Chapter 15 Rubbed The Wrong Way
Noah is quiet as the four of us make our way to the locker rooms and though Tom and Cheryl share a smooch before parting ways, I turn without a word.
It isn’t until Cheryl strips nude and dons a fluffy white robe that I realize I’m going to be lying naked in a room with Noah only a few feet away.
I suppose it’s a good thing he pulled the whole credit card thing, because suddenly sleeping with him is dead last on a very long list of things I want to do to him.
As I shove my things into one of the empty lockers, I fume.
How could he do this? Handing me his personal card without any sort of explanation makes his assurance this morning nothing but a bold faced lie.
Business stipends go on corporate cards, and I know sure as shit he wouldn’t have handed Amy access to his own money.
I stand in front of one of the mirrors and pull my hair up into a messy bun at the top of my head, frowning at how easily I fell into this trap of allowing someone to pull something like this.
I consider calling Kara to vent, but something whispers she might be sympathetic to the wrong party.
It’s just a dress, Lottie, she’ll say. You’re being dramatic.
Yes, well it was just a pair of shoes with Axel, and I should have been more dramatic then. I don’t need any more experience to prove it’s only a few extravagant gifts from dependency.
Wrapped in my robe, I follow the signage pointing towards the spa and exit into the hallway.
Expensive hotel art and the faint trickling of what I assume to be a fountain bid me further into the luxurious labyrinth until I reach a quiet waiting room.
Soft, floral print sitting chairs line one side and on the other is a table holding two jugs of water—one with cucumbers floating in it and the other with varied citrus.
Cheryl and Tom are sitting near it, whispering back and forth with their foreheads pressed together.
She throws her head back in a playful laugh and pats his arm.
Noah stands on the far side, barefoot with a water bottle in his hand. His smile falters when I walk in and take a sharp left to find a chair on the opposite side of the room.
“Tom and Cheryl?”
An attendant stands at the opening of another hallway, and our hosts follow her.
I’m not sure if it’s the flash of fear that bites through my anger, or something else, but Noah seems to notice something is off and crosses the room.
He sinks into the chair next to me. I keep my eyes trained on the carpet as he leans close to whisper.
“Hey, I’m really sorry.”
“You seem to be saying that a lot,” I bite.
Before he can respond, the same attendant calls from the hallway.
“Charlotte and Noah?”
I shove up from the chair and march towards her, offering a tight lipped smile. She leads us back through a maze of hallways before stopping in front of a plain oak door.
“Your masseurs will be in shortly. Go ahead and strip down, get on the tables, and cover up with the sheet.”
When the door clicks shut, leaving us in a dark room smelling of eucalyptus, Noah continues his apology.
“I’m sorry. And I know all I’ve been doing is apologizing to you. I don’t know how this shit keeps happening. But Tom was far too gone to talk out of this nonsense, and then when Cheryl practically squealed with delight, there wasn’t much I could do to gracefully bow out.”
I close my eyes and inhale deep, holding it for a moment before releasing. The calming environment is doing little for the storm of complications I’m weathering.
“I can leave if you want to have the massage alone.”
“And risk facing those two and their inevitable questions when they see me by myself after? No way, buddy. You’re doing this. Besides that’s not even why I’m upset. Or I suppose it’s not the only reason I’m upset.”
Noah frowns, and it’s infuriatingly adorable. “What’s wrong?”
“Noah and Charlotte?” The door cracks open and we both cry out, the sound of it damning.
“We need five more minutes,” I say, my cheeks warming with the knowledge they probably think we are . . . compromised.
“No problem. We’ll be back.”
I turn to my companion and frown. “Turn around.”
He does, and I strip the robe off before scrambling up onto one of the tables. After assuring the sheet is tucked securely, I stick my face into the head support.
“Your turn.”
“Why are you upset?” Noah asks again.
The sound of his robe dropping into one of the chairs deepens the crimson heat across my cheeks.
Noah fucking Graves is about four feet from me and fully nude.
The awareness is offensively arousing, even with how upset I am with him.
The image of us fight fucking comes raging in and I pinch my eyes shut. No. This is not the time.
“Are you decent?” I ask, without looking up.
