Chapter 8
A fter flying home from Chicago this morning, I stopped by the penthouse to shower and have breakfast. I considered working from home, but after running into Fallon in the hall, wearing another damn tank top and shorts, I opted to go into the office.
I don’t want another reminder of how she felt in my arms or the way her body fit against mine. The past refuses to stay where it belongs, and being surrounded by Fallon’s scent only makes it harder to forget, which is why I need to be as far away from her as possible.
A flicker of guilt twists in my chest for not thanking her before I left. It’s her job to cook for me, but I can’t shake the nagging feeling that I should show her more appreciation. Unable to shake my guilty conscience, I decide to check in.
Harrison: What did you put in the quiche this morning?
Fallon: Why? Are you feeling okay?
Harrison: Are you worried about me?
Fallon: If you think you’re having a reaction to gluten, then yes.
Fallon: Did you eat anything on the plane or at the office that could have been contaminated?
Harrison: I’m fine.
Fallon: You’re not having an autoimmune response?
Harrison. No. I was just curious because whatever you put in the quiche tasted amazing.
Fallon: Oh.
Her concern for me means more than it should. I shouldn’t care about what she thinks, period.
Yet, unfortunately, I do.
Harrison: You’re really talented.
Fallon: Thank you.
Fallon: In case you’re still wondering, caramelized onions and sharp cheddar cheese are my secret ingredients.
Harrison: Now you’ve got me craving it again.
Fallon: There are leftovers in the fridge.
Harrison: So you’re saying if I want more, I just have to compliment you first? Noted.
Fallon: See? You can be taught. There might be hope for you yet.
Dammit. Why is it so easy to talk to Fallon through text? It would be easier if it wasn’t. She has infiltrated every part of my life, and in moments like this, I forget the hurt she caused me—and that she hasn’t acknowledged it once since coming back into my life. It’s a reminder of the resentment I should feel because of it.
Ready for a distraction, I join the meeting I have scheduled with my brothers.
Dylan’s already waiting.
“How was Chicago?” he asks.
I lean back in my office chair, looking into my laptop’s camera. “Uneventful.”
“How do you do it? I’m wiped after one business trip, but you’ve done seven this past month alone,” Dylan says.
“It has to be done.” I shrug. “Unlike you, I don’t have to wrangle an energetic kid and four dogs when I get home. You’ve got your hands full,” I add with a rueful smile.
Lately, my travel schedule has been brutal with recent acquisitions and the increasing number of offices we’ve added. My dad taught me the importance of regular in-person meetings with employees and partners to keep performance levels high. Although, back when he was CEO, we had a fraction of the staff we do now.
Dylan was wise to hire an additional senior analyst, giving him the freedom to be with Marlow and Lola more. Unfortunately, I don’t have that luxury. Running the company means I’m the person everyone depends on for quick responses and urgent solutions, which means I have to be available at a moment’s notice.
Just then, Cash’s face pops up on the screen. “Hey, guys. Sorry I’m late. I was wrapping up a call with the Townstead team,” he says.
“Look at you being all professional,” Dylan teases as he adjusts his glasses. “A few months ago, you would have skipped out entirely and pretended you forgot.”
“What can I say? I’m a changed man now that I’m married.” He flashes a grin as he rubs his thumb against his wedding ring.
“How are Everly, August, and Liam holding down the fort at Townstead?” I ask.
It’s been a few months since Everly and her stepbrothers took the reins following Stafford Holdings’ acquisition. It’s been a welcome change, letting them handle things with minimal involvement from me or my team.
“Great. Everly loves her job.” He pauses, a curious gleam in his eye. “But right now, I’m more interested in talking about you and Fallon. Did you end up using one of my prank ideas?”
I shoot him a sideways glance. “For starters, there is no me and Fallon. The woman’s a menace, hence why I asked for your help,” I grumble, still not over my apartment turning into a cluttered disaster zone since Fallon moved in.
It’s a good thing I’m leaving for Aspen Grove tomorrow.
“Right.” Cash nods, his lip twitching from holding back a laugh. “Is she by chance the reason your scowl is extra tense? I feel bad for anyone who has to cross your path today.”
Dylan holds up a hand, eyes wide. “Whoa, hold up. Cash, you helped him prank Fallon?”
Cash shrugs. “He didn’t say it was for her specifically, but I had a hunch.”
