CHAPTER TEN
Two days later, Friday afternoon rolls around. I hate to leave Harlow when she’s vulnerable. Since our lovemaking in the shower, she’s been quiet, almost thoughtful. I slept beside her that night. I woke her up twice so I could be inside her again. She allowed me deep, clinging to me almost gratefully. I thought we’d turned a corner.
But when I woke at six the next morning, she was already in the gym, climbing the Stairmaster like it could take her far from me. All day—and all night—she gave me a wide berth. I let her…maybe more than I should have. I can’t pressure her more or upset her too much. She has to decide on her own. And it seems as if she is. But boarding a flight to Honolulu this morning was damn hard. Will she be waiting for me when I get back? Or will she have disregarded our summer-long contract, cleaned out her stuff, and left?
I have no assurances and no way of knowing. But I can’t force her to fall in love with me, simple as that.
Since I had a previous engagement, I flew to Oahu. Weeks ago, the high school I’d once attended and where I still hold most of the quarterback records asked me if I’d come lay some motivation on the kids just before finals and graduation. I owe that school for teaching me, for feeding me when my parents didn’t always have the money, and for helping to shape me into the man I am today. Despite my worries, I said yes and hope I can keep myself together.
The visit is a surprise. No one knows I’m coming, and when I jog out to the middle of the gym floor, the kids all scream and shout. I say a few words I’ve rehearsed about determination, being true to yourself, and always doing your best, then we sing the school song together. I still remember it. Finally, I sign a few footballs for kids who play on the current squad and let girls half my age practice their flirting as I answer their pretend questions about pro sports and life’s tough decisions. Then with a smile and a wave, I head back to the airport in Honolulu. I’ve got a plane to catch back to Maui. Back to Harlow.
I hope.
It’s been a great afternoon, and I love being near my roots again so I can give back to my community. In fact, I left the school’s athletic fund a nice donation before I departed. It feels good to be able to give back.
A couple of hours later, I’m savoring the high as I’m strolling through the airport, ball cap pulled low. Most people don’t notice me. Tourists are heading back to the mainland. Businessmen are dashing to flights bound for Tokyo or San Francisco. No one is paying me much mind as I loiter in a seat in the corner at the gate.
Until a guy in his mid-twenties sits in the uncomfortable vinyl chair beside me. “Mr. Weston?”
I really don’t want to draw attention to myself, much less a crowd. It’s happened before. I was hoping that part of my life was over, damn it. “Yeah. Hey, I’m just catching a flight home and—”
“I’m not approaching you as a fan.”
Despite being tall and broad, he’s dressed in an impeccable suit, so I wonder if he’s got some business opportunity in mind, maybe sports-related. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”
“I don’t want anything from you except information about Harlow Reed.”
That snaps me to attention and whips up my protective instincts. “She’s not up for discussion. Are you a reporter?”
“No. But according to the press, you’re…together. I just want to meet her. Talk to her. Please.”
This guy thinks I’m going to introduce him to my girl? No fucking way.
I hop to my feet. “This conversation is over.”
“Wait. I don’t think you understand.”
Oh, I get it, all right. Waving a dismissive hand, I keep walking.
He follows. “I think she’s my sister.”
That stops me dead in my tracks. I snap my stare in his direction, scowling. “What?”
“My name is Evan Cook. My mother was Barclay Reed’s secretary for three years. She died when I was five, but from everything I’ve gathered, they had an affair and that man is my biological father. Harlow and I were born three days apart.” He clenches his jaw, looking as if he’s trying to keep himself together. “I have no other family and…I just want the chance to know her.”
I’d call bullshit…except he seems utterly serious. And when I look for some family resemblance to validate his claim, I can’t deny that his eyes are the same green as Harlow’s.
Oh, shit.
“Have you tried to contact her in the past?” I don’t want to talk to this guy anymore if she’s already slammed the door in his face.
