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He kisses me, and it’s a long, seductive, inappropriately public kiss that ends when our pizza arrives, and we eagerly dig into our food. That’s when we leave the Kingstons out of the rest of the meal. We talk about New York City and all the places he wants me to see and experience with him. It’s perfect. It’s just me and him, and it feels like coming home in a way I have never been home before.
Eric
I spend the afternoon in the conference room with the taste of Harper on my lips, the smell of her perfume on my clothes, and a mission on my mind: Get her the fuck out of here. I spend the bulk of the time that consumes our hours apart with the Rubik’s cube in my hand, and the bank accounts for the company on my computer screen. Patterns emerge that I track back two years, movement of money that exposes wires to a bank account that I don’t have a name to identify, but right now I focus on the numbers, just the numbers. Once I come out of my zone, I have a list of ten wires that I suspect were sent to Gigi, as the wires match those to the account I know to be hers. It’s nearly six when I text Blake the number and ask for the owner of the account. His reply is instant:Give me five minutes.
I start reviewing more data and five minutes later exactly, Blake sends me a message:Go outside and call me.
I don’t like the way that sounds and unease rolls through me, the idea that this could be related to Harper grinding a hole in my heart. This isn’t about Harper. I need to fucking know what the hell is going on and I’m up the stairs in about thirty seconds, exiting the lobby in another thirty to step outside into what is becoming a bitter cold.
I dial Blake. He answers on the first ring. “The account is closed.”
“Who owned it and please don’t say Harper.”
“The account had Harper and her mother on it.”
Those words punch me in the fucking chest. “Who closed the account?”
“Harper.”
“She knew about the wires then?”
“I don’t know the answer to that question, but yes, I would assume she did.”
My jaw tics. “I’ll call you back.”
I disconnect the line, walk back inside and head to the conference room where I pick up my Rubik’s cube and I try like hell to calm my mind. I start turning it and turning it, casing every moment with Harper in numbers, in a way no one but me would understand. The numbers just keep fucking coming. Exactly an hour and thirty seconds have passed when I come back to reality and to three text messages from Harper that I don’t answer. I need out of this office. I grab my things and head upstairs where the offices are closed up.
I exit to the parking lot into the darkness when it hits me that I rode with Harper. I’m about to turn back to the building and do what I should have already done; talk to her. I need to talk to her. Why the hell am I leaving? I’m two steps from the front door of the offices when Isaac joins me outside. “There he is, my brother.” Isaac greets with a sneer that tells me he’s up for games and nastiness and I’m not in the mood. “Coming back to get your woman?”
I ignore him and reach for the door when he says, “She needs you until she doesn’t. She helps you until it doesn’t work for her anymore. That’s how she works.”
The way he says that, like he knows her intimately, claws at me, and I take the bait I would never take if it wasn’t Harper. I stop and turn around, numbers exploding in my mind in random bursts. “She won’t help you now,” I say. “No one will.”
“She needed me once. Gigi told me you fucked her not long before that. She saw her go to your cottage. Then she came to me. Harper had a miscarriage, and fuck, it was a disaster. She’s a disasterthat started rumors. She bled out right here in the office. I took care of her the way you want to take care of her now. I wonder if the brother thing gets her off.” He smirks. “But I’m sure you don’t care. You’re just fucking her to fuck me, right?” He turns and starts walking toward his car.
Numbers pound at my mind again. I want them to replace the emotions that threaten to consume me. I try to open the lobby door, but I don’t have an after-hours card. I dial Harper. “Come outside,” I order when she answers. I disconnect before she can reply.
I lean on the wall, watching as Isaac drives away in his two-hundred-thousand-dollar special edition Kingston convertible. Harper exits, pulling her coat on as she does. “What’s wrong?”
I grab her and pull her in front of me. “Did you fuck Isaac?”
“God, no. No. No. We had this conversation. Where is this even coming from?”
“Did you have a miscarriage?”
She pales, her hand settling on her belly and I know even before she whispers. “I was going to tell you. I was—”
“What happened to no, you didn’t fuck Isaac?” I challenge, those fucking numbers beating at my mind.
“It wasn’t Isaac’s. It was—I was going to call you, but I—”
“Call me? We didn’t even finish fucking, sweetheart. Why would you call me?” I don’t give her time to reply. “Don’t answer. I don’t care. I’m gone. I’m done. Save yourself.” I start walking and she screams after me. “Eric! Eric, wait.”
I don’t wait. I climb into my car, and she pounds on the window but I don’t care. I meant what I said. I’m gone. I dial the airport, book a private jet, and head that direction. I can’t get out of this city fast enough. I can’t get away fromHarperfast enough.
Chapter forty-three
Harper