“What did you do?” Dylan asks, his tone cautious.
I run my fingers through my hair, suddenly hesitant of my actions. “It wasn’t a big deal. I just put a bunch of plastic spiders under her bedroom door while she was sleeping, so when she woke up, she thought a swarm of spiders had invaded her room.”
I hadn’t expected her to storm out in a T-shirt that showcased her toned legs—legs that, to this day, I can vividly remember wrapped around my waist, her mouth on mine.
“What’s wrong with you?” Dylan scolds, taking his glasses off and running a hand across his face.
I pick up a pen from my desk, spinning it between my fingers. “It’s not a big deal,” I say defensively.
“And you would know that how?” he asks.
“Because Fallon and I agreed to this prank war, and I always follow through on my commitments,” I say with a smirk.
I’m not ready to open up about my history with her. Things ended abruptly after the weekend we spent together, and with everything my family had been dealing with, I never mentioned her to anyone. When things finally settled down, she wasn’t someone I wanted to think about ever again.
Hell, if I told my brothers now, they’d probably tell Mom so they could watch the chaos unfold. She’s already texting me daily for updates on Fallon, and if she even suspects a hint of a spark between us, her meddling will go into overdrive.
“You both better hope this feud never goes south,” Dylan warns us. “If Everly finds out you helped, you’ll be banished to the spare bedroom for a month,” he says to Cash. “Worse yet, Mom would disown you, Harrison.” He shudders dramatically, pausing before holding up his finger. “But if Fallon needs material, have her give me a call. I’m happy to share all your pet peeves and toss in a few embarrassing stories for good measure.”
“Traitor,” I mumble.
I glance at Cash, a slow grin spreading across his face as he listens to our exchange. “Let me guess, you’re not going to help me with future pranks?” I observe.
“You heard Dylan,” he says, not missing a beat. “I’m not going to chance getting on Everly’s bad side, especially not during the holidays. Besides, chances are this is going to backfire, and I’m not going to risk getting on Mom’s bad side either if you ruin this for her.”
I press my lips together, idly clicking a pen. “What are you getting at?”
Cash covers his mouth, stifling a laugh as he looks at Dylan. “Should I tell him, or should you?”
Dylan shakes his head. “Let’s give him a chance to figure it out on his own. I don’t think it’ll take long.”
My gaze flickers between them on the screen. “Will someone please tell me what you’re going on about?”
Dylan waves me off. “We’ll tell you later. It’s not important right now.”
I glower at them, not liking that they’ve decided to gang up on me. “Yes, it is. Why are you—”
Dylan’s office door swings open, and Lola rushes inside, out of breath. She’s sporting a purple hockey jersey with a rainbow tutu, her hair is styled in fishtail braids with sparkly purple bows tied to the ends.
“Daddy, I missed you while I was at school,” she exclaims, leaping into his arms.
“Ladybug, I’m on a work call with your uncles. Can it wait?” Dylan asks firmly.
“Hi, Uncle Harrison. Hi, Uncle Cash.” She ignores him as she waves to the camera. “Uncle Harrison, do you like my jersey? It’s just like yours,” she says proudly.
When I was in Aspen Grove visiting, I took Lola to the ice rink. It was empty, so the attendant let me bring out my hockey stick and puck. Lola and I had a blast, and now she’s all about hockey, telling everyone she’s going to be a pro just like her uncle Harrison.
“It’s perfect, ladybug. It looks amazing with your tutu and matches your hair bows.”
She runs her hands down her hair, preening for the camera. “Thanks. Mom let me put the bows in by myself today.”
I let out a low whistle. “You did a great job.”
Lola throws her arms around Dylan’s neck, tipping her head to look at him. “What do you think, Daddy? Do you like them?”
“They’re beautiful, just like you.” He beams, giving her a playful tap on the nose, causing her to burst into giggles.
It’s great to see him so happy. When Marlow, his fiancée, came along, he was a grumpy cynic whose primary focus was raising Lola and growing Stafford Holdings. She has brought light into his life and taught him how to smile again.
“Ladybug, what can I help you with?” Dylan asks.
“Mom had to take a phone call and told me to play in my room until she was done. But Waffles and the puppies started playing tug-of-war with the pillows and ripped one open. Now there are feathers all over.” She throws her hands up for emphasis.
