For the last few days, I’ve been sneaking around with Harding, meeting him at lunch and falling into his bed after work. It’s so weird that I’ve been lying to my parents about my whereabouts. I’m an adult for Christ’s sake, and I can date whoever I want. Date? Well, technically we’re not dating. We’re having sex until he leaves for his fight in New York. Still, maybe I should take Sara up on her offer and move in with her, gain the independence and freedom I’m beginning to believe I desperately need.

I take a sip of my latte and look at the handsome man across from me. I’m not the only one noticing him. We’ve been meeting at the coffee shop every lunch hour and there isn’t a girl in the place that can seem to keep their eyes off him—not that I can blame them. I’m sitting across from him and can’t stop staring either. I scan the room and when I see a pretty blonde trying to get Harding’s attention, a knot tightens in my gut. I hate the idea of him with anyone else. But he’s not mine, and I have no claim to him.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I knew I was getting in too deep, that spending time with him would gut me when he upped and left at the end of the week. Cripes, I never should have gone to that fight, never should have agreed to visit him back stage. But I did, and now I’m going to be left with a broken heart when he leaves. But what if he didn’t leave? What if he set up his life here? What if I went with him? Then again, there’s no guarantee he’d want to continue on with our relationship. Sure he said he wanted me, but that was just sexually, right?

“Have you ever wanted to do anything else with your life?” I ask as I set my cup back down.

“Like what?”

I examine his big hands, the scars running along his fingers. Yes, he was built to fight but there is so much more to this man. If only he could see it. “I don’t know. What do you enjoy?”

“Fighting and sex,” he teases, and I frown. I want him to be serious, but whenever it comes to his future he always jokes about it. Why does he do that?

Our knees bump beneath the table and it sends ribbons of heat through me. I clear my throat. “What about going back to school?”

He takes a sip of coffee and looks at me over the rim of the mug. “I never was much of a student.”

“I thought you were a great student, Harding. You were always smart, you just didn’t have anyone believing in you.”

He sets his cup down. The muscles along his jaw ripple and I swallow against the tightness in my throat. Damn, the last thing I wanted to do was to dredge up painful memories of his youth.

“I always believed in you, Harding,” I say quickly, and reach out to put my hand over his. “I think you could be whatever you wanted.”

He slowly lifts his head, and intense blue eyes meet mine. “Are you trying to change me, Addy?”

I pull my hand back quickly and frown. Damn this just isn’t coming out right. “No. I just…It’s not that.” I shake my head. “I…”

“Tell me.”

“It’s just that, you’re so smart. You could do or be anything you wanted.”

He squares his shoulder, and I’m sure I hit a nerve. His brows knit together. “You don’t like who I am?”

The truth is I like him so much I’m sitting here thinking about how to keep this relationship going when he’s gone. Thinking about how I can try to make it work, and that maybe I could put my career on hold, travel with him. I swore to God, I would never be a fighter’s girl, go on the road, but yet here I am considering just that. But what does he want? He’s never talked about long term, and certainly didn’t invite me to his next fight in New York. I can only imagine what my father would say if he knew where my thoughts were going.

“I…” I open my mouth to confess everything, to tell him exactly how much I like him, how I want to keep on seeing him, but the bell over the door jingles and the familiar man walking inside has my words catching in my throat.

I shut my mouth and Harding turns to see what, or who, has caught my attention. My father walks up to my table, and his eyes lock with mine.

“Katherine,” he says, and taps the table, a familiar habit when he’s worried about something.

“Dad.” My heart leaps. Is something wrong? He’s never come to meet me here before. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay? Is Mom okay?”

“I just haven’t seen much of you.” His gaze goes from me, to Harding, back to me again, like he’s dismissing the man seated across from me. “Was wondering what you’ve been up to. But now I see.”

I suddenly feel angry, very, very angry. I love that he cares about me, but my gut is telling me he’s checking up on me. God forbid I do anything to make him, or myself, look bad in the public’s eye. How many times have I heard about political suicide growing up? Yeah, I’ve been keeping Harding a secret and I’m pissed off at myself for it. I can just imagine how Harding feels about my behavior. He basically just asked me if I was trying to change him. The truth is he doesn’t need to change. He’s perfect just the way he is and if he wants to keep fighting, I’ll have to find a way to deal with the sight of his blood. I would never ask him to be something he wasn’t. In fact, I’m willing to change for him.

“I’ve been…” I stop and look at Harding who is watching me carefully. I’m about to say ‘seeing Harding’, when my father turns to him.

“You’re Harding King, are you not?”

Harding nods. “I’m surprised you remember me.”

Harding holds his hand out to my father, yet my father does nothing. My blood boils as I watch my father—the mayor—completely dismiss Harding in front of me. In front of everyone in the coffee shop.

“Yes, well, there’s very little I forget.” My father turns to me. “Katherine, if you wouldn’t mind coming with me, I have some things I’d like to discuss with you, some things you need to be reminded of. Plus, Oliver has been asking about you.”

“Oliver?” Harding asks and cocks his head to the side as he looks back at me.

“My associate,” my father says before I can explain. “Katherine and Oliver are practically engaged.”

I open my mouth, but I’m so enraged, I can’t get the words out. How dare my father treat Harding like this, tell him I’m practically engaged when I’m not. Harding is a good man—kind, caring, full of integrity—yet my father can’t see past his own judgments, see the boy from the wrong side of the tracks for the amazing man he is. Harding does not deserve to be treated like this. I’m going in to politics to help people, all people. To me it’s not about the prestige, the power, thinking I’m better than anyone else. It’s about being there to create a unified world, not an elitist one. If people have a problem with Harding and me, its their problem not mine. I was wrong to think otherwise.

“I don’t think so,” I say. “I’m with Harding, and we haven’t finished our coffee.”

“It’s okay, Katherine,” Harding says, and my heart drops into my stomach when he uses my first name. “I’ve taken up enough of your time, and you clearly have obligations, and things to be reminded of.”

With that he stands and turns his back to me, disappearing through the coffee shop door, and from my life in the blink of an eye.