Chapter 21
He makes me feel special.
We landed back in New York just a few hours ago and I already missed the warm, humid air Florida had to offer. Spending each day and night with Noah was like a dream come true on so many levels. Our time together allowed me to really get to know him. Granted, the encounter with his mother wasn’t something he expected, but in an odd way, it was good it happened.
On the plane, I asked what he would be doing with that portrait. Without hesitation, he said he was going to burn it. Although sad, I understood and wanted to be the one who struck the match, but on the other hand, it was his grandfather’s. I suggested donating it, or maybe putting it back up for auction, but he didn’t commit to either. Since the event wasn’t widely publicized, he was surprised his mother showed up.
Before I met the woman, the fixer in me would have wanted to repair their relationship. But her words were like shards of glass. It was as if I could see him get cut each time she spoke. If I wasn’t there to witness it, and he had just been retelling the story, I might have thought he was exaggerating. But now that I knew the truth, I didn’t blame him for the way he felt.
When Noah dropped me off, rather than come in, he went home. We both had busy days tomorrow, but even though we had only spent two consecutive nights together, my bed felt lonely. And not hearing his voice before I went to sleep made me anxious. I grabbed the spare pillow and hugged it, imagining it was Noah’s body forming to mine rather than memory foam.
I snatched my phone off my nightstand.
Me: Is it weird that I miss you already?
Hardheaded: I love that you do. Would you like me to come back?
God, yes. Please.
Me: I love that you’d do that, but no, it’s fine.
Hardheaded: Are you okay?
I really should change his name in my contacts.
Me: Yes.
Hardheaded: Why don’t I believe you?
Me: You calling me a liar, Mr. Winston?
Hardheaded: You tell me.
Me: I’m not lying; I just got used to you being next to me.
Hardheaded: I’m coming over.
Okay, maybe I won’t change his name.
Me: No, you don’t need to.
But I’d love it if you did.
Me: It’s late. I’m going to try and sleep. Thank you for this weekend.
Hardheaded: You’ve thanked me ten times. I’d say nine times too many. It was all my pleasure. I’m really sorry my mother ruined it.
Me: I’m not letting her ruin it.
Hardheaded: You were sexy as fuck when you told her off.
I laughed, but on the inside, my heart raced because of what I said to her. Then a thought popped in my head, what if Noah and I ended up together, she could be my mother-in-law one day. A shiver ran through me at the thought. Why was I thinking about marriage? Jane Fonda in Monster-In-Law had nothing on Annabelle. My life would be hell if she and Noah got past their differences.
Hardheaded: Did you fall asleep?
Me: Sorry, my mind wandered, but I should call it a night.
Hardheaded: Okay, will you dream of me?
I’ve been dreaming of him for years, why stop now?
Me: Always.
Hardheaded: Sweet dreams, Margo.
Me: Sweet dreams, Noah.
Not sure why, but I waited to see if there was another response. There wasn’t. Nor did my eyes feel like cooperating. They stayed open and stared into space. I contemplated getting up and watching TV or cruising the Internet to see if anything was written about the Carris auction, but didn’t want to open that can of worms.
About forty-five minutes later, my phone buzzed.
Hardheaded: You still awake?
We were both going to be useless tomorrow. It was after midnight—scratch that—we were going to be useless today.
Me: Yes, unfortunately. My pillow is a poor substitute for you.
Hardheaded: Open your door.
My heart raced, and wearing only a tank top and a pair of boyshort underwear, I jumped out of bed as if it was Christmas morning and I was seven years old, going to see if Santa brought me a Barbie doll.
After I turned the two deadbolts and the lock on the doorknob, I slid the chain to the right and pulled the door open. There he stood in a pair of dark jeans and a black leather jacket, a small bag tossed over his shoulder.
“Hi, what are you doing here?”
“I’m here for you.” His lips curled upward, causing mine to do the same. “Can I come in?”
Blinking a few times, I stepped aside, allowing him to pass. I relocked the door behind him and followed him down my short hallway until we were in my bedroom. Noah dropped his bag on the floor with a dull thud, stripping out of his clothes until he was in just a pair of boxers.