“No. I only decided to get in touch with her about two weeks ago. But she’s been impossible to find. Reclusive. Then I saw the news about the two of you. Social media said you’d had an appearance in Honolulu today, so I thought I’d try to talk to you first. I even bought a ticket to Maui in the hopes that she would see me…and you would help me break the news to her. I couldn’t get a seat on this flight, but I’ll be on the one after, that arrives late tonight.”
Oh, fuck. How will Harlow feel about potentially meeting the product of her father’s infidelity? Does she even know she may have another brother in the world?
As I sit again and he sinks down beside me, I’m torn.
“What about Maxon and Griff?”
“Who?” He looks confused. “I don’t know them. My mom’s journal mentioned my half sister. She wrote that Barclay’s wife, Linda, was expecting a girl at the same time and that they’d eventually named her Harlow. If he had other family, I’m not aware.”
“Have you tried to talk to your biological father?”
“Does he sound like anything other than an asshat to you? He knew my mother was pregnant. She said he was there the night I was born. But where was he after my mother was shot in a store robbery and I became a ward of the state of California? Child Protective Services contacted him and asked if he wanted to exercise his parental rights. He declined. If he didn’t care then, I don’t care now.”
From the little bit I know about Harlow’s father, I’m not surprised. I don’t mention her older brothers again in case this guy is a crackpot. But if he’s legit…will Evan come as a surprise to Maxon and Griff?
“All I’m asking is if you’ll talk to her, find out if she would be willing to see me. I’ll arrive about three hours after you. Here’s my number.” He hands me a business card. “I’m thinking of moving my home and the base operations of my firm to Hawaii, so I’ll be here for at least a few weeks. I’d really like the chance to meet her. I won’t take up more of your time.”
With that, he stands and walks away, leaving me to wonder what I’ll tell Harlow when she’s already raw and shell-shocked…and how she’ll react.
Night has fallen by the time I pull up to my driveway. I peer at the huge house, trying to see whether Harlow is still here. From this angle, the place is dark. My heart pounds furiously. What will I do if she’s gone? Call Maxon and Griff and insist they let me see her? Maybe. Probably. I can’t let her give in to her fear and lick her wounds in private.
I can’t give up on her. I’ve never had quit in me and I’m not about to start now.
Instead of hitting up the front door, I walk around to the patio and see Harlow perched on the sofa, playing her video game. My relief at locking eyes on her petite form still under my roof is palpable. I let out a pent-up breath.
Doing my best to seem casual, I stroll in through the open accordion doors and drop a kiss on her head. “Hi, baby.”
She pauses her game and stands to face me. But she makes no move to touch me. “Hi. How was everything?”
“The high school visit was good. The ‘after’ part, we’ll talk about in a bit. Did you eat dinner?”
“Yeah. I grilled some chicken and tossed together a fruit salad. I put leftovers in the fridge.”
“Thanks.”
I’ll get to it eventually. Right now, I have no idea how I’m going to break this news to Harlow. I’ve wrestled with the decision to tell her and realized that Evan may want my help in breaking this to her, but he’s not going to let me stop him. If I say no, he’ll simply go around me—and maybe give her an unexpected shock she’s not ready to handle.
She nods my way. “It’s…um, been quiet all day. I just had a few phone calls with some colleagues about your next assessment. Tomorrow good? I want to nail down as much as possible before I decide on a course of therapy.”
“Sure.” I let out a breath. “Can I have a hug?”
Harlow fidgets, then nods. We meet halfway, and I wrap her in my arms. She’s a little stiff but not resistant. I can’t help myself from brushing a kiss across her lips, settling against her mouth for a heartbeat to feel her, before pulling back just enough to study her face.
“What’s up?” She frowns.
I should realize she’s getting good at reading me, too. “I need to talk to you. Why don’t we sit?”
“If it’s about the other night, I don’t have anything to say. I’m still…processing.”
I didn’t expect her to profess her undying love. But at least she’s not telling me to fuck off. I’m nervous that once I spring Evan on her she’ll forget that she shouldn’t shoot the messenger. But I can’t control that. I have to do what’s best for her.
