10. August
10
I spent the good part of the past few days kicking and cursing myself. “Of course she hates me.” This time saying it out loud, in the privacy of my office. This massive space that was like home to me, where I’d wrap myself in business calls, deals, meetings, contracts.
But now, it’s almost four and I’d done nothing but torment myself for the shit I’d pulled with Harper.
What gave me the right?
Knowing what I’d—what Troy had done. How he hurt her. The residual pain from it all that she finally let release on Wednesday night.
What am I going to do?
How could I make this right?
It was Monday and my assistant Debbie had been in here earlier, reading off the day’s events. It was the first time I didn’t memorize every word. The first time I checked out during a meeting and all the meetings that followed.
I made a mental note to ask Debbie to brief me on all the meetings I had today—even though I joined each one.
She could get creative, ask the clients for a summary of what they wanted, and other internal attendees to give her their notes.
But Debbie didn’t need ideas from me. The woman was able to get me out of dinners with my parents and my brother on a monthly basis without my having to ask.
Not that I avoid them often, just when it interfered with work. And anything that wasn’t work, was an interference.
My mother meant well but getting her to understand that my job didn’t end at five o’clock was trying.
At some point on Sunday, I stopped answering my brother’s calls when he started begging me to play one more for him. Just one more to prove he was back and that last week’s game, where “Troy” Hartman helped bring it home for the team, wasn’t just pure luck.
The man was hurting, I got that. But I wasn’t his therapist. I wasn’t his backup plan when shit went wrong in his life.
I sat at my desk, running my hands through my hair. Images of Harper in pain back on prom night when she pushed me away and ran out the door, seeing my brother in a compromised position.
“Why couldn’t I have covered for you then?” I murmured.
Troy kept me from going after her that night. “The Hartman boys don’t chase, August,” he’d snapped.
I turned and shot back, “Last I checked, we didn’t get blow jobs on school grounds either, but that didn’t stop you.”
I had raced out to try and find her and ignored his call to “Let her go.”
I wouldn’t have if I were him.
Never.
But she was gone. She couldn’t have gone far, so I figured she was hiding until her ride came. Tear streaked and alone.
I was no better for her than my twin. I didn’t just make her cry, I scared her. All because I was too much in my own head.
My office door opened and Debbie waltzed in, avoiding eye contact. My assistant had a peculiarly special talent for knowing when I was in one of my moods. She’d purposely walk in like everything was fine but wouldn’t look me in the eye. I didn’t blame her. She knew better than others, my glare was stronger than my bite.
“Mr. Hartman, some papers here for you to sign when you’ve got a few minutes.” Debbie, with her slender frame, dark-rimmed glasses, and reserved attitude, placed them on my desk. “Also, Mr. Jones from Rickley’s Capital is here for your four o’clock.”
“He’s seven minutes late. Reschedule.” I rubbed my temples and pulled out my chair to go through the stack she’d laid out for me.
“He’s already been rescheduled twice and—”
“Then maybe he should be here on time,” I snapped.
Debbie’s mouth parted and she blinked away.
My teeth clenched and I rolled my eyes. “I apologize. Please tell him to wait outside while I finish this up.”
“It’s…I’d rather if…well, last time he got very upset and…”
“Jesus, just send him in.”
She nodded once and muttered a thank you before rushing out.
I shook my head at myself. That woman needed a raise. I’d been giving her one on a semi-annual basis since I started.
“August,” Eddie walked in. “You running a business here or just dissing clients.”
“You’re not my client,” I reminded him, signing the first set on the stack.
“I should be. Jason’s not right for my firm. He doesn’t negotiate the way you can. He takes the second deal, if not the first.”
It was true. I lived by a nothing-to-lose strategy. You believe you don’t need their business, and they will too. It’s the only way they put out their best offer. I was the best asset manager in the industry, squarely due to my ability to show lack of interest.
“I’m busy.”
“I’ll double the commission.”
I placed my pen down and leaned back in my chair, staring at him. “Is this supposed to be an offer I can’t refuse?”
“By the looks of it.” He smirked.
It was tempting. Not because I needed the money. But to be in a position to be paid such an amount for what I did. Jason was my colleague, we worked equal to each other, which made him a competitor, even though we worked for the same company. If I got this deal, upper management wouldn’t deny me a promotion and a bigger team next year. And hell, maybe a corner office.
This one felt good. Almost as good as getting that last puck in the net last week.
“You know I’m no pleasure to work with,” I warned.
“I own a multi-million-dollar company and yet I waited for you for twenty-five minutes last week only to be told you won’t see me.” He raised a brow as if to say, Yet here I am .
“I’ll start Wednesday.”
He leaned over my desk. “You’ll start tomorrow.”
I would have started today. It was my competitive nature to get such an account. In fact, I planned on starting as soon as he left my office. I may have made it appear effortless, but I was no miracle worker. This shit took time.
Time I’d been consuming with thoughts of Harper and her pouty mouth. And the unsolicited feelings of possession that took over when I kissed her.