He pulled back my covers, moved the pillow I had been hugging to the head of the bed, and climbed in, patting my side of the mattress. “Are you just going to stand there, or are we going to get some sleep?”
I laughed and slid into bed. Rather than turn my body so my back was to his chest, we laid face to face, his arms around me and mine around him. When I laid my left leg on his right one, our hips were aligned. Noah’s left shoulder supported my head, and before I knew it, I was sound asleep.
“You look well rested.” Rochelle handed me a cup of coffee before taking a seat across from my desk. “But, I know you love your morning coffee, so I got you a latte. Plus . . .” She reached into her pocket and waved a small bag of chocolate-covered coffee beans.
I went to snatch them out of her hand, but she pulled them back.
“Details, missy. Tell me about your trip.” She sat back, propped her legs on my desk, crossing them at her ankles.
Rather than remind her who her boss was, since that wasn’t how I rolled, I just let out a sigh. “Amazing.” I didn’t want to go into seeing his mother.
“If you think one word is going to score you this bag of yumminess, you’re sorely mistaken.” She tucked the bag behind her back.
“Everything was perfect. From the private plane, to his home, the weather, the ambiance, and just spending time with him. He’s different than what the papers say.”
I thought about some of the women that looked at him when we were out, but he didn’t once return their admiration. To be honest, I didn’t even think he noticed them. The heat of the Florida sun was no comparison to the way my skin felt with just one look from him. Each day we spent together, the more I learned about Noah.
One thing was for sure, his eyes didn’t lie. When he got angry, they darkened, but not the shade or intensity when we were having sex or when he was turned on. That was an entirely different type of smolder. His irises would dance as if they were laying a roadmap of what was to come. He’d look at my mouth, my breasts, down to my toes, and back up again. Just thinking about that sent a wave of happiness up my spine.
Rochelle dropped her feet with a thud and leaned forward with her chin propped up in her hand. “Elaborate please.”
“I’m not saying he wasn’t a playboy or that he hasn’t had his share of women, but when we’re together, I feel as though I’m the only female on the planet. Even if the room is full of women, it’s like I’m the only one he sees.” She let out a sigh. “He makes me feel special.”
“I get that.” To my delight, she tossed the small bag on my desk. “Good girl, there’s your treat.” She started laughing.
“Am I your puppy in training?”
She shook her head. “No, but he looks at you that way because you are special.”
Have you ever wanted something so badly that you have trouble rationalizing between what you think is real and what you wish was? That was how I felt when I was with Noah. It was probably why I played hard to get for all of five minutes. In all honesty, there was no way in hell I wasn’t going to go out with him. Granted, I didn’t expect to fall into bed with him, but that night and every one since were better than any fantasy my mind could have conjured up.
“Want to know what I think?”
I raised my brows. “Why stop now?”
“I think he’s falling in love with you.”
There’s that word again. The one I almost choked on when Noah said it. “He is not falling in love with me.”
See, case in point. That was something I dreamt of. Noah Winston loving me, Margo Perry. No, I couldn’t go there. If I allowed that fantasy to grow in my head, it would end up consuming my heart.
“Think what you want. But you better remember to invite me to the wedding.” She winked.
Just as I was about to tell her to lay off the coffee beans, the office phone rang. “You better get that.”
Rochelle got up. “This discussion isn’t over.”
I popped a bean in my mouth and waved my hand at her, shooing her out of my office.
It was like déjà vu. One call after the other. Within minutes, Rochelle was back in front of my desk, but the playfulness was gone.
I stood with my heart jackhammering in my chest. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s a reporter on line one, two, and four.” I swallowed hard. “Noah is on line three; he said you weren’t answering your cell.”
I didn’t need a mirror to know the blood drained from my face. “What do they want?”
“A statement.”
“About what?” Every nerve in my body sprung to life.
“You talk to Noah, I’ll tell the reporters you’re out of the office.”
I nodded and picked up the phone. “Noah? What’s going on?”
He let out a breath. “Margo, I need to tell you something.”
Oh, God. I sat down. Every horrible scenario ran through my head. A woman claimed she was having his baby, he already had a child, a woman claimed she was his wife, Noah wasn’t his real name, Noah had a secret life. “What is it? You’re scaring me.”