I get dizzy and start to sweat. I recognize the symptoms. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. I can’t freeze up now.
I rush to get the words out. “I met a guy in the airport says he’s your father’s son by one of his secretaries. The name Evan ring a bell?”
Harlow steps back and blinks in shock. Yeah, that did not come out smoothly. So much for breaking it to her gently. Damn it.
“What?”
Words start racing through my brain again, but it’s as if someone stuck a cog in the spokes of the wheel that churn my thoughts from my brain to my mouth. I press my lips together mutely. Goddamn it. Of all the times to lose my ability to speak…
Harlow seems to understand and takes my hands. “It’s all right. Breathe in and out. I’m not mad. I’m not even all that surprised. One of the reasons my parents are divorcing has to do with my dad’s wandering penis. Obviously, my mom has no trouble with him sleeping around, since she told me to get over myself when I split with Simon. But during one of their fights a couple of months ago, all the ugly crap about my dad knocking up his current secretary came out. Mom is pissed about that. My dad seems proud and thrilled. My mother called it repugnant and unseemly. She asked what their country club friends would think if they knew. He said that if Amanda, his twenty-five-year-old assistant, had his son, everyone would think he’s still the man.”
He sounds like an absolutely assholic son of a bitch. My dad would never have dishonored my mother that way, especially with someone young enough to be his daughter. And if he had fathered children on other women, Trace and I would have been shocked and angered. Harlow merely shrugs cynically. My heart breaks for her.
“So…what does Evan want?” she asks. “Money?”
I shake my head and try to make my jaw work. I feel my thoughts steady. The dizzy, hot-clammy feeling recedes. When I squeeze her hand, it’s better. “To meet you.”
“Seriously?” She frowns skeptically. “To quote Wayne’s World—a really underrated movie, in my opinion—‘Yeah, and monkeys will fly out of my butt.’”
There’s no way not to laugh at that.
“Hey, that’s enough of that.” Harlow wags her finger at me. “No making fun of my cinematic choices.”
“I don’t think Wayne’s World is underrated,” I manage to say and the words sound almost right. “I prefer a more highbrow comedy, like Dodgeball.”
Harlow laughs at me. “Oh, that’s a socially important film, for sure.”
“Um, hello. ESPN Eight, ‘the Ocho.’” I wink her way, then turn serious. “The truth is, I think Evan really wants to meet you. He says he has no other family. I wonder if he wants you to be part of his.” I hand the man’s card to her. “He’ll be in Maui in a couple of hours. This is up to you, of course. But he said he’d love it if you’d call.”
She glances at the card before setting it on the coffee table. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that my dad has another illegitimate child besides the one on its way. If you have a lot of sex with women who aren’t your wife, it’s bound to happen. I wonder if my mother knows. Or cares.” She sighs. “I wonder how Maxon and Griff will take the news.”
“Evan didn’t know anything about them, only you. So if you decide to meet with him, your brothers will be a surprise to him as well.”
She nods and pulls her phone from her pocket. “I need to call them. Will you give me a minute?”
I’d rather hold her hand and give her the support she needs, but Harlow isn’t ready. As bitter as that is, I can’t barge my way into her family business. “Sure. I’ll head upstairs to change and be back in a bit. Let me know if you need anything.”
I take a long minute picking out a comfortable pair of shorts and a loose tank. I rinse off with a quick shower, trying not to focus on the last time I wasn’t in here alone. It’s been three days since I made love to her—and I made her acknowledge me. She said she’s still processing, and I don’t know what that means. But letting frustration get the best of me isn’t going to help.
I glance at the clock. About fifteen minutes have passed since I headed upstairs, so I risk creeping down. Harlow sits on the sofa, still staring at her paused game, unmoving.
She’s in shock.
“Baby?” I rush to her side.
“Apparently Evan is for real, and I also have a sister I’ve never met. Her name is Bethany, and she’s close to Griff’s age. Maxon knew everything. He’s known for months.”