That’s when I notice a feather tucked in the waistband of her tutu, another caught in her hair. It could be worse. Last time she burst in during a call, she was covered in blue glitter, with the dogs trailing behind her in the same sparkly mess. Dylan said it took hours to clean up.
“Alright, ladybug, we’ll take care of it.” He presses a kiss to her head. “Sorry, guys, we’re going to have to cut this short.” He lifts Lola, setting her on the ground, and rises from his chair. “Marlow’s probably on a call about her upcoming art exhibit, so I better take care of this before she’s interrupted.” He bends over so we can see his face on the screen.
“No problem. We can reschedule,” I assure him.
“Thanks.” Dylan drops off the conference call, leaving me alone with Cash, a smug expression on his face.
“Will you cut it out?” I ask.
He holds up his hands. “What? I’m not doing anything.”
My phone pings on my desk. “Right,” I say skeptically, glancing down to read the incoming text before glancing back at Cash. “Listen, I have to call one of the board members. He wants to discuss a new land deal in Vegas,” I say, grateful for the distraction.
Cash gives an exaggerated eye roll. “Uh-huh, you’re just worried I’m going to keep pestering you about Fallon,” he teases.
He’s not wrong.
“Bye, Cash,” I say, hanging up the call.
Something tells me the salt in my coffee was just the beginning of Fallon’s retaliation for the spider prank. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued to see what she does next.
That night, I meet with my friend Dawson at the bar down the street.
I’m already seated with a drink in hand when he gets there, and he slides into the seat next to me. “Now a bad time to cash in my second favor?” he teases.
My brothers and I ran into some legal trouble when acquiring Townstead International, and I went to him for advice. After his team did some digging, they discovered that the former owner, Richard, had all but driven his business into the ground with embezzlement, tax evasion, kickbacks—the list goes on.
Dawson is a ruthless lawyer who doesn’t shy away from controversy or difficult situations, and he agreed to help me deal with Richard with the caveat that aside from his exorbitant retainer, my brothers and I owed him a couple of favors.
“Now that your brothers have settled down, does that mean you’re next?” he taunts.
I glance over, my expression flat. “I’m not in the mood for your antics today.”
“You’re gloomier than usual,” he observes. “Want to talk about it, friend ?”
“Nope.”
Dawson used to be one moody son-of-a-bitch, but since he started dating his girlfriend, Reese, he’s become far too chipper for my taste. I prefer brooding in silence and can’t decide how I feel about his newfound cheerfulness. He nods at the bartender, who passes him two fingers of brandy. I’m about to ask for another drink, too, when my phone rings, and I groan when I see that it’s Fallon.
What could she possibly want?
She’s probably mad that I skipped dinner and didn’t tell her.
“Yes, Fallon?”
“Did you throw away the fish in the fridge?” she asks, her voice panicked.
“I might have,” I hedge.
“You’re unbelievable. That bluefin tuna was a housewarming gift from Theo, imported from Japan, and cost a hundred grand.” I bite back a sigh, holding the phone at arm’s length to avoid her raised voice. “If you want me to respect your request to stay out of your space, then stay out of mine.”
“How was I supposed to know it was so damn expensive?” I ask defensively. “It smelled bad, so I tossed it out.”
“You could have asked me before making an executive decision to throw it away,” Fallon groans.
She has a point, but I’m not willing to admit I was wrong.
“Are you coming back to your apartment soon?” she asks. “Your food has gone cold, so I need to know if you want me to warm it up again.”
“No, I’m out with a friend and won’t be back until late.” There’s a long pause on the other end of the phone. “Are you still there?”
I toss the phone on the counter when the line goes dead.
“I can’t believe she hung up on me,” I mutter as I toss back the rest of my drink. “Fallon’s upset because I threw out a bluefin tuna that supposedly was worth a hundred grand.” I roll my eyes. “How the hell was I supposed to know something that smells so bad could cost as much as a sports car?”
Dawson glances at his watch. “Why is she at your place at ten at night? More importantly, why is she keeping her fish in your fridge? I thought you didn’t like her.”
I grit my teeth. “Because my mom can’t help herself from meddling in my business and suggested Fallon be my live-in chef,” I grunt, refusing to offer more details.
Dawson claps me on the back, chuckling. “Good luck, man; sounds like you’ll need it.”
I’m definitely going to need it now more than ever.
