
Still—when was the last time anyone had done anything for me? Anything at all? Let alone something that treated my work as seriously as I did?
My throat choked up, and I fought it back. Don’t be stupid, Emma. Get a grip.
If he was going to give me a work space, I’d use it. I went to the bedroom and changed—Noah had cleared closet space, like I asked—and came downstairs again. Now wearing leggings and a relaxed T-shirt, my hair in a knot on my head, my bra discarded, I sat in my new office, opened my laptop, and got to work.
At first, it was perfect. I worked through what was going on back in New York, then started looking at applicants, like I’d planned. I made myself a sandwich from the groceries I’d bought and brought it to my little side table. As the sun went down and the room grew dark, I turned on my lamp.
One hour ticked by, and then another. I paused what I was doing, staring blankly at my screen, and realized I was wondering where Noah was. I wanted to ask him what he had done today, because his daily schedule was a complete mystery to me. I wanted to tell him about my first day with Catharine, because Noah had met her and knew a little of what I was talking about. I wanted to tell him how I planned to solve Catharine’s problem, and I wanted to watch the subtle, intelligent reactions on his gorgeous face while I did it. In short, I wanted him to come home.
I got distracted again and again, and now I was thinking about whether he’d touch me tonight, where he’d put his hands on me tonight, what we would do. Maybe everything; maybe nothing. I didn’t know what to expect. Perhaps I’d pushed him away and he’d simply go to sleep, turning his back to me. Was there a spare bed somewhere if he kicked me out of bed? Did we need one?
I was lost in all of this when the key turned in the lock and Noah came through the front door. Despite the chill outside, he was wearing only basketball shorts and a loose tee, soaked through with sweat. His hair was damp and sticking up where he’d run his hands through it. He paused in the front hall, looking at me in my little circle of lamplight. The shadows played beautifully on his face.
“Evening,” he said, and the word was formal with an undertone I couldn’t quite understand. Pleasure, maybe, or humor. I wished I was closer to him so I could see his eyes.
“Evening,” I replied from my spot on my chair.
His gaze moved over me, taking me in. “I’ll let you work,” he said, and he walked down the corridor toward the bedroom, disappearing around the corner.
I watched him go and realized my lips were parted, like I was about to speak. Ask him who he played basketball with. Whether he liked it. Whether he was good at it. Whether he had thought about me as much as I had thought about him.
But Noah was gone, and I was alone again, except this time I had little prickles of pleasure on the surface of my skin, brought about just because I had seen him.
At the back of the house, I heard the shower turn on. And now I really couldn’t concentrate, because I was picturing Noah naked. Behind the bathroom door he was peeling off that T-shirt, dropping those shorts. It had been less than twenty-four hours since I’d last seen him naked, and suddenly it felt like a year. I sat frozen for a minute, unable to think about anything else, yet unable to decide what to do.
My body decided for me. The sound of that shower was too much. Jesus, Emma, I chided myself. Is this a Jane Austen novel? Get up and go get what you want.
I closed my laptop and stood. Right there in the living room, I took off all of my clothes, leaving them in a heap next to the chair. I let my hair down. Then, stark naked, I walked to the bathroom.
He’d left the door ajar. Maybe it was an invitation; maybe he hadn’t thought I’d care enough to peek. I didn’t care which one it was.
I walked through the doorway into the steamy bathroom. Noah had his back to me, naked under the shower spray. My gaze devoured him whole as I walked toward him.
He turned and looked past his shoulder at me. Surprise lit his beautiful eyes for a second, and then his gaze darkened as I stepped into the shower with him and under the spray.
I pulled his face down to mine and kissed him, licking the warm water from his lips. Then I pulled back.
“Thank you for the office,” I said, and got down on my knees.