And his secrecy hurt. She doesn’t say it, but I know. The grit in her voice tells me she chewed him a new asshole, too.
“Did he say why he didn’t tell you?”
She lets out a heavy breath. “He didn’t want to disillusion me. He knew I’d wanted to be a daddy’s girl as a kid. He was trying not to color my opinion with the sordid details. Griff knows, too, of course.”
Harlow doesn’t have to tell me how alone she feels. I see it all over her face. She adores her brothers, and she feels betrayed that they’ve kept secrets from her, even if they meant to protect her.
“I’m sorry, baby.” I take her hand in mine and kiss it, wishing I could take away her pain.
She shakes her head. “In his shoes, I probably would have done the same thing, especially since Maxon and my dad have had a strained relationship for as long as I can remember. He seemed to prefer Griff, even though they both worked for Dad as interns while in high school. He constantly belittled Maxon for not being macho and manly enough.”
“What an awful thing to say to your own son, especially when he’s still just a kid. Any reason he showed favoritism to Griff?”
“I don’t know, and Maxon won’t spill. But I’m sure it sucked. Just like I’m sure whatever Griff had to do to curry favor with the old man must have been dirty and underhanded since that’s all Barclay understands. So my brothers learned to be unscrupulous, ambitious assholes from the best—at least until Keeley and Britta.”
And until Harlow accepts that I’m here for her, she’s handling all this alone.
“I’m sorry, baby.” That her father is an asshole. That her brothers aren’t forthcoming. That she’s having to deal with an illegitimate brother when she’s already in turmoil. “I wish I could say something to make it all better.”
She shakes her head slowly. “You can’t. I’ve known for a long while that Dad is a total bastard. With the age gap between us siblings, I didn’t realize how much our father picked on my brothers. I thought I was the one who got the brunt of his displeasure.”
My heart stops. Is Harlow going to tell me something? Is she finally willing to open up? “What displeasure? Baby, what did he do to you?”
Harlow jerks, seemingly startled by my question. “If you’re thinking he touched me inappropriately or something awful like that, no. The truth is, he saw a girl child as useless in business, so when I wanted to intern, he laughed at me, patted me on the head, and told me my best bet was to marry well.”
I gape at her. “Does this man know how smart you are?”
“I don’t think he paid much attention to me once he saw that I lacked the requisite penis to house one’s brains.” She rolls her eyes. “Once I got older, he dolled me up and took me to functions, introduced me around…” She shakes her head. “You know what? He’s just an asshole, and I don’t want to give him more energy. I’d rather focus on now. I don’t know whether to pity Evan growing up as the wrong-side-of-the-blanket kid or congratulate him for skipping a childhood with Barclay Reed.”
There’s more to this story. I can feel it. But like everything else between us, I can’t force her. It’s starting to frustrate the hell out of me. What will it take to make her trust me?
“Does Maxon want to meet him?”
“Yeah. I gave him Evan’s contact information. We’ll see. Maxon is all about family now. Well, not the parents, but he’s ready to surround himself with people who matter. He also seems interested in finding out whether assholery is a genetic trait or a learned behavior, and I guess Evan will answer some of those questions for him. I’m sure Griff will go along, too. You know, scope out the long-lost brother together.”
“What about you?”
She shrugs, then shakes her head and picks up her game controller. “I don’t need anyone in my life, Noah. I’m better off alone.”
I wake up early the next morning. Harlow isn’t beside me.
I don’t need anyone in my life, Noah. I’m better off alone. Harlow’s words resonate in my head. After the two brothers she trusted more than anyone shut her out, even to well-meaningly shelter her, I fear she really means them.
This damn woman is tying me in knots. How the hell am I supposed to reach her if she won’t talk to me? If she refuses to even sleep in the same bed with me?
Creeping down the hall, I find her in her own room, curled up under the covers as if blankets can somehow ward off the hurtful people in her life. Or does she only mean to keep me out?