I stood. “Timing will be set by me, not the other way around. Do we have a deal?”
He grinned and pushed off the chair. “We do.”
I pressed a line and speaker on my office phone. “Debbie, transfer Mr. Jones’s account to my folder. And make sure Jason is aware.”
“Will do, sir,” her voice responded, and I walked him out, letting him know Debbie would reach out for our next meeting.
As soon as he was gone, she called me back. “It’s a big account sir, how soon do you need the transfers done? I’d need to get some help from outside counsel.”
“As soon as possible. Get them working on it tonight. Call me back when it’s done.” I hung up, anxiety creeping up. I had loads of other accounts I could have worked on. But I needed to focus on something that was big enough to cloud my mind over Harper. Over hockey.
Over how both made me feel alive again.
An hour later, my desk phone rang. Assuming it was Debbie with an update, I answered on the first ring. “That was quick.”
But the voice that responded wasn’t one that belonged to my assistant. “Where the fuck you been?”
Troy. I lowered the phone and put it back to my ear. “You want to try that again?”
A breath on the other side. “Why haven’t you been home?”
“Catching up on work all weekend. Something you should be fucking doing.”
“Yeah, Simon stopped by yesterday after I missed practice. He said if it happens again, I’m suspended.”
“For how many games?”
“One.”
I shook my head. “They’re too easy on you fuckers.”
“He said you were there with a girl Friday night?”
“A friend,” I muttered. Even though he didn't ask.
“I bet. Hey, you should be thanking me. Chicks dig hockey players. Listen, you better not have used my name. I don’t need your one-nighters stalking me.”
Anybody.
He could have been talking about anybody . But the fact that this was about Harper—whether he’d known it or not—angered me. It would have angered her.
“I’ve got to get back to work. And you should too, for that matter.”
As usual, my brother ignored me. “Did Mom tell you she ran into Harper the other day? She asked if I knew what brought her back to town.” He laughed as if there was something funny about that. “Hell, even if I were coherent last week, I wouldn’t have asked—I’m willing to bet she’s here for unfinished business if you know what I mean.”
My stomach churned at the thought. Then I remembered what Harper was really after that night. What she failed at getting from me.
Yeah, I bet she fucking is .
There was silence for a moment until he released a heavy breath. “Play tomorrow’s game for me?”
My voice was calm when I replied. “You’re out of your Goddamn mind, Troy.”
“August, please. I—I’m not ready.”
“Then go to minors.” I was barely listening at this point. I wasn’t getting back on the ice to win a prize in his name. All after getting the wind knocked out of me.
He laughed at my advice. But there was a bitterness in it toward my unsolicited advice.
“You either show up tomorrow, or you can kiss that career I handed you goodbye.” I didn’t call attention to it often. But he needed the reminder.
“August.”
His plea when he called my name made me think of Harper. Of the pain in her eyes after I’d kissed her. The confusion. Like she’d wanted it more than she should have and it only made her hurt more.
I’m an idiot.
And it was about time I did something to make it right. She was humiliated that night. Maybe it was time to give Troy a taste of his own medicine.
And give Harper the apology she deserved.
“Yeah. Okay. This one. That’s it .”
"You serious? You'll play for me?"
"What are brothers for?"
"I owe you one."
I nearly laughed. Don't thank me just yet.
I hung up and looked up a number on The Bridge Lineup magazine website. Then Googled whether star sixty-seven still worked to make a call from a private number.
“Bridge Lineup Café, how can I help you?” Her voice was mellow and soft, tired a bit too, or perhaps just bored.
“Harper, it's Troy.” The words were so fluid from my lips that I winced.
There was silence on the other end, but at least she didn’t hang up.
“Listen, I’m sorry about last week and, well, a lot of things. I don’t know what’s going on, but I need to make it right.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Her tone was biting, and I could tell she was done.
“I just need to know, last weekend…what were you trying to do?”
“What?”
“Last weekend at the bar. In the bathroom. What was your purpose?”
I could almost hear her cringe on the other side between her silence and breathing. “It was stupid. Can we just forget it?”
“I can’t do that. And I think we have unfinished business.” I took a breath. “I want you to come to the game tomorrow night. I’ll give you what you were after.”
“Troy—I can’t keep doing whatever this is with you—” There was a strain in her voice that tore at me. “Whatever I started, I need to work it out on my own.”
“No. No, you don’t. Let me help. I owe you that. Come to tomorrow night’s game,” I found myself pleading.
“What are you going to do?”
“Let me worry about that.”
She let out a soft laugh. “You know you can’t strip on television, right? Or have you hit your head too many times?”
I leaned back in my chair, a smile sneaking up my lips for the first time in days. “I wasn’t planning on it, but is that really all you want, Harper Maxwell?”
“No,” she answered quickly.
“Good,” I replied. “Give me your number. I’ll text you a reservation for two tickets. Bring a friend if you’d like.”
There was a beat before she answered. "I'll think about it."