What He Provokes (What He Wants #18) (2 page)

“Who is it?” Noah demanded.

“It’s my mom.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Noah, I’m sure.” I sent the call to voicemail, and it immediately started ringing again, my mom’s name flashing back across the screen. I silenced my phone and shoved it back into my bag.

“I wasn’t sure if it was someone else calling with some new information, if we needed to head back down to Harlem, or Newark, or perhaps head to JFK and hop on a plane to Detroit.” We were getting closer to Manhattan proper now, the buildings becoming taller and more ornate, the streets and cars shinier and more expensive.

We were coming up to a light at the corner of East 77
^th
, and it flashed yellow. But instead of slowing down, Noah hit the gas, speeding up and flying through the light.

“The only person putting me in any danger right now is you,” I said. “Slow down! You’re driving like a maniac.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Charlotte,” he said, his voice a low growl. “That is not how this works.”

“I’m
not
telling you what to do,” I said. “What I’m telling you is that I need to be able to at least have some freedom, Noah.”

“No.”

“That’s insane.”

“It’s not insane, Charlotte, it’s what I need. What you agreed to when you decided to be with me.”

“It’s not what I agreed to! What happened to what you said the other day, the day you proposed? About how this was just how we were, how it was just going to be this way, the two of us pushing each other? What about that, Noah?”

“That was before you started putting yourself in this kind of danger, before you started hiding things from me.”

“What have I hidden from you?”

“I had to hear about that text from Jared, Charlotte. That is completely unacceptable!” He slammed his hand against the steering wheel.

Anger pulsed inside of me, anger at the fact that he was throwing this back in my face, that he was trying to make it into an issue of trust, when from the beginning, he was the one who could never let me in.

“I explained that to you, Noah,” I said, struggling to keep my voice calm but failing. This was the closest we’d ever come to a real fight, the kind of fight that spiraled into people screaming and sleeping on the couch. I didn’t like the way that felt, but I had to stand up for myself.

“Explained what? That you’d planned on telling me eventually? Not acceptable.”

“Yeah, exactly,” I spit back. “The same way that you explained how you can’t tell me what the doctor said about Lilah.”

“That is a matter of legality, Charlotte,” he said. “The two are not even comparable. Lawyer/client confidentiality vs. you going off and getting involved in a situation that puts you in extreme danger are two completely different things.”

We were at our building now, and he pulled the car into the garage, taking the turn around the corner way too fast before skidding into an empty space and slamming on the brakes. I wanted to yell at him again for driving like a crazy person, but I knew it would be a waste of time.

Instead I grabbed my bag and got out of the car before he could come around and open the door for me, a fact I knew would infuriate him. But I was past the point of my logical mind working, was at the point where all I wanted to do was hurt him, to prove to him that I didn’t need him watching out for me or telling me what to do. I knew it was stupid, knew it was a losing proposition, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I didn’t have a key to the door that led from the garage into the building, just another example of how Noah had power over everything in my life. Not that he’d done it intentionally – if I’d asked him for a key, he certainly would have given it to me – but for now it was just another reminder of how everything belonged to him, even the things that were supposed to now belong to us both.

It was
his
apartment we were living in,
his
case we were working on,
his
car we’d driven here in,
his
rules I was expected to live by.

Even the things that were mine – my family, school– were now starting to be effected by him.

Maybe that’s why you’re so determined to find this Mikayla girl,
a voice in my head whispered.
Maybe it’s a way for you to get back at Noah, to fight against his control.

The thought was disturbing on a few different levels. I didn’t want to be the type of person who was being self-destructive just so she could prove a point to the man she was supposed to be in love with.

Not to mention the fact that I’d done a pretty good job of convincing myself that my reasons for trying to find Mikayla and the other girls who’d been at Force were completely altruistic -- I didn’t like the idea of having to examine my motives more closely to see if perhaps there was something selfish about them after all.

I walked up the ramp toward the street angrily, my shoes clomping against the concrete floor of the garage.

