34. Partners in Crime
34
PARTNERS IN CRIME
Harlow
I scramble.
Hopping off the desk, jerking down my skirt, hunting frantically for my panties.
Where the hell are they?
“Are you going to answer it?” I whisper hiss as I search for a white scrap of lace.
“Yes. He might be here ,” Bridger says, cool and calm.
How the hell does Bridger do that? Stay centered like that? My heart is exploding. If my dad’s in this building…
I will die.
I have to get dressed. As I smooth my skirt, I scan the carpeted floor of his office, then I spot them.
I seize my undies like they’re contraband. Bridger draws a breath then answers the phone. “Hey, Ian, what’s going on?”
His normal voice. His normal greeting. I’ve heard it before. At different times over the years. Right now, it makes me feel like I’m the one who’s been caught cheating.
There’s a pause.
I yank on my damp panties. I’m surprised I’m not tripping on my freaking face. It’s a miracle.
I adjust my clothes, try to calm my racing heart as Bridger’s eyebrows rise. “No kidding? Congratulations.”
But I don’t hear an exclamation point in his tone. Still, I’m racing to puzzle out what the congratulations is for. Then, with an all too familiar awareness, I’m certain.
That’s why my father called me too, seconds ago.
As my dad talks to Bridger, I mouth, He married Vivian?
A nod.
I knew this was coming. I absolutely knew this was coming. And still, I hurt for her already. I hurt for the inevitable end that’s probably coming sooner than she can even imagine. I picture Isla searching for my father earlier this week with worry in her eyes, emotion in her voice. She wasn’t merely looking for her boss. She was looking for…
I can’t even say the words her lover in my head.
This marriage will be his shortest.
But then, I stop thinking of them, since it’s time to plan my own exit from this building right now.
Just in case Dad’s here.
With the phone pressed to his ear, Bridger asks, “Tonight? Now? Aren’t you going on a honeymoon?”
Another pause. My stomach is an upside-down amusement park ride.
“Right. And yes, of course I want to celebrate with you,” he says, placating the beast. “That’s fantastic. I just didn’t realize you were back in the city.”
I dart my gaze around the office, heading for the door. But Bridger darts out a hand, stopping me. He curls his palm around my arm. But it’s not affectionate. It’s…calculating. We are partners in crime, and we need to plan our getaway.
“You’re home?” That’s a few blocks away. “Yeah. Why don’t we just meet at McCoy’s? I can be there in an hour.” A shorter pause. “Sooner. Sure, I can be there sooner. Ava’s Bistro instead.” A pause. “Right, right. It’s closer and Hunter will be there shortly,” he says, and I hope my father doesn’t realize why Bridger’s repeating this info—for my sake. “Yes, that makes sense. And have you talked to Harlow?”
I press my palm to the door, needing something to hold onto.
“Hopefully, she’ll call you back soon.”
My dad’s chuckle is loud enough for me to hear.
“Yeah, I’m sure she’s more of a texter,” he says.
Yes, that generation and all .
Another reminder of the age difference.
Bridger closes his eyes. Shame and shock wash over his features. Then, he drags his hand over his mouth.
I swallow, roughly. I’m on his mouth. He’s wiping me away while he talks to my dad.
He opens his eyes. “See you soon and congratulations again.”
Then he hangs up. Lets go of my arm. Stares vacantly out the window. Then back at me. “They eloped yesterday. They’re back in New York. Vivian has to work this week at the agency. He wants to take all of us out to dinner to celebrate,” he says, telling me everything I’ve already figured out. “When you didn’t answer, he called Hunter. And Hunter’s going to dinner too. Before his flight.”
Bridger’s tone is laced with guilt and self-loathing.
Like he just came this close to being caught.
Terrible thoughts prick at my brain.
This can never work.
This company will always come between us. My father will always come between us.
How the hell could we ever be something for real?
Lucky 21 is where I am right now.
Lucky 21 is where I seduced him.
Lucky 21 belongs to the two of them.
And I can’t ask Bridger can we ever be a real thing ?
We aren’t there yet. We aren’t at that level. We are at the panties-on-the-floor level, the tryst-on-the-desk level, the cover-up-quickly-and-get-the-hell-out-of-there level.
I need some control. I need it fast. My life is spiraling.
I raise my face, hold my chin up high, and I blurt out the first thing on my tongue. “I’m freaking out. I’m seriously scared. This is so risky.”
He winces but only for a second. “I know.”
That’s it? I know ? He’s supposed to reassure me. To tell me we’ll figure this out. We’ll face it together.
My throat tightens. “You think so?” I ask, my eyes stinging. But I don’t want him to see me cry. Not over this .
Maybe he’ll change his mind, say this isn’t risky after all. Or maybe he’ll say we can handle it.
But the most strategic man I know is thoroughly flustered as he glances around his office, flapping his hand at his desk, sputtering, “What are we even doing?”
Me? I’m falling for him. But what the hell is he doing? I’d like to know the answer. I kick away all the trembling emotions as I lift my chin and cross my arms. “I don’t know, Bridger. What are we doing?”
He sighs heavily, full of awful resignation. “I’m not sure. It’s just…”
Here it comes. I brace myself for the end. “So you think we should…?” But I swallow down the word stop.
I can’t bring myself to say it. No matter how tough I think I am.
His jaw tics. His eyes almost…harden. “Harlow…”
I wither.
In one word, in my own name, I’ve been pummeled. There it is, and I can’t bear to hear the words we can’t do this . I can’t bear to hear him say stop after all.
