9. Marcus
9
Marcus
‘A minute or two’ has already stretched into fifteen. Typical Harper. I’d bet my last dollar she’s still in her car putting makeup on. Totally unnecessary, considering I’d seen her morning face more often than I can count. If she’s looking to impress me, I’d rather her start by convincing my dad we’re never going to work.
I take the time to clean up a little, although the devil on my shoulder is telling me not to. Harper has always been a neat freak. Maybe seeing my mess will remind her how difficult living with me would be.
The devil does a little dance when I dump the towels back where they’d been resting earlier on the couch. I go back to the dishwasher and empty the contents in the sink and on the counter. It’s a juvenile move, but it’s easier than saying no to my dad. It would ease my guilt if I’m not directly responsible for disappointing him.
At the sound of the doorbell, I rest my shoes on the carpet and get the door. Harper stands in an obviously-arranged pose: legs crossed, body leaning to one side, accentuating one curvy hip. The tight black dress is definitely a carefully-picked out one, the plunging neckline leaving nothing to the imagination. Harper knows how much I love boobs.
“Like what you see?” she purrs as my eyes run over her body one more time.
Without replying, I ease back and gesture her inside. She enters with a gasp, her head constantly moving as she checks out the huge space. Her eyes linger on my shoes resting on the carpet, then she steps over them and takes her coat off, resting it on top of the towels. No longer a neat freak, I guess.
Or maybe she’s being careful not to ruffle any feathers.
“Marcus, you’ve certainly come up,” she gushes, running her fingers down the frame of a painting on the wall. “This looks expensive.”
I shrug. It cost me ten thousand dollars at an auction, but who’s counting?
Harper glances over the other side of the room, does a double take, then palms her cheeks. “Oh my God.” She looks over at me with awe. “You didn’t.”
Without waiting for a reply, she dashes across the room and sits on the bench behind the baby grand piano I’d bought right before moving in here. Another exorbitant expense, especially when I can’t play a tune to save my life.
“Remember our first year in college when I joined the music club and you vowed to get me one of these someday?” she asks.
Yes, I remember. I also recall her skeptical laugh.
“I can’t believe you actually did it,” Harper mutters, her fingers running across the keys. A rendition of ‘Falling’ by Alicia Keys immediately fills the room.
Ignoring the irony of that song, I smirk. “Not bad for the guy who was only cut out to be Gabriel’s side-kick—or whatever they said, huh?”
Harper pauses, looking at me wryly. “By ‘they’, you mean, ‘me’. You can say it, Marcus. ”
I meet her stare evenly. “You just did.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’m not ashamed to admit how wrong I’d been. You did what seemed impossible, and I’m proud of you.”
“It seemed impossible to you, not me,” I reply sharply, the memories of our past already tormenting me.
My cell phone rings as Harper attempts to reply. It’s Lauren. Suppressing a sigh, I turn the phone face-down.
“You’re angry,” she observes, rising from the bench.
“Don’t tell me what I feel, Harper,” I snap. “You don’t know me. You never did.”
She comes to stand in front of me, cocking her head, the soft, recessed, overhead lights making her face glow. “It’s been ten years; are you still carrying that silly grudge?”
“A silly grudge?” I scoff. “You make it sound as if I’m bitter about a stupid prank you played. Ten years ago, you cheated with that point guard, remember?”
“For which I’ve apologized a million times over. Give me some grace, Marcus. I had too much to drink at that party. I told you that.”
Memories of that awful night make me shake my head. “Are we going to keep beating a horse that’s already dead? For someone who was drunk, you sure flew up from that bed pretty quickly. You didn’t wobble while running after me. Your explanation sounded quite coherent, your pleading eyes looked clear and focused. Classic signs of being sober.”
Harper sighs. “Why bother telling your dad how much you missed me if you haven’t forgiven me for that mistake?”
I chuckle. “Mistake. Oh, you love that word, don’t you? Six years ago, was that a mistake too?”
She opens her mouth then closes it. A soft blush covers her cheeks.
“Yeah, I thought as much. ”
My phone buzzes again. I don’t need to check to know that it’s Lauren. Remembering that she’s home alone with Liam sends an urgent rush of awareness through me. “I need to take this,” I tell Harper.
She rests her hand on the phone. “Can we finish this conversation?”
“What else is there to talk about?” I ask as the phone stops ringing.
Harper seems quite remorseful when she says softly, “For what it’s worth, and from the bottom of my heart, I’m truly sorry,” but I’m not buying it.
“You’re only sorry now that it’s clear you made the wrong choice,” I reply. “You wanted a life of luxury, so you settled for a man who had no interest in making you his wife—”
Harper’s soft, dry laughter interrupts me. “Six years ago, you had a new woman in your bed every other night—”
“Don’t make me out to be a total asshole. That all happened after what you did, Harper, and even then, I would’ve given it up for you. All of it.” I lean in, lashing her with a fierce look. “Even after you played me for another man, I wanted to settle down with you.”
She sucks in a breath but says nothing more. I open the phone and dial Lauren’s number, but it rings right to voicemail. Another try, and I get the same result. Worry starts teasing my nerves when it goes straight to voicemail again.
Something’s wrong. Very wrong.
“We need to go,” I announce to Harper, grabbing her coat and pressing it to her chest.
“Seriously?”
“Now,” I emphasize harshly, hustling toward the elevator.
Her annoyance quickly forgotten, Harper gapes as the door slides open. “You have a private lift!”
“Get in,” I order, nudging her back.
“I don’t understand; why didn’t you let me in through here? ”
My brows shoot up at her. “Whomever said there aren’t any dumb questions, they lied.”
“It’s not a stupid question,” she replies, offended.
Ignoring her, I dial Lauren’s number again. Same outcome. Frustrated, I dial Gabriel’s number, then Zyon’s. What’s with everyone being MIA when I need them the most?
We disembark the elevator, and I briskly walk Harper to her car parked around the front of the building. I guide her inside, ensure she secures herself, and as I’m about to close the door, she grabs the handle.
“I’m going to make you fall in love with me again, Marcus Brady,” she vows fiercely. “You can bet on that.”
I close the door on her confident smile and hurry back to where my vehicles are parked, choosing the Cadillac for the speed I desperately need right now. Throughout the frantic ride to Gabriel’s place, I keep trying to get Lauren, and each time the voicemail chips in, I lose my mind a little more. Gabriel’s still not picking up, either. That one percent chance keeps replaying in my mind. I pray like hell those thugs haven’t found her.
My fingers deftly enter the code, releasing the lock on Gabriel’s front door as I sprint down the hallway, calling, “Lauren!” as I go. I hear the squeal before I see her. My body freezes on the spot, eyes roaming for a split second before I come to my senses and whip around.
Too little, too late.
Her footsteps thud on the stairs, taking her further away from me, but the distance isn’t enough to erase what I’ve just seen: five feet, one hundred and twenty pounds of soft-looking, curvy, naked flesh.