I wouldn’t follow Noah, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of waiting for him to open another door for me, to lead me upstairs and into the apartment. I’d walk around to the street level and go through the lobby, take the elevator and let myself in, thank you very much. At least I had a key to the front door.

“Charlotte!” Noah called after me. “Where the hell are you going?”

“I’m going through the lobby,” I said, lengthening my stride and upping my pace. But of course it was no use – his legs were much longer than mine, and even though I was over 5’9”, he was able to catch up to me instantly.

“Why are you doing this?” he said. “Why are you insisting on defying me in this way? We had an agreement, Charlotte. You knew what you were getting into when you started this relationship. I was very up front with you about everything, about my expectations, my wants. You agreed to let me be in control.”

“Yeah, and I was very up front with you about who
I
was,” I said. “You knew I was going to push back, Noah.” We were on the street now, and the wind kicked up for a minute, blowing my hair back from my face, so cold and harsh it made my eyes water. I took in a deep breath through and waited for the gust to die down before I spoke again. “I’m not going to stop doing something that I think is important, that is important to who I am as a person just because it makes you uncomfortable.”

We were at the lobby now, and I stepped inside, the warm air enveloping me like a blanket. Soft classical music floated out of the speakers that were built into the ceiling, the gentle, melodic notes instantly calming me.

Whatever energy or burst of adrenaline it had been that had caused me to get into a fight with Noah, and to walk out of the garage the way I had, instantly left of my body, like a dam that had been unplugged, flowing out in one swift, smooth stream.

Suddenly, I was exhausted, and for a moment, all I wanted was for him to be
right.
I wanted him to take over, to bring me upstairs, to fix me something to eat and draw me a bath, to rub my shoulders like he’d done last night. To tuck me into bed and hold me until I fell asleep, while he stroked my hair and told me how much he loved me.

I wanted to give up everything about this girl, Mikayla. Was she really worth risking my relationship for? I didn’t even know her.

I turned to look at Noah, ready to give in a little, to tell him maybe he was right.

And that’s when I caught sight of her.

Well, of her reflection at least, in the glossy mirrors that lined the top half of the walls.

My mother.

She was sitting in one of the elegant wingback chairs in front of the elevator, wearing an outfit I was sure she was probably so proud of. An oversized black cowl neck caftan over a pair of tight caramel skinny jeans, the material of the pants slightly shiny, the bottoms tucked into black leather boots.

There were black leather gloves on her hands and a deep red scarf thrown over her shoulders. The gloves were completely ridiculous. It wasn’t cold enough out to even be wearing gloves yet, and even if it were, for her to wear them indoors was another level of unnecessary.

But the outfit had obviously been meticulously planned, right down to the way her scarf was thrown around her shoulders. It was the kind of scarf that was supposed to look as if you’d draped it over yourself effortlessly, almost as if it were an afterthought. My mother was pulling it off, but I knew that in actuality, she must have spent a considerable amount of time in front of the mirror, arranging it and rearranging it until she’d gotten it just so.

Everything was all about appearances with my mother, and her scarf would be no exception.

“Charlotte!” she said when she saw me. She came rushing over, pulled me close to her and kissed me on both cheeks. Which was odd. My mother never kissed on both cheeks. Her lips were surprisingly warm.

“Why are you kissing me on both cheeks?” I asked, confused for a moment until I realized she’d probably seen it in a movie or read it in some magazine somewhere. She must have thought it was a very New York thing to do.

“Charlotte,” she admonished. “That’s not a very nice thing to say to your mother as soon as you see her!”

“Sorry,” I said automatically, before I realized it wasn’t very nice of
her
to show up here, in Noah’s building –
my
building --without even calling first. But she’d already moved on from me.

“This must be Noah!” she said, flashing him a huge smile.

“Yes,” I said. “This is Noah. Noah, this is my mom, Pamela.” My body was wired tight with tension. Talk about the absolute worse time for my mom to meet Noah. He and I were in the middle of the worst fight we’d ever had, we’d come from finding a dead body, we were exhausted and Noah had that moody, broody thing going on that he did so well.

