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“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.”