The frustration is bugging the shit out of me. Being under the same roof with a woman who only wants laughs and sex when I know we could have so much more isn’t easy.
After tossing on running shorts and a pair of sneakers, I run out of the house and past the guard gate. The sun is just beginning to lighten the sky with vivid oranges and golds. I’m thanking every higher power imaginable that there are no reporters or paparazzi hanging out now. The new guard at the gate waves me out and I head down the deserted road, pounding one foot in front of the other on the pavement.
My thoughts circle and chase one another. Am I spinning my wheels with Harlow? Will she ever come around? Giving up seems logical. Why beat my head against that towering brick wall she has up around her heart? On the other hand, who in Harlow’s life has ever truly invested in and cared about her? Not her father or mother. Definitely not her ex-fiancé. Not even her brothers until recently, if everything she’s said is true. It begs one question: Who’s been on her side? Who’s been that someone she can count on, no matter what?
I don’t think anyone. And keeping everyone out is her way of stopping potential hurt before it even starts. I don’t blame her. But I also don’t like it. Do I really want to be like everyone else who’s let her down? Can I really imagine my life without her?
No.
Jesus, I think I am in love.
Well, hell…
After a three-mile loop around the estate, I walk back the last quarter of a mile, sweaty and exhausted and no closer to talking myself out of it. The sun is a blazing orange ball rising in the blue sky. It’s going to be a scorcher, and I have a feeling summer will be no joke. But after a dozen seasons in Dallas, I’m used to heat and humidity. What I’m struggling with is the fact that days are sliding by, and while I’ve learned more about Harlow, I’m no closer to convincing her to trust me.
Something’s gotta give.
The phone in my pocket buzzes, and I pull it free in case she’s calling and wondering where I’ve disappeared. When I see Cliff’s number pop up, I groan. Unless we’re negotiating a new deal of some sort, he’s never calling with good news.
“What’s up?”
“Who the fuck is Mercedes Fleet? Where did you meet her?”
“Who?” I press the phone to my ear and struggle to catch my breath.
“Mercedes Fleet.”
“I don’t know her.”
“Apparently you know her well enough to have knocked her up, at least according to her. TMZ broke the story an hour ago. They just called me for comment.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach. This is one more problem I don’t need. I search through my memory bank, trying to remember the last woman I had sex with before Harlow. I have to go back about three months. The party after my final Super Bowl win. I don’t remember her name. Shit. I gloved up, but…nothing is foolproof.
Is it possible? What do I do now? And given what’s up with her father right now, what will Harlow think?
“What does this woman look like?” I’ve been accused more than once of sleeping with some chick I’ve never touched. Some women like to brag about bagging someone famous, and I have to set the record straight. Or try. The truth is, too many people don’t believe the denial. It sounds like weaseling, reeks of not manning up.
“There’s a nice picture of her on TMZ, front and center.”
“Hang on.” I launch my browser and surf to the tabloid site.
WESTON’S LOVE CHILD ON THE WAY! screams the headline.
The picture below shows a woman standing behind a podium, microphones reaching to her lips and reporters leaning close as if no one wants to miss a word of her story. She’s a beautiful woman with long, light brown hair, a slender frame, and stoic blue eyes. I scan the article. She claims we met at a Super Bowl after party at the St. Regis in Houston. I can’t deny I was there. I was also stone-cold sober, so I know damn well she is not the anonymous brown-eyed blonde I fucked that night.
But several bystanders and even a former teammate place me at the scene and say they remember us talking before disappearing into one of the suite’s bedrooms together. I’m baffled.
I lift the phone to my ear again. “I swear I don’t know her. I certainly didn’t get her pregnant.”
“It doesn’t look good, buddy. The network isn’t happy. First that Harlow chick and now Mercedes. They’re all for you being the man in the broadcasting booth, but women are a growing segment of NFL viewers, and they don’t want to hear a guy led around by his dick, even if he is a football legend.”
