Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Marcus
H allie isn’t okay. Not a single little bit okay.
She hadn’t been okay since the moment she’d started to open those damn boxes, which is why I’d sent my apprentices to help her in the first place. I know how obsessed and focused she could get. How much this particular task would drag her through things she shouldn’t have to deal with a second time around.
I’d noticed. So sue me.
That it gave her the opportunity to meet two of my apprentices, both of whom will be impacted by her father’s asshole ways, was simply a benefit. Hallie and I might not be friends, but Erica and Julian wouldn’t have forgiven me if I hadn’t done something.
I remember Hallie well enough to see she’s tired.
Tired and putting on a front.
I can see it in the way she keeps tapping a finger against her mug and in her inability to relax her shoulders. But the way her eyes keep wandering from my face to my hands is the true giveaway. There’s not a single chance Hallie would be caught looking at me that way if she were feeling like herself. I have to wonder if she knows she isn’t just staring at me but devouring me with starved eyes.
“Is there something you want, Hallie?” I ask mildly, meeting her gaze head-on.
Her normally sharp blue eyes are glassy, with dark shadows smudged beneath them. She’d be quick to blame it on lingering jet lag, and I’m sure it’s part of the cause. But only part.
“No. I mean, yes. Obviously. I want to split up who needs to do what for the bachelor and bachelorette party. You told me to come here.”
“True. I didn’t think it’d be right to tell you via text that it’s all done and booked.”
This information breathes life back into her, and she sparks again. I’m sure we could’ve done this on a call, but I wanted to be present for her reaction.
“You booked it all without me? Marcus, what the hell?”
She perches on the edge of her seat, radiating complete and utter exasperation, and I wonder if I should let her get a little more worked up. Having Hallie angry is a million times better than the absolute silence of the last eight years. But for my own safety, I decide against it.
“Don’t make a mess jumping to conclusions, Hal,” I start, purposefully patronizing. “Before we were asked to be the best man and maid of honor, Jules had asked me to be a groomsman. I chatted with him and Erica and a few of their other friends and set it all up months ago. Well, my assistant set it up. They already knew they wanted a joint celebration, so I booked a long weekend in Vegas. It’s in two weeks. I have a few activities planned—you can have a look at them and see if there’s anything you want to add or anything you want to plan just for Erica. Does that sound all right with you?”
She looks at me for the longest time before nodding, her fire tempered once more. I’d expected her to put up more of a fight. I might have wanted it. Invited her here specifically for it. And to test the waters regarding her dad’s request.
“You sure? I could ask my assistant to forward the emails proving when we made the bookings. Make sure all the dates line up in my favor and that I haven’t booked you the worst room in the place.” I poke at her, trying to get some type of snappy response.
The most I get is a droll, thoroughly unimpressed look thrown my way as she puts her empty mug on my coffee table. Then she pulls the long sleeves of her sweater down over her hands, curling them into the soft-looking material.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m happy to deal with the lighter workload. Can you email me over everything that’s been booked so far? At least that way, I can send it to Erica, and she and I can make our own plans around it.”
“Does this mean you’re grateful for something I’ve done other than leave your presence?” I feign shock and throw her a little smirk.
Hallie rolls her eyes skyward and melts back into my couch. “Don’t get used to it.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
For once, the space between us isn’t filled with turbulent energy. It’s calm, alarmingly so, as we sit in silence, each of us looking at the other.
“How do you like living in Scotland, anyway?” I ask. Apparently, I’m not ready for her to leave yet.
“I find it cold,” she replies, as if the blasé answer is going to be enough.
I’m unwilling to let her get away with such a nonsense response. “As cold as your current mood?”
“Believe it or not, it gets colder.” Her brows raise in my direction, still amazingly in jest.
“Shockingly, Hal, I’m aware of the weather in the UK. How do you find life in Edinburgh? Do you like living there?” I take a sip of my drink, hoping to encourage this pretense of a normal conversation between us.
She sighs again, obviously hesitant even to share the simplest information about her life. “It’s ridiculously beautiful, but it’s like living in any city, I guess. It has its ups and downs. The people really make it—they couldn’t be nicer. The accent isn’t hard on the ears either.” She says this last bit with a warm smile.
“You don’t see yourself moving back here, then?” I find myself asking, wondering if the outrageously large sweatshirt she’s wearing belongs to her. “Yes, Sir, I Can Boogie” is printed along the front, whatever the hell that’s in reference to.
“No.” Her energy changes with this response.
“Someone there pulling you back?” There’s no stopping the inquiring words as they make their way from my mouth.
It’s not like I want her to say she’s considering moving back; I just want to know how available she is for the next few weeks.
Her eye contact is steady—ballsy, even. “No.”
Hallie had always had tough skin; she’d had to with parents like hers, forever seeking perfection.
The life she’s living, the life abroad she’d always talked about—there’s no doubt she flourished without me. I admire that she’d been brave enough to leave, to choose herself and stay gone until it suited her.
I don’t necessarily like it, but I admire it.
“Will you catch up with your parents while you’re here?”
She huffs indelicately. “Not a chance.”
“You know, your dad—” I start before being cut off.
“Is not someone I talk to or about. Ever. But especially with you,” she finishes sharply.
My idea to get her on board with talking to her dad for the purpose of charitable funds, derails slightly. To be fair, I hadn’t really expected her to hear me out. She’s going to need to warm up to me a whole lot more before I bring it up again.
“Hallie, give me something here.”
“Would a black eye meet the criteria?” she asks with genuine curiosity, and I feel a perverse glee.
“Well, that depends on you, really. Is there some other way in which you’d like to have your hands on me?” I ask since she’s diverted the subject again to the physical, and I don’t even care. Not when it works to my advantage. Getting close to her, gaining her trust, is apparently what I’m needing to do. Because I don’t plan on lying to her about what her dad wants; I just need her to let me bring it up without the threat of murder.
Hallie’s jaw tenses, and her eyes spark—but not with the annoyance I’d expected.
I feel my own flare in response, my pulse kicking.
Fuck.
When we were young and alone, she’d always had a hand on me, or I’d had one on her. The image of her climbing over me, her palms pressing against my pecs, my fingers tracing the curve of her hips and the line of her spine. It’s a memory I wouldn’t mind revisiting.
I can’t help but wonder if that’s what she’s thinking about. If she’s imagining my hands on her, firmly stroking and touching, heavy and warm as I press her into my bed. Chances are she isn’t, but I don’t want her to go until I find out.
I only hope if I push this, she doesn’t run altogether.
Julian would never forgive me.