“Mr. Cutler,” he said in a British accent. “It’s lovely to see you.”
“Thank you, Graham,” Noah said. “It’s nice to see you, too.”
“Will you be having the usual?”
“That would be great,” Noah said as Graham filled our water glasses with sparkling lemon water from a fluted pitcher.
“I’m not eating,” I announced. “So nothing for me, thanks.”
“She’ll have the same,” Noah said.
“Excellent choice, miss,” Graham said to me, as if I hadn’t spoken.
“You are infuriating,” I said to Noah once Graham was gone. “You know that, right? You brought me here because you’re supposed to be explaining yourself to me, and all you’re doing is trying to have your way again!”
“Is that what you think I’m doing? Having my way?”
“Yes! You just ordered for me! When I specifically said I wasn’t going to be eating.”
“You need to eat, Charlotte,” Noah said. “You have a hectic schedule, what with working for Professor Worthington and going to school. Not to mention anything else you might get up to.” He grinned wickedly when he said this last part. “You need to keep your strength up.”
I twisted my napkin in my lap and bit the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. How was it that he was always able to do this? Any situation, any time I had the upper hand, he was able to turn it around so that he was the one in control. Was it because deep down, I wanted him to be in control? Or was he able to do it because he was just so good at it? Was he playing me or was I letting myself be played?
My thoughts swirled and burned in my head, making me feel like I was going crazy. I felt my eyes fill with angry tears and I hated when I saw Noah notice them.
His face softened.
“I didn’t kill Katie,” he said.
“You keep saying you didn’t kill anyone,” I say. “And yet people keep ending up dead!”
“I know,” he said. “I know it doesn’t look good. But you said you trusted me.”
“That was before I found out you were fucking Katie. And that you lied to me about it?”
He frowned. “You found out what?”
“That you were having sex with Katie.”
“I wasn’t having sex with Katie.”
“I saw the emails, Noah. You gave Professor Worthington your password, remember?” I took a sip of water. “You can imagine how exciting and interesting it was, reading about how good you thought she was going to taste.”
A look of confusion clouded Noah’s face, and then he laughed. “Those emails? Charlotte, that’s what you’re upset about?” He shook his head. “Charlotte, those emails are nothing. Yes, Katie did try to start something up with me when she first started working for me. But I put a stop to it.”
“You put a stop to it by asking her how she tasted? That doesn’t sound like putting a stop to it, Noah.” I took another sip of water, hating the way I sounded. I sounded like a jealous girlfriend. The issue here wasn’t supposed to be whether or not Noah was fucking Katie. It was supposed to be whether or not he murdered her.
“I flirted with her a bit,” he said. “It was six months ago, Charlotte. And that’s as far as it got. A couple of dirty emails. If you’d kept reading the chain, you’d see that was it. It didn’t even span a week or even a few days. It was over in a couple of hours.”
I swallowed. “I’m not… you still lied.”
“You asked me if I had a relationship with her, and I said no. It was the truth.” He made a motion with his hand, like it was nothing, like he couldn’t believe I was getting so worked up over something so trivial.
“Stop doing that!” I said, pounding my hand down on the table. “Stop acting like anything I feel means nothing!”
I expected him to soften, to try and comfort me or convince me, but my words had the opposite effect. They seemed to make him angry.
“Is that what you think I’m doing, Charlotte?” he demanded. “You think I’m acting like how you feel means nothing? How do you think it makes me feel when you accuse me over and over again of lying to you? Why do you think I’m here right now, trying to convince you that I haven’t done anything wrong?”
“I think if you wanted to convince me, you could just tell me the truth.”
“I did just tell you the truth!” he said, his voice raising now. “I told you those were just some emails sent months ago, before I even knew you.”
“And the pictures of her in your file folder? How do you explain those?”
He sighed. “Those weren’t taken by me. They were taken by a private investigator who I hired to follow her.”
“And why were you following her?”
“Because I thought she was leaking information to someone on a case.”
I frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“I thought she was giving the district attorney information about a client I was representing,” he said. “And I was having her followed to see if I could catch her.”
“And was she?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful!” I said. “Means, opportunity, and now motive.”
“I didn’t kill her.”
“Do you see how this looks to me, Noah?” I asked. “Do you see how all of this looks? You keep everything inside, you keep everything secret and hidden. I’m a logical person, and when I start looking at everything logically, there’s really no way to believe anything else.”
“So you lied to me when you said you trusted me.”
“I want to trust you, Noah, but every single thing that happens points to you being a liar and probably a killer. So how can I?”
“That’s what trust is, Charlotte. Believing someone when the evidence points otherwise.”
“Yeah, well, do you see how hard that might be for me?” I asked, throwing my hands up in the air. “Do you see how that might not be that easy? And do you see how you might be making it even harder?”
He balled up his napkin and threw it onto the table. “I’m not making this easier for you? How do you think it felt, Charlotte, having to give my email passwords over to Worthington? How do you think it felt when Nora died? Do you think any of this has been easy for me, Charlotte? I’m doing the fucking best I can.”
His voice was laced with pain and anger, and I felt the emotions swirling around in my chest, threatening to take over the logical part of my brain, the part that was telling me I should walk out of here and never speak to him again.
“No,” I said quietly. “I don’t think this has been easy on you. I’m just trying to explain to you how I feel. And how would I have known any of that? About why you were following Katie? You don’t tell me anything, Noah. You don’t let me in.”
The waiter returned then, setting our food down in front of us. A perfectly cooked filet mignon with a skewer of shrimp drizzled with a rich lobster cream sauce. It was all expertly plated, the food arranged just so around a scoop of quinoa and kale salad. It was beautiful, and I had no appetite.
“Compliments of the owner,” the waiter said, pulling out an expensive-looking bottle of red and pouring Noah and me each a glass.