Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
My throat tightens. “You think so?” I ask, my eyes stinging. But I don’t want him to see me cry. Not over this.
Maybe he’ll change his mind, say this isn’t risky after all. Or maybe he’ll say we can handle it.
But the most strategic man I know is thoroughly flustered as he glances around his office, flapping his hand at his desk, sputtering, “What are we even doing?”
Me? I’m falling for him. But what the hell is he doing? I’d like to know the answer. I kick away all the trembling emotions as I lift my chin and cross my arms. “I don’t know, Bridger. What are we doing?”
He sighs heavily, full of awful resignation. “I’m not sure. It’s just…”
Here it comes. I brace myself for the end. “So you think we should…?” But I swallow down the word stop.
I can’t bring myself to say it. No matter how tough I think I am.
His jaw tics. His eyes almost…harden. “Harlow…”
I wither.
In one word, in my own name, I’ve been pummeled. There it is, and I can’t bear to hear the words we can’t do this. I can’t bear to hear him say stop after all.
I hold up a stop-sign hand. “I have to go.”
Then before he can say another word, before he can grab my wrist, before he can implore me to understand, before anything else at all, I leave.
Even when he calls out my name, I just keep going. Faster than he is.
Once I’m safely outside, walking along Central Park, I fight off all the emotions swirling up inside me. I have to text my father after all.
Because that’s what he expects.
But seconds later, he’s calling me and I’m answering, and I’m faking it all over again, with enthusiastic congratulations and oh my gods, and that’s so wonderful.
All to cover up the lies twisted like vines inside me.
As I march down the block to the restaurant, I run my finger over the I on my necklace. I need all my bravery tonight.
I need all my toughness too.
I can’t let anyone see how much I ache right now.
I walk into the private room at Ava’s Bistro off Park Avenue. When my father sees me, he beams, brings me in for a huge hug. Then he pulls Hunter in on the other side.
“Lucky me! We were returning to New York anyway since, well, I can’t stay away from Lucky 21 forever, and it turns out I’m lucky again since both my children are here to celebrate with me,” he says, like our presence in the city on this day in history is only because of him. I catch Hunter’s gaze like can you believe this. His eyes say yes, yes I can.
As a server walks in, Dad lets go of us.
Even though I’m ripped up inside, I owe my brother a huge apology.
While Dad and Vivian chat with the server about wine, I grab Hunter and pull him aside. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this,” I whisper. “I know you didn’t want to spend your last few hours in New York with him.”
“It’s fine,” he reassures me, his voice low. “And I didn’t tell him where you were.”
I go ramrod straight. Picturing the desk. My legs spread.
“The job interview,” Hunter prompts. “I wasn’t sure if Dad knew you quit.”
Right. Of course. That’s where Hunter thinks I was.
“Thank you.”
“Did you get it?” he asks eagerly, happy for me.
“I think so. I hope so. I haven’t told Dad I quit.”
“Good luck. You’ll need it,” he says, then hugs me once more.
I’ll need all his strength, especially when, a minute later, the click of wingtips signals it’s time for me to be tough again.
The man who Harlow’d me walks into the room. The man who doesn’t even know what we’re doing.
I knew what I was doing.
Falling.
My heart thumps too unevenly for him, too painfully. Too much is happening inside me all at once. I try valiantly to quash all my emotions, but it’s impossible with Bridger so close to me.
My dad beams at his business partner. “And of course I had to have my best friend here to celebrate as well.”
For one of the first times ever, Bridger doesn’t pull a poker face. Instead, he looks confused. He lifts his brow. Question marks flood his eyes. But he doesn’t say the obvious—We’re not best friends, Ian.
Because he knows how to read a room, and now is not the time to burst my father’s friendship bubble.
Not when my dad greets him with a clap on the shoulder and an embrace. “My best mate,” he says again, like he’s driving the point home.
“You’re like family,” Vivian coos to Bridger.
I just blink. What the hell? Several months ago, she wanted Bridger for his money.
Then, my dad sweeps out his arm toward the table. “Let’s have supper before my son has to leave town.”