“Listen!” I growl. “I swear to god that I don’t know her and I didn’t fuck her. Why don’t you try being on my side, goddamn it. I pay you enough.” I huff in frustration. “Handle the PR on this. I’ve got to go.”
Without waiting for a reply, I hang up on Cliff. If it’s all over TMZ, then it’s hitting other news outlets, too. It will be the talk of ESPN and other sports-dominated channels. It may even make mainstream news. Which means Harlow will hear about it soon…if she hasn’t already. I can just imagine how she’s going to take this. She’ll lump me in with her sleazebag father and Simon. She’ll assume I’m a man whore and an asshole. My denials will fall on deaf ears. She’ll turn her back on me because she’ll be too afraid to trust people, much less the guy she’s known for barely a week.
I hold in a roar of frustration. What the fuck? I’ve got to get to her now, before the news reaches her. I need to explain. If I tell her I need her help… Yeah, inciting her sweet, natural empathy by asking for her assistance might keep her close. Maybe.
Shit.
I full-out sprint back to the house. There’s a growing gaggle of reporters waiting for some scoop at the gate. They shout questions about this woman supposedly carrying my baby. The new guard, who understands his role, opens the gate. The tabloid press is still haranguing me as I dash through with a “no comment.” The guy in uniform shuts the barricade behind me quickly.
The sun beats down on me as I run the last quarter-mile up to the house and crash through the front door. As soon as I step inside the entryway, I nearly trip over Harlow’s suitcases. I hear her cursing from across the room and look up to see her dragging another piece of luggage down the stairs, her motions jerky and flustered. I step over the heap of her things and approach her. She almost collides with me, then shoots me a glare that’s grim and red-eyed and resolute.
“Where are you going?” I demand.
“Anywhere that’s not here. I’ll stay with Griff and Britta until I can get back to California.”
Like hell. “So you’ve heard the rumors? And you’re believing this woman who says I met her at a party and knocked her up without first talking to me?”
“I’m not leaving because of you, Weston. Look, you’ve got your hands full, and frankly I don’t need more drama. I’m not mad. You met her long before me, so what you did with her in February is none of my business. I don’t think your mom is going to be thrilled that you’ve indiscriminately spread your DNA around, but…” She shrugs and reaches for her purse. “You’ll figure that out, I guess.”
I wrap my fingers around her arm. “I am not your father. Or your ex. I didn’t do this.”
She seems to lose some of her composure as she jerks from my grip. “Did you hear me? It doesn’t matter. I didn’t know you then. The truth is, I woke up this morning and realized I was done processing what happened a few days ago in the shower. I think this…fling means more to you than it does to me, and I’d rather not hurt you. So I’m going to do you a favor and leave. You’re going to be great. I left the names of some fantastic therapists on the island—both speech and psychological. You may need both since anxiety seems to be a real trigger for you. Any of these people would be really qualified to help you.” She gives me an entirely false smile as she gathers her luggage. “I wish you the best.”
“This is bullshit.” I jerk the bags out of her hands as fast as she can pick them up. “You’re absolutely running away from me because you think I got that woman pregnant. You’re scared to trust that I’m not Barclay or Simon.”
“No.”
“Hell yes. Look at me, Harlow. When have I ever hurt you?” She presses her lips together mulishly and picks up her big suitcase again. I yank it from her grip. “When have I ever done anything except try to help you?”
She doesn’t answer, just grabs her computer bag and hoists it onto her shoulder. I grab the strap in my fist and jerk it behind me.
“Stop it!” she insists.
“You stop,” I growl. “You’re not leaving, goddamn it.”
“Oh, I’m not? So you’re going to keep me here against my will?”
“I’m not letting you run out over nothing.” I lock the door behind me and lean against it, arms crossed.
Harlow is determined, but compared to me? She can’t beat my size, strength, or persistence.
“I’m not running out. I’m getting out of your way and getting on with my life. That’s it. So give me my bags and move so I can leave.”