“I’m covered. Why are you upset?”
I fold an arm across my chest and prop myself up on the other elbow, my cheeks still burning. Noah’s face is sincere as he stares at me in the low light.
“Your credit card,” I snap.
His frown deepens. “Was there a problem? Did it not work?”
“Oh, it worked,” I say, my frustration rising again. “You gave me your personal card.”
His face is a wash of confusion. “But it worked?”
“Yes, it worked you psycho. But you lied to me. Business expense my ass. You tricked me into taking your damn pity money.”
Noah chuckles and drops his head to the table. “Charlotte . . .”
“Shut up.”
“It’s not pity money, “ he insists. “Yes, I gave you my own card, but it’s still a business expense. I can still write it off. I needed the other card for the club.”
I scowl at him. “You handed me a card with no spending limit and didn’t even warn me. I almost had a heart attack when I saw the total and then again when I realized it was your money, not Flourish’s.” I drop my face into my hands again. “Who does that?”
“It’s fine. I doubt you spent anything I would balk at.”
“That’s part of the problem!” My voice is higher, almost shrieky, but we are interrupted by another knock at the door.
The two women who come to give us massages are as polar opposite as possible.
The one who approaches my table is young, blonde, and far too sunny for my sour mood.
Noah’s masseuse is an older woman with black hair pulled into a tight bun at the base of her neck.
They lower the lights further and retrieve trays with bottles of oil from a cupboard along one wall.
“I’m Riley,” the blonde one says, “and that’s Rita.”
I offer her a polite smile as she passes.
“One thing we like to ask before we get started is if you want to practice any techniques on each other. Sometimes couples—”
Neither of us let her finish the thought, both popping up to answer with an emphatic no. Even if I wasn’t pissed at him, having his hands on me while he’s greased up and smelling like a god is the last thing I need. We stare at each other, the panic clear on both our faces.
“Alrighty then,” Riley continues, unbothered by our lack of desire to touch each other. “We’ll get started.”
As the perky blonde works her way from my shoulders and down my back, the stress and worry I’ve been holding melts into the table.
I fight the urge to moan with this woman’s magic hands running smooth, practiced rounds on my back.
She kneads out every pocket of tension in every muscle, and by the time she reaches my legs, I’m over the fact that Noah is lying next to me. Well, almost over it.
I replay the conversation before she entered the room and realize Noah did have a reasonable explanation for giving me his card, even if he still should have told me what it was.
I might have jumped to conclusions, but he did still make a call without cluing me into it.
I work to focus on how I might express this to him, but Riley’s hands continue to pull all my attention away from my frustration.
As she rubs up and down my legs the awareness of Noah’s naked body being so close comes back, but it’s no longer tainted with anger.
Instead, my mind fantasizes about his hands running along the inside of my thighs, and back down to my toes.
I picture him holding my ankle and working out the knots in the ball of my foot with the same strong hands that shook me last night when we bumped into each other. God those are good hands.
When Riley finishes the hour long massage, I am a puddle of goopy desire. Gone is the anger I held for Noah and in its place, a pulsing need. The women leave us and I stay lying on the table for a few minutes, reaching for every piece of logic I need to stay out of Noah’s way.
He’s my boss. Who agreed to fake date you.
We are on a business trip. To impress two people who already think you’re together.
He’s done little to encourage the attraction.
Except show up shirtless this morning and touch you at every available opportunity.
My post-massage brain fights with itself until Noah clears his throat.
“I’m turned around if you want to get dressed.”
Reality comes screaming back as I sit up.
Logic Lottie is right. He’s done nothing to encourage the attraction and his touch has always been when Tom and Cheryl are around to observe it.
It’s not his fault I find him attractive, and entertaining thoughts of even a one time thing is beyond the realm of what I should be doing.
I push up from the table and slip to the floor, pulling the robe around my shoulders with one quick motion.
The truth of it is, I am attracted to Noah, but he has been nothing but professional with me. Even when I’ve crossed every line there is, he’s maintained a polite attitude and treatment. He’s been the perfect gentleman.
I cross the small room and reach for the door, my rationale justified again with Noah reaching for the handle and letting me pass through first. A perfect gentleman, indeed.