c a r t i e r

My number one rule: be silent.

It's not asking for a lot is it? I don't think so. I'm a quiet person in general. I speak quietly, work quietly, and keep to myself...quietly. There is no reason to be boisterous, loud, and inconsiderate for the other human beings that are around and subject people who relish in the quiet with the shit coming from Noah's phone or his mouth.

Every time I've heard the word cunt since he started working for me I cringe. His music with thundering bass and aggressive words spits out the word cunt left and right begins I notice it always starts at a dull hum, but by two hours the damn music is shaking the walls to my house and giving me a headache.

Okay, I'm exaggerating, so the walls aren't literally shaking but I shouldn't be gifted with hearing his crap taste in music for more than a few seconds let alone hours on end.

After the first week -- that was awful, I learned he purposefully ignores me when he wants to cut corners on a job that I'm paying him incredibly well for.

So, when I saw his earbuds for the first time I nearly lept for joy because I wouldn't be assaulted by the world's worst rap music. Then I realized with those going in, he genuinely wouldn't hear me when I notice things aren't getting done the way I want and the way I'm paying him to do it.

Me allowing the music to be played is me accomodating for Noah's silly needs, and I no longer accommodate for anyone.

Signing the divorce papers changed me. I lived nearly half my life to accommodate, love, and practically worship someone else and all it got me was being alone in this house with nothing but me, myself, and I.

Accommodation isn't in my vocabulary anymore.

"You've got to be kidding?" I seeth while cuddled deep in the center of my pillowy bed and drop my book to my chest.

The distant throbbing sound of bass has been playing for the last hour while I've been in my bed relaxing. It's nearing 9:30 at night, and this fool is still going at it with the music.

If I had his phone number I'd call him and tell him to turn it off, but besides him working here we try to avoid each other at all costs.

Forcing my eyes to read the words and their letters, I try to drown out the inconsistent beat of the bass beating through the woods separating the houses and filling my seclusion with the world's most annoying noise.

Last night, I dug out my earbuds from my suitcase that I use on flights to drown out the noise and fell asleep that way, but tonight I wouldn't be so kind.

The beat again pulls my attention from my romance book, right at the best freaking part, I might add, so I growl and dog ear the page and throw it to the foot of my bed and jolt from my bed. "Selfish, immature, asshole," I state and rip my robe from the antique white wrought iron jacket rack and shove it on messily wrapping it tightly around my waist.

If I knew how to turn off the electricity down at the lake house, I'm now renting to the worlds most annoying human being I'd do it in a heartbeat, but I don't know how and the box outside is practically written in a different language and only Noah knows how to work it.

I yank my phone from its charger and find the flashlight app and tap it on, while slipping my bare feet into my soft, fluffy slippers then leave, stomping my frustrations on each step of the stairs.

Unlocking the old deadbolt to the back door, I throw the door open and charge outside feeling the cool air prickle my skin and fill my nose and throat. It's pitch black dark, with the overgrown path Noah has half-started making it harder to see as I treck down towards the archway and delipitated, semi-fixed fencing.

Everything is half-done and half incomplete. It's like this guy gets bored halfway through the job and begins something else.

The chill of the air causes my nipples to chafe uncomfortably against the soft silky material of my sleep shirt so I tuck my thin robe tighter against my body trying to gain some warmth as I power walk in the darkness.

I gasp loudly when my slippered foot slams into a log, and I trip quickly over it narrowly able to catch myself before I fall forward, "Jesus Christ!" I bark and whip around seeing the messy pile of logs he left scattered instead of stacked neatly.

I straighten, and inhale a shaky angry breath, then start again reaching the edging of the oak and pine trees. Each step down the needle-laid path, the beat grows louder and soon the raunchy foul lyrics are clearly heard.

As the music grows louder, so does my anger.

He's lucky we don't have neighbors otherwise I'm sure someone would call the police, or whatever they do out here in the middle of fucking nowhere, England.

Wait...Are there even cops out here?

My confident steps falter and slow and my eyes lift from the lit path of my flashlight app and gaze around the forboding thick trunks of trees and the canopy of leaves and pine needles blocking out the stary sky above.

The fleeting thought of this confrontation waiting until morning passes quickly when a string of curse words bounces loudly from the trees filling my ears with obscenities I don't want to hear in the daylight hours let alone at almost ten pm at night.

Straightening my shoulders and spine I push my hesitancy to the back of my mind and continue on.

The trail narrows even more to a mere footpath with exposed roots and moss-covered stones. I reach the ravine where I balance on the larger rocks and boulders to avoid the stream water, then haul myself from the trench with a root and dust my hands of the soil and crumbling dirt.