“Nope.” I shake my head resolutely. “You don’t get to do that. Did you forget? We have a contract. You’ve signed it. I’ve paid you. You’re obligated to stay here with me until Labor Day.”
She’s a tiny thing, but her giant temper makes an appearance. “That’s how you want to play this? So you are my father, after all? Besides the illegitimate kid on the way, you fucking think you know how I should run my life better than I do and you don’t give two shits how I feel? Nice. Next you’ll be telling me that I’d be better off marrying well, too. Never mind my aspirations or ambitions… So who, in your estimation, should I whore myself to for a ring on my finger?”
I won’t let her manipulate the situation or my composure when she’s only trying to push my buttons. “You want to marry well, baby? Marry me.”
She scoffs and frantically grabs her luggage again, this time trying to scoop multiple pieces in her grip at once. “Yeah, right. That’s not going to happen.”
I divest her of her bags again, earning a screech of frustration from her.
“Give me one good reason why not,” I challenge. “Just one.”
“Hand that over.” She reaches for her makeup case, but I set it behind me, too. “You want one good reason, Weston? Okay, you piss me off. We barely know each other and somehow you get under my skin and manage to scratch around and give me hives and—”
I laugh. That’s not a reason to let her leave me. If I’m crawling under her surface and getting to her, that’s a reason to make her stay.
“You think that’s funny?” she challenges.
“No. But I think that makes us even. You get under my skin, too. You make me want you, make me need to understand you, hold you, heal you—”
“I’m not broken!”
She is, but not irreparably. “All right. But how many men have you dated you didn’t care about at all? Who let you walk all over them? Who couldn’t handle your backbone?” Her pause tells me the number is high, and she’s aware of it. “I can handle you.”
“I don’t want a man who thinks he needs to try. When I agreed to marry Simon, I just wanted a decent guy to spend my years with, one who’d be there for me when it mattered. One who’d give me the children I want. I didn’t care about adoration or devotion, just kindness and the appearance of happiness. I still want those things. I don’t think you can give them to me.”
“Try me.”
She studies my face and frowns. “You’re serious?”
“Completely.”
“You’re crazy.”
“You didn’t say you were looking for sane, baby. Marry me. You want a decent guy? I’m here. You want someone who will spend their years with you? I will. I’ll always be here for you. You want kids? I will happily get you pregnant. I’ll relish it. You might not care about adoration or devotion, but I’ll give you those, too. I’ll endeavor to be kind and do whatever it takes to make you genuinely happy, not just help you look as if you are. All you have to do is say yes.”
“I’ve known you for nine days.”
I shrug. “So? You listed off your wants, and I’m telling you I’ll fulfill them. Who cares about the details?”
“I did the bride thing recently. Not looking to do it again. Now move so I can go.”
“If you leave, tell me one person you know who’s capable of giving you everything you want.”
Her silence is telling.
“No one, right? You want to call Simon again? Or wait a few years and hope you meet someone better?”
She presses her lips together, and I can tell that she’s thinking. One part of her would love to tell me to pound sand, but I’m dangling the life she wants most in front of her face. If I can’t appeal to her heart, I can tug at her deep-seated desire.
Suddenly, she says, “You’re already having a baby. You don’t need me to have one, too. Move.”
I stand my ground and grab her shoulders. “I have never met what’s-her-name in my life. I did not have sex with her. I did not get her pregnant. We were at the same party at the same time, following the Super Bowl. I admit that. Maybe she decided to use that happenstance to see if she could extort money from me. I wouldn’t be the first chump a gold digger tried to con. But I hope like hell you’d believe the word of the guy who’s been your lover over the woman you’ve never met.”
She falls quiet for a long moment. “What do you want?”
“Marry me.”
“I’m not marrying anyone right now.”
I try not to take it as a rejection. She’s endured a big shock today, and I’m probably leaning on her too hard. Yeah, she’s pushing back, but I expected that. I am talking to Harlow, after all. And after everything she’s been through lately, she’s entitled to lash out in pain. I’m hearty; I can take it. But the more I talk about tying the knot, the more convinced I am that we could be good together. I could make her happy. I could make her fall in love with me in return. In fact, I want that more than anything.