When I open the door to my apartment, it’s dark inside, and I’m not expecting to hear the sound of guttural chanting followed by a terrified scream echoing down the hall.
What the fuck.
I flip on the light and check the entryway closet, grabbing the first thing that could be used as a weapon—my hockey stick.
My steps quicken toward the living room, my confusion mounting when the screaming intensifies into a demonic growl. Turning the corner, I find Fallon curled up with a bowl of popcorn in her lap, and a blanket pulled up to her chin. Her eyes are glued to the TV where a possessed girl thrashes violently on the bed. The girl’s head snapping back at an unnatural angle as the priest chants while clutching his crucifix tightly as the girl snarls, her voice a horrifying mix of growls and screeches.
“Jesus, Fallon, what the hell are you watching?”
She shrieks, nearly leaping off the couch, and the popcorn bowl flips from her lap, sending kernels scattering everywhere as her wide eyes lock on me.
“Oh my god,” she exclaims, clutching her heart. “You scared me.”
I raise an eyebrow, pointing at myself. “I scared you ? How do you think I felt walking into my house, thinking someone was being murdered?”
She waves at the screen with a light chuckle. “They are. Spiritually speaking.”
I set the hockey stick against the wall and bend down to pick up a few pieces of popcorn near my feet. “Do you think watching The Exorcist in the dark by yourself is a good idea?”
Fallon holds out the bowl for me to put the discarded popcorn in.
“I would have looked for a movie buddy, but I wasn’t in the mood to become the plot twist in a true crime podcast.” She shrugs.
She’s drowned out by another spine-chilling scream coming from the TV.
“Will you turn that off?” I snap as I flip on the living room lights.
She grabs the remote from the coffee table and hits the power button, the screen going dark. “Happy now?”
“I’d be happier if you’d quit watching horror movies in the dark and didn’t leave my couch buried in popcorn,” I mutter, gesturing to the scattered kernels.
“First off, that’s your fault for sneaking up on me,” she counters. “Second, why do you care what I do when you’re not home? Weren’t you on a date?” She chews the inside of her cheek, avoiding my gaze. “I figured you wouldn’t be back until later tonight—if at all.”
“Why would you assume that?”
“Because you were out late and said you were with a friend ,” she says in air quotes. “Everyone knows that’s code for a date.”
I rest against the wall, folding my arms across my chest. “Are you jealous, trouble?”
Seems like a fitting nickname, considering she’s always finding new ways to challenge me, whether she means to or not.
A blush tinges her cheeks as she leans down to pick up popcorn pieces from the couch and puts them in the bowl.
“What? No. It’s rude to expect dinner at a specific time and then not show up. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh.”
She’s totally jealous.
I could set the record straight and admit I was with Dawson, but I bite my tongue. Let her believe I was with someone else. Maybe a little envy will make her rethink her decision of letting me go and remind her of what she missed out on.
Once Fallon has finished picking up popcorn from the couch, she places the bowl on the coffee table and turns to face me, putting her hands on her hips.
“Are you going to apologize?” she demands.
“For what?”
Her lips press into a thin line. “Tossing my hundred-thousand-dollar tuna.”
“In my defense, it smelled like it had been dragged out of the dumpster, and I just assumed it was another way you were trying to get at me.”
Her glare hardens. “That wasn’t an apology.”
“Wasn’t meant to be.”
She exhales deeply, fire flashing in her eyes. It’s supposed to be intimidating, but I have to hold back a laugh at how ridiculously adorable she looks, trying to glare me into submission.
“I can’t wait for the peace and quiet when you’re gone,” she mutters.
“I’m counting down the seconds,” I shoot back, more annoyed by her indifference than anything else.
As we stand off against each other, I’m acutely aware of the sweet scent of vanilla and oranges that surrounds me, and it takes everything I have to resist the urge to lean in and inhale deeper. Her blue eyes flicker to meet mine, and for a second, I forget what we were talking about. There’s been an unspoken shift in our dynamic. Lately, our sparring matches have started to feel more like a reason to stay within each other’s space, both refusing to admit anything has changed.
I take a step back, running my hand along my neck. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning,” I say.
Earlier, I told her I’m heading to Aspen Grove tomorrow for the holidays. It can’t come soon enough—another day spent in close proximity, and I’d be closer to crossing a line I vowed I never would.