Light finally breaks through the trees, and within a few steps I break through the trees and reach the ledge where the footpath leads along the ledge of the lake.

Ignoring the pretty view of the stars reflecting off the mirror-like lake, I charge quickly to the timber A-frame lake house that sits on the banks of the water where all the lights are on and the music pounds loudly as well as the sound of a table saw power tool screeches over the foul music.

"Mr. Turner!" I bark, hoping a simple call from the distance would be enough for him to realize his music is much too loud.

But, I can't be so lucky.

"Hello!"

The double story A-Frame house shoots high into the dark sky with a small outdoor deck on the second floor and a deck that wraps around the house jutting out over the water with a dock extending outwards.

It's all original and is need extreme repair, the dock is half-submerged beneath the water and the railings along the entire deck have snapped off and hang in several places.

"Mr. Turner!" I call again, taking the old steps up to the deck, surprised the large planes of glass aren't shaking with each beat of the bass, then spot the front glass doors wide open, "Noah!"

Suddenly, my slippered foot breaks through the wood and I go down hard as my foot shoots through the deck and I scream loudly from the pain of falling through the splintered deck.

I catch myself with my hands and instantly the pain on my shin and ankle bone shoots upwards as I awkwardly sit with my ankle and my entire leg stuck through the hole. "What the fuck!" I yell out, my breath labored and still piecing everything together with what just happened.

"Hello! NOAH!" I yell, then lean back and try to pull my aching leg from the hole, "Oh my God, what the Hell?"

I look around the dark and see my phone lying face down with the light shining upwards iluminating a messy handwritten plank of wood pointing to the exact place where I sit reading 'SHITE WOOD'. The double OO's sporting two dots in the center to make what I think are boobs.

Well, no fucking shit!

The song ends, and I yell out before the next one starts. The sound of someone scrambling inside fills the silence and then Noah comes jogging out the front door looking around until he spots me on the ground, "What the fuck you doin down there, eh?"

I gawk, "You think I'm sitting here because that's what I feel like doing? I fucking fell, Noah!"

Just as I start, his eyes drop and go wide realizing my left leg is shot straight through the deck. I hold my arm out, but he dips down close and plucks me from the hole, leaving my slipper in the depths of the deck.

The smell of sweat, vanilla, and cedarwood envelopes me and coats my tongue while he picks me up in a cradle and sort of just looks at me. I suck in a breath and my arm wraps around his neck.

The pain in my leg is forgotten, and all I can smell is his scent, and all I can see is the brightest blue eyes starring back at me. My body becomes aware of being held and cradled against his torso, and soon my mind that had momentarily been wiped clean of all my angry thoughts begins to work again, "Uhh, you can put me down," My voice quiet and has risen a few octaves against my will.

His aqua blue eyes are outlined with a navy blue rim, then they fill with a smile and he smirks, his breath bringing forth the spice of cinnamon. "Your leg is fucked, Ms. Davenport."

"Huh?"

I tear my eyes from his and look to my bare leg dangling over the grip of his hand and sure enough etched scrapes of blood span from my left knee to my ankle. Once I see it, the pain begins again and pulsates. "Oh...Umm, I can walk it's fine-."

"Nope," He argues and starts forward towards the stairs, "I've got no first aid shite here."

"W-wait, my phone," I interject and he turns spotting my phone shining in front of the open doors. He walks us over and squats to the deck, so I'm able to reach out and grab it. He turns and leaves the deck of death and starts up the trail along the ledge of the lake.

"Did you not read the sign, Ms. Davenport. I marked where the deck is dangerous-"

"I didn't see it until I was on the ground, Noah," I argue, my anger building swiftly as he continues to walk and I hold onto him.

He snorts a laugh, "What were you doin comin down to the lake house at 10 pm anyways? A little controversial you reckon?"

What is he even trying to say?

"No, your loud, rude music was keeping me awake -- for the second night in a row."

"Oh for fucks sakes, you and this bloody music. It wasn't even that loud."

"Yes, it was," I say between my teeth then grip his neck hard as he starts down the ravine, then shifts me in the cradle hooking his left hand under my armpit and the other under my knees.

"Well, I hadn't noticed."

I roll my eyes and shake my head.

Of course he hadn't, I'm sure he had no thoughts going on while that crap was pounding in his ears. "Obviously. It's way over the top if I'm yelling your name right outside your front door and you still can't hear anything."

He smirks again, and my body tenses from the sound as it angers me further, "Have you thought that perhaps I am trying to drown you out?"

"Put me down, I can walk from here." I throw my hurt leg from his hand, but he just adjusts me in his arms and ignores my protesting.

"Just shut up, Ms. Davenport. For someone who likes quiet, you sure like to fill it with bossing me around."