“I wish I was there to tell you in person.”
“Noah, just say it.”
“My mother went to the papers.” Well, I didn’t see that coming. “She told them a bunch of lies.”
“About?”
Rochelle’s voice caught my attention. “No comment!” repeatedly as she feverishly answered calls.
“Noah, my phones are going crazy. Spit it out or I’m going to hang up and find out what’s going on myself.”
“She told some rags your name, your company’s name, and claimed that you’re only with me for my money. She called you a gold digging . . .” He paused.
“A gold digging what?” Silence. “Noah, I swear . . .”
He cut me off. “Talentless whore.”
“She called me talentless?” My voice rose several octaves in offense.
Noah did his best to suppress a laugh, but failed miserably. “I’m sorry, it really isn’t funny.”
“It kind of is, only because I’m so far from a whore or a gold digger. Including you, I have only been with three men my entire life. My business is successful, so that’s a non-issue. But, calling me talentless, well, that’s something that I won’t stand for. What paper did she tell?”
“A bunch of tabloids, but if it goes viral, major papers might jump on it. My guess is that one reporter leaked it.”
“I’ll handle it; I need to go. Thank you for calling me.”
After I disconnected the call with Noah, I waved Rochelle into my office.
“Holy shit, Margo. What the hell is going on?”
The phone rang again. “I’ll get it.” Rochelle’s eyes went wide. “Exquisitely Yours, this is Margo.” Question after question was rattled off having to do with Annabelle’s comments. When the eager reporter took a breath, I calmly asked, “What paper are you from?”
“The Washington Probe.” Holy shit, Washington? Wait, TWP wasn’t a tabloid. This guy sounded very young. It was my turn to ask questions.
“What’s your name?”
“Michael. Michael Evans.”
“How old are you, Michael Evans?”
“Um . . . I’m twenty-two.”
“So, you’re new?”
“No, ma’am, I’ve been here for three months.” Like I said, new. And don’t call me ma’am.
I snipped. “Let me ask you something, Michael Evans, experienced reporter. When you decided to enter the field of journalism, did you want to write tabloid-style stories?”
“No, ma’am. I studied political science with a minor in journalism. My goal is to write for the political section of the paper, not the gossip column.”
“Do you think if you wrote a serious piece with actual facts, you’d be taken a bit more seriously?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s what I thought. Get out your pen and paper because that’s what I’m going to give you—an exclusive statement. But, you need to be honest and print what I say. There will be no twisting of my words, do you understand? I’ll even give you names of people you can contact to substantiate everything I’m telling you. Do we have a deal?”
The young reporter eagerly replied, “Yes, ma’am.”
I put him on hold and gave Rochelle a list of people to call to ask if they would agree to be contacted.
Michael and I were on the phone for about an hour. During that time, I didn’t say anything negative about Annabelle. Truth be told, I didn’t even mention her. Instead, I told him about me; from where I studied to how I ended up owning my own business. I told him I had every opportunity handed to me by my father, but ventured out on my own. That was when he realized he could cross “gold digger” out of the title. Then, once Rochelle gave me the go ahead, I gave him the names of very prestigious clients, including but not limited to the woman with the Pomeranian whose husband owned several businesses in Manhattan, and since I’d been her stylist, she’d never looked better. And former Virginia senator, Drake Prescott’s girlfriend, who I dressed for a local event. Designers and store owners were also included as my references.
“Margo?” Michael and I were now on a first-name basis. “Annabelle Thomas, and pardon me for saying this, called you a whore. Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know. She doesn’t know me. Maybe she just doesn’t like my hair.” I chuckled and Michael did the same.
“If you don’t mind, I might add that to your statement. Having spoken to you, I can tell you’re a genuine person. Most people would have trashed the person who instigated this or screamed slander, but you didn’t. You’re a class act, Margo. Thank you for trusting me, and I promise, I won’t stray outside of the lines, no matter what my editor says. I’ll be sure to get that in writing before I give them my article.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“My dad owns the paper.”
Right then and there I knew Michael and I shared a common bond, and everything would be just fine.