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It’s too soon. But there’s no rush.
Finding my voice, I tease, “But keep it on this side of the law. I like to keep my nose clean.”
* * *
Wade
It’s still dark.Harlow’s legs are entwined with mine, her body tucked close.
We’re both early risers, but this seems—
I hear it then. The repetitive vibration of her phone from where it’s charging beside the bed.
“Good Girl,” I murmur, hating to wake her, but I know she’s got her phone on Do Not Disturb, which means whoever is calling at 4:37 a.m. must be important. “Your phone’s ringing.”
She lifts her head, sleepy and adorable. Confused.
“Harlow. Your phone.”
Her eyes clear, and she fumbles for the phone, almost knocking a lamp over in the process. But then she’s got it. I can’t see the screen, but the voice booming through the line can only be one man.
And I hate him.
“Harlow, Junior totaled his car.”
“Is—is he okay?” She staggers from the bed, her voice stricken.
I slip out the other side, flipping the light on and coming around to rest my hand at her back.
I’m already making plans in my head. I’ll pack while she gets the details. Drive her back today. Be back for the wedding tomorrow, depending—
“He’s in the hospital.” Irritation snaps through the line. “Says the drugs were the girl’s. Escort. Press got to her before we could and—” He sighs. “Going to be a damn mess to clean up this time.”
Harlow stares at the phone like she doesn’t know what to say. And yeah, it’s a lot to unpack. “He’s in the hospital? God, how bad was he hurt? Does… Sandy know?”
There’s a beat of cold silence and she physically winces from it. I’m about to take that fucking phone myself when he answers. “Sprained wrist. Some bruises. He’s my son. He’ll be fine. But I’ve decided he’ll go to rehab.”
Her breath comes out in a rush, and she nods. They aren’t close, but this is the only family she has.
“I’m glad it wasn’t more serious. But maybe rehab will be a good thing for him.”
“It’s the best place to park him until this blows over.”
Harlow’s eyes cut to mine and she mouths an apology. I shake my head and hold her hand. Then, giving her the most reassuring smile I’ve got, I mouth the word “coffee” and point at the door.
Gratitude fills her eyes and she sits down at the desk, picking up the pen and notepad. “What can I do?”
I stuff my legs into my jeans and pull on a shirt. Grab my wallet.
A throat clears from across the miles. “Obviously, this changes things. In the short term, we’ll have to distance Junior from PHR. Be at the office at eight.”
“What?” she chokes out, and I stop halfway out the door.
But instead of turning to me, she turns farther away, her shoulders hunching forward.
Privacy. Damn it, I don’t want to leave. If she’d turned toward me, I’d be back at her side. But that’s not what she needs right now. So I close the door behind me. The last thing I hear is her asshole father saying the words Harlow’s been waiting her whole life to hear.
“You want to prove yourself? Here’s your chance.”
