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A long silence tells me he’s not thrilled. “What do you want? Unless it’s to buy another house from me, I’ve got nothing to say.”
The chill in his voice is unmistakable, but I push on. “I’m calling about your sister.”
“What do you want? You better not be looking for permission to shine a neon light on her broken engagement and humiliate her even more in the tabloid press. Because if you are, you’ve come to the wrong place. If you mess with her again, I will cut you. And Maxon will help me dig the hole and bury your body.”
Nerves tighten my stomach. I blow out a breath. Is it hot in here or just me? I’ve got to focus. If her family is already against me, how the hell can I enlist their aid?
“That was a mistake. I’m sorry. I just want to help her. I didn’t know about her ex until less than an hour ago.”
“She didn’t tell you?” His grunt sounds frustrated. “I shouldn’t be surprised. That’s how Harlow rolls. But not knowing doesn’t excuse the fact that you made her private life public. She doesn’t need that shit, asshole.”
“You’re right.” I rush to get the words out because I feel my nerves seizing my guts. Sweat beads on my forehead. My words freeze. “Why?”
I can’t finish the rest of my question, and the final word doesn’t even sound one hundred percent right to my ears. But it’s all I can manage. I’m tired and I’m anxious. Those are both triggers for me. But goddamn it, I need to get out of my own way and help Harlow.
“Why doesn’t it surprise me that my sister didn’t tell you? Because she’s great at helping everyone else with their problems and completely ignoring her own. When she first came to Hawaii, she dove in the heap of shit I found myself in with my wife. Long story, but she kicked me in the ass when I needed it. After that, she had her own wedding to focus on. Maxon and I kept asking her if she was sure she wanted to marry this guy. She would laugh us off or change the subject or…”
Find one of the other hundred ways she knew so well to deflect the issue. “Hmm…”
It’s not much of a response, but it’s the best I can do. My brain is screaming at me, but my mouth just won’t cooperate. I drag air in, let it out, try to find calm. It’s not helping. My head is whirling like someone punched me stupid.
“Getting familiar with that tactic already? Took me a while to figure it out, to be honest. But she’s a master at the bait and switch. My brother and I hadn’t met Simon until he showed up a couple of days before the wedding. I knew immediately he wasn’t in love with her. And he was chummy with my dad, which wasn’t a good sign. Neither Maxon nor I could persuade Harlow to talk. Our wives both tried, too. My Britta was more successful, but she still only managed to get Harlow to admit that she’s not into romance. That’s it. I don’t suppose she’s told you anything else?”
“Hun-huh.” I put a negative tone to my voice and hope he understands. Griff putting his pissed off aside to talk to me at all is a blessing, and I’m so fucking frustrated that I can’t form the words to have a coherent conversation.
“Figures. As siblings, we’re pretty tight. But neither of us had any idea what Harlow had up her sleeve for her wedding day. Apparently she didn’t tell her bridesmaids that she had revenge, not eternal devotion, on her mind, either. Nor did she breathe a word of it to our parents, not that they would have been able to spare the mental energy to care.”
Because their own divorce is so consuming? I have no idea and I fucking can’t seem to ask. I grit my teeth and focus hard on making the sounds in my head. I manage to growl out a “wow” that almost sounds intelligible.
Griff pauses, and I can almost feel his scowl over the phone. “Yeah. So if you’re just going to keep taking advantage of a woman who’s already in emotional distress and sling her name through the mud as your latest conquest, I wish you’d fuck off and stay out of her life.”
“Nah.” I try for a no, but don’t quite get one. I’m hopeful that distorted sound makes enough sense for me to get my point across.
“No, you won’t take advantage of her or no, you won’t fuck off?”
A question that I can’t answer with a yes or no. I’m screwed. I suck in harsh air and try to muster my verbal abilities but after an awkward silence, I realize there’s no hope. With an angry grunt, I hang up on him, then instantly tap out a text.
Sorry we got cut off. The answer to your question is neither. I simply want to help Harlow, so I called you for answers. I’m trying to understand her. Talk later?
It takes a moment, but the three little dots tell me that he’s replying.
“Are you coming sometime this century?” Harlow hollers up the stairs. “If you’re still grooming, didn’t any woman ever tell you that she can’t deal with a dude who’s prettier than she is?”
As I pocket the phone, I swallow a few times. The dizzy, overwhelmed feeling begins to subside. I stop sweating as I head out of the bedroom and down to the office. The selective loss of verbal ability is frustrating as hell. Why does this keep happening? Being tired never used to affect me half so much. I can’t remember a time before this year when I was ever anxious, much less worrying constantly that a situation will spiral out of control and I’ll lose my ability to talk it through. I want to hit a wall or growl out my anger. But Harlow can’t fix me if I lose my shit. And I’m useless to her if I do.
Halfway down the stairs, my phone buzzes again. I pull it from my pocket and scan Griff’s reply.
You’re damn right we will. This conversation isn’t over.
It sucks that he sees me as the enemy, but I don’t blame him. I’m annoyed that I can’t do anything about it now.
I canter down to the home office. When I arrive, Harlow has a pamphlet in front of her, two open books, a pencil tucked behind her ear, and a steaming cup of coffee in her hand.
“Finally, Mr. Ready-for-your-close-up arrives. Have a seat.” She gestures to a chair opposite her. “I got you a bottle of water and one of those protein bars you like.” When I eye her coffee, she hugs it protectively to her chest. “Don’t get any ideas about this java. After we’re done, you can have a whole pot. But for now I need your raw responses. And before you get any ideas, you can’t seduce me into easing up on the caffeine ban, so save yourself the effort and embarrassment. This cup is mine.”
I narrow my eyes at her and open my mouth. “Mean.”
Relieved that the constriction on my words seems to be easing up, I watch as she laughs. “Yeah, I’m a regular bitch. Just ask half my Facebook friends. But name-calling won’t stop me from getting the best assessment possible. It’s critical that I know exactly what’s happening with you. Our time is short and this won’t be an easy problem to tackle. I want to see you succeed. I want to help you, so let’s do this.”
