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Fuck. Why does that make me more protective of her? More obsessed? I’m a sick bastard, that’s why. I don’t have a follow-up for that, so I just nod.
“So, uh, I was hoping I’d be able to leave just a few minutes early,” she hedges. “My father said he’d pick me up here in a limo at five sharp. I brought everything with me, so I don’t need to go home or anything. I can just–”
“Harlow,” I say, holding my hand up to stop her rambling. I don’t mean to be a dick; I just saw that she was working herself up, and I wanted to ease her worry. “You can leave whenever you need.”
“Oh,” she squeaks out. “Thanks.”
Her eyes catch mine, and I swear she’s silently begging me to kiss her.
Clearing my throat, I step away from Harlow’s desk, giving her a jerky nod before retreating into my office and burying myself in work. Thankfully, I actually have a new project to dive into, which means only eighty percent of my thoughts will be about Harlow instead of one hundred percent.
Hours fly by, and I actually manage to make quite a bit of headway on writing up this investment plan. My stomach growls, and I peer at my watch, surprised to see it’s nearly six-thirty in the evening.
Did I really just spend twelve hours in my office? Everything I’ve been ignoring hits me at once. I need to use the bathroom, drink a gallon of water, and eat something.
After taking care of everything except dinner, I finally pack up for the night, rolling my neck from side to side to relieve the tension there. I barely make it two seconds into my elevator ride down to the ground floor before my thoughts turn to Harlow.
I know she said she was going to the gala tonight with her father, but the irrational side of me is jealous that she might be meeting a date there. And why wouldn’t she? I turned her down. It’s not like I have a claim on her.
The doors open, and I’m greeted with a vision in a dark green dress. It’s fitted on top with a dangerously low neckline, and flares out at the hips with dark green taffeta sprinkled with golden flakes.
Did I just dream Harlow up? Why is she still here?
She hasn’t seen me yet, and I’m not sure what to do. I can’t ignore her, but every time I open my mouth around this woman, I seem to say the wrong thing.
When her shoulders heave with a quiet sob, I don’t hesitate to close the distance between us. Fuck, her tears shatter me. I swear I can feel each one as they trail down her cheeks.
“Harlow?” I ask as gently as I can. It’s not something I’m used to.
She freezes, making a valiant effort to wipe her tears away before turning to face me.
“Hi,” she whispers, dipping her head down.
I’m not having any of that, however. Cupping her chin, I carefully lift her face until our eyes meet. My gut twists when I see her eyes rimmed in red, shining with unshed tears. Even her cute little nose is tipped in red.
“What happened?”
Harlow looks away from me, but I can’t stand for her eyes not to be on mine. Possessive, I know, but I’m already fucked when it comes to this woman. Sliding my hand from her chin to the side of her face, I tilt her head in my direction.
“I thought my dad was just running late,” she whispers, blinking back tears. “But I got a text from him about twenty minutes ago. He forgot he was going to take me, and was already there with a friend, so…”
Harlow trails off, shrugging her shoulders as if it’s no big deal. She’s not fooling anyone.
“What a fucking asshole,” I growl. Harlow’s eyebrows shoot up to her forehead as her eyes grow wide. “Sorry,” I mutter, trying to get my rage under control. I had no idea Allen was a terrible father. Then again, I don't know much about Allen. That would be breaking the most important rule about interpersonal relationships.
Looking down at Harlow now, her soft cheek pressing against the palm of my hand, her heartbreaking sniffles tugging something loose inside me, I know I’m going to cross all sorts of lines to make this woman smile again.
Finally giving into temptation, I wrap my arms around Harlow and pull her into my chest. She melts into me, giving me the weight of her sadness as her tears soak through my shirt.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, not sure where the comforting words are coming from. Harlow burrows herself even further into my embrace, and I spread my hand over the small of her back, keeping her in place.
I’m so gone for this girl, and she has no idea. Is it too late to win her back? Maybe I need a Christmas miracle after all.
CHAPTERSIX
HARLOW
Every emotion I’ve been trying to conceal over the last few months spills out as Bishop cradles me in his arms.
