I suddenly felt overgrown and gargantuan, becoming self-conscious in my oversized sweater and jeans.
“She’s cute,” I said irritably.
“Who?”
“Who? Don’t act like you didn’t hire her because she’s gorgeous, Noah.”
“Are you talking about Dylan?”
“Dylan? That’s her name? How adorable.”
“Charlotte, there is no need to be jealous of the receptionist.”
“Couldn’t you have hired someone a little older? Like a retired grandmother or something?”
We stepped into his office and he set his briefcase down on his desk. “I’m not in charge of hiring anyone, Charlotte. Human resources is.”
“But they know what you like.”
“They know I like smart, intelligent, capable employees.”
“Who are nice to look at.”
“The only one I’m looking at is you.”
I flushed and nodded. I hated that even with everything that was going on, I could still be so easily thrown off balance by another woman. I wanted to ask Noah what happened to the other receptionist, the one he had before her, but I didn’t want to pry.
“What happened to the other one?” I blurted before I could stop myself.
“The other one what?” Noah asked, distracted. He was already in work mode, his hands on his laptop as he scrolled through his emails.
“The other receptionist.”
“She didn’t work out.”
His tone made it clear the subject was closed.
I didn’t like not having a definitive answer, especially after what had happened to Katie, but I wasn’t going to push him. I’d pushed my luck so much this morning that a receptionist wasn’t important enough to risk Noah’s wrath.
But I hated that he would keep things from me, even something as silly as why he’d fired a receptionist. Or had she quit? That was the problem. I would never know, and if I asked him again, he would accuse me of not trusting him.
But you don’t trust him.
But the crazy thing was, I did trust him.
Didn’t I?
My mind felt like it was on a constant merry-go-round, swinging in circles, faster and faster, everything blazing by in a smudge of confusion. I just didn’t understand why Noah couldn’t tell me something as simple as why his receptionist wasn’t working there anymore. Was there something he was hiding from me, or was he really just so shut off that everything needed to be pried from him?
I wanted more. I needed more.
“Charlotte, don’t you have work to do?” he barked at me. “All this talk and worry about missing class, surely you have some reading to catch up on.”
“Oh, um, yes,” I said. I pulled out my iPad and checked my syllabus for the day’s reading. I would need to get the notes from someone. Cora, perhaps.
I started to read, but it felt odd sitting right in front of Noah’s desk like we were in some kind of meeting. So I took my iPad and moved to the sofa on the other side of the room.
“I don’t like you so far away,” Noah growled.
“I’m only on the other side of the room.”
He sighed but turned back to his computer, evidently deciding to allow it.
We worked like that for a few hours, both of us in our own worlds. I caught up on my reading, began writing a paper, made plans to meet with a study group. Noah wrote briefs, made phone calls, set up meetings. His voice on the phone was always stern and impatient, and when he typed his keystrokes were loud and forceful.
The sounds faded into the background, and I lost myself in case studies and review sheets. I highlighted and made notes, letting myself become immersed in the security and normalness of my academics. The light moved lower in the sky as the time passed, the angle of the sun casting stripes of light onto the carpet.
At around five, there was a knock on the door.
I jumped.
“Relax, Charlotte,” Noah said, giving me an amused grin. “It’s just Shonda.”
Shonda? Who the hell was Shonda? I wanted to ask, but Noah was already crossing the room and opening the door.
A woman stood in the hallway. She looked to be in her early forties, with long white blonde hair and dark almond shapes eyes. Her face was powdered pale white, her eyebrows dark and pronounced, her lips lined in a shade of magenta I’d never seen outside of a fashion spread or a music video.
“Mr. Cutler,” she said, nodding. Her voice was deep, raspy, which contrasted with her delicate features and abundance of make-up.
“Hello, Shonda,” he said.
She peeked into the room and saw me sitting on the couch. “Is that her?”
“Yes, this is Charlotte,” he said. “She’ll meet you in the executive bathroom in five minutes.”