Oh my God.

He is delusional. I am his boss, that is what bosses do. Then I remember this guy is twenty-something-years-old, young and immature. I'm not dealing with an adult I'm practically dealing with a man-child.

"Whatever," I bite out, "Just put me inside and keep your music down." Thank God the back door is in view.

"I'll be sure to keep it down, I wouldn't want the elderly neighbors be kept from their 7pm bedtimes."

I fucking hate him.

But, I refrain from saying something back because, I've realized now it'll be like arguing with a child.

Noah steps through the threshold and I kick my legs from his handhold but he gathers them together again and doesn't misstep as he walks through the kitchen and goes to the small bathroom.

"Thanks, you can leave now." My voice is clipped and my irritation is radiating off my heated skin where he touches, but he again doesn't listen and plops me on the counter of the sink. My leg throbs from the fresh cuts, some even pretty deep and seeping blood that now trails from the scratches down my leg.

Noah moves around opening the cabinet under the sink and digs around, then stands and opens the wooden shelf beneath the old mirror before I can tell him that's where the first aid kit is. "I've got it," I reach for the white tub as he walks over and opens it, then jerks the tub away from me.

"I've got it." He states, "As you were saying, boss, this is technically my fault."

"I didn't say that-." Well, yes it is. It's more his damn music's fault, but I can't agree fast enough because he gently takes my ankle and lifts it planting my bare foot on his hip, studying my lower leg.

Noah sets the tub beside my hip and grabs the sterile wipes and opens them and gently presses the first wipe to a long scratch on my leg and wipes. It stings, but I'm frozen in place by watching him.

My mouth goes dry as he slowly traces the bleeding cut with the sterile wipe, then reaches and continues the task with another one. His long fingers are gentle but apply light pressure to clean the scratches as my bare foot rests on his upper thigh.

My eyes sink, taking in his attire from what he was wearing today. Dirty old jeans that cling low to his hips and a plain grey t-shirt fit snug around his biceps and chest. I drink in his appearance, hating that he's incredibly good-looking for a man. His caramel hair is a mess at the top of his head and curls up from his forehead like it's been trained by his persistent hands combing it backward.

My button-up sleep shirt tightens across my chest and my mouth goes dry as the silence builds with tension.

Now that it is quiet I want nothing more for him to fill it because in the silence my thoughts begin to think very inappropriate things.

Noah clears his throat, and I almost sigh in relief when he speaks, "So, is your husband dead or some shite?" His voice cracks and is low.

My brows furrow together, "What?"

Noah points his knuckle towards my right hand where my wedding ring sits on my fourth finger. This is the only thing I've kept from Anthony, and I haven't been able to take the step in taking it off completely.

"That was a bit forward, you're clearly here without a husband, but you still wear that?" He quickly explains.

The diamond weighs heavy on my finger and I gnaw on my cheek as I turn my hand and the large stone shines and catches the light of the vanity.

"He's not dead, we're divorced," I say, still hating the taste of the word on my tongue.

"Oh..." He trails off and his piercing blue eyes lift and connect to mine, holding my gaze hostage. "Then why wear his ring?"

I struggle to both look away and gulp.

His eyes are so pretty.

"Why does it matter?" I finally shoot back unable to look away from his eyes so I try to strike out with my words instead, but my voice isn't anything but a weak inquiry. "It isn't your business."

He blinks and his blue eyes roll and drop to my leg as he continues a little less gentle with his strokes this time, "You're a right git, you know that, Ms. Davenport."

I know I am, but it's not any of his business as to why I still wear Anthony's ring.

"It's not like it's on my left hand," I argue with him...And myself.

Noah shrugs and drops my foot then gathers the dirty wipes and tosses them into the trash bin beside the toilet.

"But now, I'm understanding you a bit more." A boastful grin tugs at his lips and he cocks a brow.

He doesn't understand me. He doesn't even know me.

I force my eyes to look him from head to toe and back up again, to be sure he knows I'm also judging the shit out of him. I ignore the flutter between my thighs and continue to glare at him, "Thanks for your help. Please keep your music down."

He sucks his teeth with his tongue and my eyes zone in on his mouth, then I snap them back up. "Goodnight, Mr. Turner."

"Cheers, Ms. Davenport." His grin turns mischievous and just as I had looked him head to toe he does the same to me.

My skin heats as his eyes trail down, lingering on my chest, so I fix my robe tighter and knot the tie quickly.

Noah chuckles darkly then turns to leave me in the bathroom as my skin breaks out into a cold sweat.

Surprise update!

I had to tease this chapter lol

Keep in mind Noah is 24 and Cartier is 33. There is a bit of a gap in maturity there, on both sides.

Thanks for reading!
CC