But I need more time. A summer may not be enough.
Trying to talk her into it for her benefit isn’t working, so I change tactics. “Look, I could really use a wife. The network is getting itchy, and if I ‘settle down,’ it’s more likely they won’t rescind their offer. It seems like a shame to work on my speech only to find out that I might not have a position with the network after all.”
“Marry the woman who’s having your baby. That would solve your image problem.”
God, this woman is stubborn as the day is long, and yet I still find her so damn fascinating. “She’s. Not. Having. My. Baby. Get that through your thick skull. Marry me.”
“The press would almost certainly think that I left Simon for you because I was cheating on him.”
“Do you care? He was cheating on you in a big way and everyone knows it.”
She lets out a long sigh. “No. I don’t care about appearances. But you should.”
“Why don’t we make a deal? You marry me for a year. I’ll give you a baby. On our first anniversary, we can reevaluate. If you want to stay, we’ll continue on as we were. If you want out then, I’ll give you five million dollars and custody, as long as I get visitation.”
It’s a huge gamble, and I could end up the worst loser. But this buys me at least twelve months with Harlow, maybe even a lifetime. A child would guarantee that we’ll end up parenting together, so even if we divorce—over my cold, dead body—we’ll always have our son or daughter in common.
Yeah, it sucks. I’m out of choices in my “better options” bucket.
“I don’t want your money.”
Another thing I like about her. She can be blunt and stubborn, sure. But she isn’t greedy. She’s so confident in her ability to make her own money that she doesn’t want mine. “It’s on the table if you change your mind.”
She cocks a hand on her hip. “You could marry just about any woman you want. I have no illusions that I’m easy to deal with. Why me?”
If I tell her that I’m pretty sure I’m in love with her, she’ll run screaming in the opposite direction. I have to play this cool. “We make sense. We get along. We have great sex. We share common values. I want to get on with the next stage of my life. You can help me with my speech, and the press already thinks we’re an item. Introducing another woman now might send the network into a tizzy, not to mention my fans. Telling everyone that we’re getting married suddenly turns you from the sordid, under-the-blankets fling to a legitimate staple in my life.”
“What’s in it for me, besides awesome sex? You can’t guarantee me a baby. Neither of us knows for certain I will—or can—get pregnant.”
“Any reason to think you can’t?”
She shakes her head. “No. I have this friend who’s been married for two years, and they’re trying so hard…to no avail. Just saying it’s not something we can predict.”
“Fair enough. We’ll try the fertility bit. If it doesn’t work, I can still offer you some consolation: I know people in high places. I can open doors for you. Hell, I can introduce you to dozens of other players who probably need your help, too. If you want to jumpstart your career, I could do that for you in a major way.”
She’s silent for a long moment, like she’s actually considering my impulsive proposal. But this is right. I’m sure. I know it in my bones. “Any catch?”
I pause, consider. “Two conditions: First, you have to put your all into making us work while we’re together. No checking out because you think we’re temporary.”
“I wouldn’t be a bitch for the sake of being a bitch. We’d both have to live with that, and it’s too much effort.”
“Glad to hear it. Second, you have to sleep next to me every night. If I’m in this house, you’re in our bed.”
She blinks, lips pressed into a firm line. I can tell she doesn’t like it. “Why?”
“If you want to get pregnant, I have to touch you.”
“So if I say yes to this ridiculous idea, I should be able to sleep in my own room once we get a plus sign on the pee stick.”
I’m dying to know why she’s so insistent about sleeping alone. “Nope. We’ll have your health and the baby’s to think about. I’ll want to keep an eye on you both.”
Harlow says nothing for interminable moments. Finally, she sighs and reaches for her makeup case just behind my feet. “I need to think.”
When she turns with the case in her hand, I grip her arm to stay her. “For how long?”
“Give me…a week. I’ll have an answer then.”