What He Fights (What He Wants, Book Ten) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) by Hannah Ford Page B

in that folder, knew I was using this as a way to connect with
him.  
    He shook his head and released my hands,
moved off the bed.   He stood there,
staring down at me.   “Get up,
Charlotte.”
    He moved away from me and walked into the
bathroom, where I heard the sound of the tub being turned on.
    He returned to the room a moment
later.   “Get in the bath.”
    “No.”   I crossed my arms over my chest, defiant.
    But he reached down and scooped me off
the bed, handling me like it was nothing.   He carried me into the bathroom and set me down on the floor.   Then he pulled my robe off me and hung
it on the shower door.   He picked
me up again and set me down in the tub.
    Steam rose from the water, enveloping
me.  
    “You need to calm down,” he said.   “Relax.   And then we can deal with whatever is in that folder.”
    “I’m not a child,” I said.
    “Then stop acting like one.”
    He left the bathroom, closing the door
behind him.

 
    **

 
    I tried my best to do what I’d been told.
    I tried to relax.
    But my body was wired with energy.
    I made it ten minutes in the bathtub
before I climbed out, and I still didn’t feel ready to face whatever was in
that folder.  
    You have to, Charlotte, I told myself.   Denying it exists won’t make it go away.
    It’s what my dad had done when he’d first
gotten sick, slipped into the hazy comfort of denial, and it was this thought
that propelled me forward.
    I knew if I came back into the room after
just a few minutes, there was no way Noah was going to let me see those
documents.   I’d already been acting
crazy – a panic attack followed by an attempt to throw myself at him
didn’t exactly inspire confidence that I could handle whatever was in that
file.  
    So I forced myself to stay in the
bathroom, to dry my hair and put on some make up – foundation, a slick of
lip gloss, a swipe of mascara.   I
dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater, then returned to the suite.
    Noah was sitting at the desk, on the
phone.
    “Yes,” he said.   “That sounds fine.   I’ll see you then.”
    He ended the call.   He’d put on a pair of tracksuit buttons
and a long-sleeved white t-shirt.   He must have kept clothes here in the room for himself.  
    “Good,” he said.   “There you are.”   His voice was all business, his tone
brusque as if I’d just run to do an errand instead of carried to the bath by
him after he’d rejected my advances.
    “Yes,” I said.   “Here I am.”   My
heart was sinking, because I could tell his walls were back up.   Last night, and even this morning, how
he’d held me, talked to me, comforted me -- that was gone, replaced with this
version of him, the version that was in control and showed no emotion.
    “I set up a breakfast meeting with Worthington.”
    “For what?”
    “To prepare for the evidentiary
hearing.”   He was watching me
closely, searching my face for any clue that I might have a reaction to
this.   He was expecting me now to
go with him to this breakfast meeting, this meeting where Professor Worthington
was going to be, where we’d have to go over my testimony.
    “Does Professor Worthington know what
they’re going to ask me?   Has the
DA’s office sent over their questions?”
    “No.   The DA’s office will want interview you in person before the
hearing.   I’m sure Colin will be
able to anticipate what they’re going to ask you.   I’m sure you can, too, Charlotte.   It’s Criminal Law 101.”
    I glanced around for the folder of
evidence, but I didn’t see it anywhere.   Why had Noah taken it away?   He’d acted like as soon as I calmed down the two of us would go over it
together.   He’d acted like he
didn’t want there to be any secrets between us anymore, he’d handed the folder
to me and told me to look through it.
    And now here he was, acting cold
again.  
    I was getting fed up with this
merry-go-round.
    “I’ll be taken off the case,” I