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)
Eric knocks on the door. “Harper. Open up.”
Anger surges in me and I yank the door open to find him big and intimidatingly male, filling the doorway and the entire exterior space. It doesn’t make me back down. “I thought you wanted to talk about the miscarriage, but obviously, you didn’t get me up here, trapped in a cage, to talk about a baby that meant nothing to you. You brought me up here to corner me about a bank account that isn’t even mine. You don’t want to trust me. You want to prove I’m the damn princess you so eagerly hate. You wanted me to be her so badly that you carved her name on your body.” I shove against him. “Move. I need to get out of here.”
He shackles my wrists and in a quick second, I’m against the wall next to the door, and he’s all but suffocating me with muscle and man. “Don’t bully me. I don’t like it.”
“You’re pushing me in ways you don’t want to push me, Harper.”
“What are you going to do? Kill me? Or just tell me to be honest again?”
His eyes glint hard, anger burning deep and dark before he releases me and starts walking away.
Shocked at his abrupt departure I swear my knees go weak and I need the wall for support. Right when I feel as if the floor of the plane is opening up, about to suck me out, Eric is back, his hands pressed to the wall on either side of me. “This is not how this was supposed to go.”
“This is exactly what you did to me with Isaac. You look for me to be a liar. You want me to be a liar. Stop doing that to me. Actually, just stop everything with me. If we’re not a couple, maybe it won’t disappoint you that I’m not a liar.”
He pushes off the wall, dives frustrated fingers through his hair and then presses his hands to his hips. “I keep fucking up with you.”
“Yeah. You do. It’s not my account.”
He studies me all of two seconds. “I believe you.”
“Well in this case, I don’t believe you, but just pretend I’m innocent and maybe we can find another way that account got in my name.”
“Damn it, Harper.”
I step closer, and point at him. “Don’t damn it, Harper me.”
He catches my hand and I’m back against the wall. “I’m sorry.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Fuck you.”
He lays his forehead to mine. “Harper,” he whispers. “Forgive me. This all came out wrong.”
I press on his chest, his heart thundering beneath my palm, probably with the knowledge he’s a certifiable asshole. “I’m just not ready.” I lift my gaze and let him see the burn in my stare. “I need a minute.”
He studies me several beats, eyes lifting to the ceiling, as if it’s a sky filled with a rainbow of answers, and then catches my hand and leads me down the aisle. I don’t fight him. It’s my turn to say damn it, because I can already feel myself softening, letting him back inside. It’s a stupid thing to do, but I’m just stupid in love with this man. There’s no fighting it or how badly this ends for me.
But I’m going to give it a go a little longer, because right now, I want to yell at him.
He halts at the booth and motions for me to sit. I draw a laden breath and huff it out, before I do as he’s basically commanded. He’s damaged, I tell myself, cut from a mold forged in suicide, death, and betrayal. He’s pain and heartache, and he’ll etch those things into my soul before this is over. And I can’t stop it from happening.
I stay on the edge of the booth, forcing him to sit across from me. He could technically slide around but then I’d just get up and he knows it. So, he finally acts like the man he is with a genius IQ and stays where he’s at.
Our eyes lock in a collision of unspoken angry words that I mentally rein in, and focus on what matters right now. “Pretend I’m innocent,” I start again.
“Do not say that again. I told you—”
“You believe me. Right. Let’s pretend you do. How can anyone open an account in my name?”
His jaw tics, and several seconds pass before he says, “There are hackers like Blake Walker who have the skills to do it.”
His Mac begins to ping with rapid shot messages again, and he pulls it in front of him, engaging in an exchange for a full minute before he looks at me again. “One of Blake’s men followed one of the men who attacked us at the warehouse. He’s tailing him now. No word on who he is yet.” He types another message, followed by another and then turns his Mac to face me. “Read the messages. Blake’s going to make the bank account history disappear. By the time we’re on the ground, it won’t exist.”