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Karma is finally on team Noah.
NOAH
The beat of my new Italian, tan leather shoes echoes against the shiny marble tiles. I’ve tapped into my feminine side, shopping all weekend with Charlie and Kate for a new outfit—a suit and shoes to wear today. It was eight hours of my life I’ll never get back. Who would’ve thought that women could be so indecisive? I had labels I stuck to and stores I knew by name, making it easier when I needed something new. That was back home. Here, it’s all about status.
Rodeo Drive—friend or foe?
The sales assistants fussed all over me, handing Kate and Charlie champagne while they sat on fancy chairs making me try on several suits. I knew the first one I tried on was the one. It was a navy suit that fit me perfectly with no need for alterations. Yet, they still managed to convince me to try several others, despite my reluctance.
By the end of our shopping trip, I vowed never to go out with them again. Charlie obsessed over every minor detail. And Kate? She’s that annoying friend who constantly has her head buried in her cell.
Both of them rambled on about how I should act, what I should say, and things not to do around Scarlett. It was like I’d never been around women before.
And while I sit here, waiting impatiently, their silly voices ring in my head.
“Make sure you shake her hand. It shows professionalism. Plus, women like to touch men’s hands. I
t gives them an indication of how big their pecker is,” Kate said.
“Maintain eye contact. Women love eyes. And use her name often, nothing sexier than some pleasant-name calling,” Charlie added.
“Unbutton your shirt a little. A nice, tanned torso is a real eye-catcher,” Kate continued. “And do you have reading glasses? Nothing like a studious man with a dirty side to him.”
Inside my head, I’m groaning and telling both of them to shut the fuck up.
The reception area is all white—leather sofa, desk, walls. It could easily be considered boring if not for the giant black-and-white portraits of Scarlett hanging on every wall. Her pose and sexy smile draw you in. Her signature sultry red lips are deliciously inviting. All of a sudden, my nerves consume me. I find my foot tapping louder, and this lush sofa, when I shuffle my body, it makes this squeaky sound similar to a fart. The room, large as it is, only echoes the noise giving the illusion that I just can’t hold things in.
Presley is sitting beside me, twisting a loose curl around her finger while reading some notes in her file. She pauses for a brief moment, adjusting her jacket, before closing her folder.
“So, how was Vegas?” I ask, making small talk.
“Fun. We got drunk, and I mean blind drunk. Haden almost lost our life savings on the blackjack table, but aside from that, a nice break from a very energetic toddler.” She smiles.
“I can imagine. Charlie’s daughters are little firecrackers. Nonstop, on the go all the time. I don’t know how Charlie does it, especially without a nanny all the time.”
“She’s a lot like me. Nannies are great, but I didn’t bring my child into the world to be raised by someone else. It’s all a balancing act, juggling work and being a mom. And some days, everything just falls apart, and a nanny would be like a walking angel.” She sighs, continuing, “We got home last night, and Masen, our son, wouldn’t let go of Haden. We were so tired and desperate to crash, but he wanted our attention. Life doesn’t stop just because we’re exhausted.”
She swipes through her cell and shows me a picture of her son crashed out in the middle of their bed. “This happens almost every night now. I try taking him to his own bed, but he wanders back in, and Haden just lets him sleep with us.”
I don’t want to say it but talk about killing the romance in the bedroom. If I ever have children, they will never, ever, be allowed to sleep in our bed. I’d want my wife to myself every night. Yes, I’m that selfish.
Stop. Now you are talking kids? You’re being brainwashed.
She continues to talk more about her son, how her sister and partner live not far away and help out whenever they can. She also talks fondly about Haden, despite their petty arguments in the office.
“Haden’s great at running that office. He knows people, and he knows business,” I compliment, impressed with his management skills.
“He’s extremely intelligent, but trust me, first impressions aren’t his strongest point. I couldn’t stand him at first. In fact, he was such a jerk that I couldn’t be in the same room as him.”
I laugh. “But look at you now. Some things have a way of working out.”
“They do,” she happily agrees.
The receptionist, an older lady, is dressed very professionally in a white pantsuit as she busily types away at the keyboard, her fake acrylic nails tap at a fast pace.
“Mr. Mason, Mrs. Malone-Cooper?”
Standing at one of the doors is a woman, it’s not Scarlett, although she bears some similarity. The eyes, perhaps? Or maybe, you’ve jerked off to the image of Scarlett’s face way too often.