But to my surprise, Noah wrapped my mother’s gloved hand in his own, pulled her toward him, and then kissed her on both cheeks, reinforcing her idea that it was somehow chic or appropriate. I’d never seen Noah kiss someone on both cheeks before. I knew he was only doing it to make my mom feel comfortable, and it annoyed me for some reason.

Mine,
I thought irritably.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Pamela.” He gave her a warm smile. “Is it okay to call you Pamela?”

“Of course!” She giggled and pulled her gloves off.

Noah’s eyes fell onto the bags that were sitting on the marble floor in front of her, a couple of gold suitcases, also from Michael Kors. They looked brand new. She must have stopped at the outlets on the way to the airport, thinking that she needed new luggage to bring to the city.

She didn’t understand that the uber-wealthy here weren’t dragging around last year’s Michael Kors. MK was fine if was your first big purchase out of college, but the really rich people in New York – especially the ones my mother’s age -- had beautiful leather cases by Ferragamo, Gucci, Roberto Cavalli. Michael Kors and Louis Vuitton were for the nouveau riche or young people who were trying too hard. As usual, my mother had gotten it all wrong. I wasn’t sure if that was worthy of my disgust or my pity.

“Will you be staying with us?” Noah asked smoothly.

“Oh, no,” I said quickly. “I’m sure she’s made other plans.”

“Well, I
was
going to stay in a hotel,” my mother said, giving me the side eye. “But I didn’t book anything, and thank goodness for that, Charlotte. If I had, I would have been staying all the way over on the other side of the city by your old apartment!” She took her leather gloves in her hand and slapped them against my chest playfully. “I can’t believe I had to find out about your new apartment and your new beau from Julia! Engaged, Charlotte!” She threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. “And you never even thought to mention it!”

“I wanted to tell you in person,” I mumbled.

“In any case,” Noah said, his voice cutting through the obvious awkwardness with practiced ease. He smiled, genuinely, and it reached his eyes. “You’re here now, Pamela. And my future mother-in-law will not be staying in a hotel.”

He reached down to pick up her bags.

“The doorman can do that,” I said.

“Nonsense,” Noah said. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying a few bags, Charlotte.”

He began walking toward the elevator, and my mom followed. She raised her eyes at me in approval, giving me a little nod. The only thing better than being pampered by a doorman was being pampered by a hot, rich lawyer.

I wanted her to like Noah, of course I did, but part of me hated that she was so easily impressed, that a fancy apartment and an offer to carry her bags were enough for her to give Noah her stamp of approval.

I wondered what she would think if she knew he was whipping me with a belt just a few hours ago in a tiny basement room that I hadn’t even known existed, where he had locked filing cabinets filled with dark secrets.

I almost wanted to blurt it out as we stepped into the elevator, imagined what her face would look like, her mouth dropping open, her hand going to her ash blond hair as she smoothed it back from her forehead, flustered.

I opened my mouth, thinking maybe I would really do it, but at that moment my mom’s eyes fell on my ring, the diamonds sparkling bright under the overhead lights.

“Holy shit,” she mouthed at me, taking my hand in hers for a better look. I pulled my hand back immediately, but not before Noah turned around in the elevator and caught my mom fawning over my ring.

I saw the look of amusement that played over his full lips.

He loved this. He loved that my mom was here, that she was so impressed by the ring that he’d chosen. Was he enjoying the fact that I was annoyed, too?

We stepped onto the 39
^th
floor, into Noah’s –
our
-- apartment, and Docket came bounding over, the tags on his red collar jingling merrily. Jared had taken him to doggie playgroup earlier, but apparently socializing with his peers had done nothing to curb Docket’s energy.

He jumped onto my mom, placing his front paws against her thighs, and immediately began licking her hand.

“Oh, you didn’t tell me you had a dog, Charlotte,” she said, delighted. She dropped to her knees and began petting him, her hands running through his shaggy fur as he licked her face and she threw her head back and laughed.