Total pages in book: 211
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
He then shifts his attention to me. “Lunch, right?”
His nonchalant, unruffled reply guides my equally unruffled reply. “Can we decide in the car?”
“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he says, leaning in to kiss me before he lifts a chin at Isaac. “Later, brother,” he says, and we step outside into a gust of wind.
Eric pulls me under his arm. “Sorry about that in there,” he says, glancing down at me. “He was looking for a reaction I didn’t want to give.”
“Me either,” I say. “I’m glad you handled it like you did.”
His eyes meet mine, and there is this swell of intimacy between us. There is no divide between us anymore. There is just us against them. The past is history. The future before us.
A few minutes later, we sit inside an Italian restaurant that specializes in pizzas, and once we place our orders, Eric updates me on the recent developments. “Gigi left the office with my father right after he and Isaac had this exchange.” He offers me his phone and headset and I watch a short video that shows his father storming into Isaac’s office, slamming the door shut and then going off on Isaac.
“Clean up your mess and do it now,” he bites out. “Your brother is not an idiot, nor is he without resources.”
“Our mess,” Isaac snaps. “You sent me down this path.”
“I sent you down a dirt road. You turned it into a fucking highway.”
“Eric owns stock now. Gigi—”
“I’ll deal with my mother. You clean it all up. Now.”
The video ends and I slide the phone back to Eric. “I was right. It’s something illegal.”
“Yes,” Eric confirms. “You were right.”
“Any luck finding out what this is all about?” I ask.
“Not yet, but I have a contact at the union in New York City. He owes me in a big way and he wanted inside the NFL deal. I called him. I told him he might have an in. We’re meeting Monday.”
“It’s Wednesday,” I remind him. “That’s a long way off.”
“I have to clear a path to get him into the NFL deal plus I need time to find out what the hell that message was about last night.”
“I tried all morning with no luck. I think I need to go see my mother. I can search the house.”
“Don’t do that,” he says. “Not while my father’s in town. It’s too dangerous. Promise me.”
“But it could—”
“Blake can get a man in there. You don’t go. I’m right about this. Don’t do it. Promise me.”
I sigh. “Fine. I promise.”
“Good. Let’s go to New York tomorrow.”
“So soon?”
“I need you out of here.” He catches my hand and presses it to his leg, covering it with his own. “I cannot want you this damn badly, Harper, and have something happen to you.”
Want me this damn badly.
Those words expand between us, wrap us in a warm awareness that says everything, even if it says nothing at all. There is so much more than its obvious meaning in that statement. He’s afraid of wanting me and losing me like he did his mother, like he did this family when they were supposed to be his future. I understand him, and in this moment, I feel him in every part of me. Something is happening between me and this man. He needs me and I need him and I don’t know if that’s a forever thing but it’s good, it’s really good and right.
“I’m not going anywhere but with you to New York.”
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.