I hold up a stop-sign hand. “I have to go.”
Then before he can say another word, before he can grab my wrist, before he can implore me to understand, before anything else at all, I leave.
Even when he calls out my name, I just keep going. Faster than he is.
Once I’m safely outside, walking along Central Park, I fight off all the emotions swirling up inside me. I have to text my father after all.
Because that’s what he expects.
But seconds later, he’s calling me and I’m answering, and I’m faking it all over again, with enthusiastic congratulations and oh my gods, and that’s so wonderful.
All to cover up the lies twisted like vines inside me.
As I march down the block to the restaurant, I run my finger over the I on my necklace. I need all my bravery tonight.
I need all my toughness too.
I can’t let anyone see how much I ache right now.
I walk into the private room at Ava’s Bistro off Park Avenue. When my father sees me, he beams, brings me in for a huge hug. Then he pulls Hunter in on the other side.
“Lucky me! We were returning to New York anyway since, well, I can’t stay away from Lucky 21 forever, and it turns out I’m lucky again since both my children are here to celebrate with me,” he says, like our presence in the city on this day in history is only because of him. I catch Hunter’s gaze like can you believe this . His eyes say yes, yes I can.
As a server walks in, Dad lets go of us.
Even though I’m ripped up inside, I owe my brother a huge apology.
While Dad and Vivian chat with the server about wine, I grab Hunter and pull him aside. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this,” I whisper. “I know you didn’t want to spend your last few hours in New York with him.”
“It’s fine,” he reassures me, his voice low. “And I didn’t tell him where you were.”
I go ramrod straight. Picturing the desk. My legs spread.
“The job interview,” Hunter prompts. “I wasn’t sure if Dad knew you quit.”
Right. Of course. That’s where Hunter thinks I was.
“Thank you.”
“Did you get it?” he asks eagerly, happy for me.
“I think so. I hope so. I haven’t told Dad I quit.”
“Good luck. You’ll need it,” he says, then hugs me once more.
I’ll need all his strength, especially when, a minute later, the click of wingtips signals it’s time for me to be tough again.
The man who Harlow’d me walks into the room. The man who doesn’t even know what we’re doing.
I knew what I was doing.
Falling .
My heart thumps too unevenly for him, too painfully. Too much is happening inside me all at once. I try valiantly to quash all my emotions, but it’s impossible with Bridger so close to me.
My dad beams at his business partner. “And of course I had to have my best friend here to celebrate as well.”
For one of the first times ever, Bridger doesn’t pull a poker face. Instead, he looks confused. He lifts his brow. Question marks flood his eyes. But he doesn’t say the obvious— We’re not best friends, Ian .
Because he knows how to read a room, and now is not the time to burst my father’s friendship bubble.
Not when my dad greets him with a clap on the shoulder and an embrace. “My best mate,” he says again, like he’s driving the point home.
“You’re like family,” Vivian coos to Bridger.
I just blink. What the hell? Several months ago, she wanted Bridger for his money.
Then, my dad sweeps out his arm toward the table. “Let’s have supper before my son has to leave town.”
We sit down for the most awkward family dinner ever. I’m seated next to my new stepmother, who’s nine years older than I am. On the other side of me is my brother, who I can’t tell the truth to. I’m diagonal from the person who taught me how to lie. And I’m sitting across from the man I was stupidly falling in love with and can never ever be with.
I can barely look at Bridger throughout the entire uncomfortable meal.
But the good thing is, I don’t have to.
Because the narcissist is in the room. And Dad’s leading the conversation, regaling us with the story of how he gave the Pablo Neruda book to Vivian at their beach house.
“We bonded over Pablo Neruda on our first date,” he says, so pleased with their romantic tale.
The book he could barely remember.
“And then we stole away to get a marriage certificate and tie the knot in City Hall,” he adds, saying that they’ll plan a honeymoon for later this summer when Vivian can schedule another week away from the agency.
“We just couldn’t wait to get married though,” Vivian puts in.
Maybe she’s pregnant.
I don’t fucking care if she’s going to give birth to my half-sibling.
When dinner winds down, Dad clears his throat. “There’s a new musical opening this month. The Un-Gentleman. I know you two love Broadway so much,” he says to Bridger and me.
My breath catches and for a few hopeful, dangerous seconds, I imagine Bridger saying yes, I would love to take your daughter to the theater .
But then, what would I do if he said that? Would I tell my father what’s happened? That I’ve fallen for his partner? How would my dad handle that?
Badly.
Dad keeps going. “I thought the four of us could go.” He turns to Hunter with a you lost shrug. “I would invite you if you lived in New York, but you’ve left me for London once again.”
Hunter doesn’t take the bait. “Yes, Dad, I did.” Then he checks the time. “And I have to leave again. My flight is taking off in two hours.”
My father doesn’t wait for me to RSVP to the theater. He doesn’t wait for Bridger to either. “Great. The four of us will go,” he says like Make it so.
I don’t want to cause a scene. I don’t want to be a problem. I’ll just tell my father sometime this week I can’t attend.
There’s nothing for me to say here. Or do. And since Hunter is leaving, that’s as good a time as any for me to go as well.
I walk out with him and say goodbye to my brother on the street, our hug lasting longer than usual, me not wanting to let go, him seeming to understand how needy I am.
Then he’s gone. I almost wish I could hitch a ride in his luggage.
Instead, I walk home alone. Drops of rain start falling on my head. And a lonely pair of tears streak down my cheeks.