Chapter 2
I watch the color drain from Harlow’s face, all the fire she had moments ago snuffed out at the sight of her sister.
Hattie Hayes looks just as polished as I remember. She’s not a knockout like her sister, but not many women are. What I don’t know is who the stiff suit is next to her, and why their presence seems to knock Harlow so far off balance.
“Hattie,” she finally speaks, her voice laced with barely masked surprise. “I didn’t realize you were in town.”
Hattie smiles nervously. “I know, sorry. It was a last-minute thing.”
The discomfort between the two is more than palpable.
This would probably be a good time to walk away and mind my own business. Of course, I do no such thing. I remain exactly where I am, intrigued by whatever the hell is unfolding.
“Finch’s parents are business associates of Amanda’s,” Hattie continues. “Something came up for them last minute, so we’re here in their place.”
Finch?
I barely suppress a laugh. What kind of pussy name is that?
“I see.” The tension in Harlow’s voice is unmistakable. A mix of pain and betrayal. I also notice she doesn’t look in Finchy Boy’s direction, despite the fact he’s practically leering at her.
I instantly hate the guy.
“Well, it’s good to see you.” Hattie steps forward, pulling her sister into an awkward hug.
Harlow visibly stiffens but returns the embrace.
I should be enjoying this. Seeing her squirm, watching her get knocked down a peg…it’s what I live for. But the truth is, I only like seeing Harlow rattled if I’m the one causing it.
Finchy Boy moves in next, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Harlow,” he says in greeting. “You look good.”
He leans in with the intention of kissing her cheek, but she turns her head at the last minute, forcing his lips to her hair instead.
The snub is subtle but speaks volumes. She doesn’t want him near her.
I step closer, my body reacting before my mind, and I decide if he invades her space again, I’ll drop him where he stands.
His gaze shifts to mine, sizing me up with a once-over. “Finch.” He extends his hand, mistaking me for someone who cares. “And you are?”
I’m about to show this asshole exactly who I am, but Harlow jumps in, speaking first.
“This is Linc…my boyfriend.”
The words fire through me like a gunshot, jerking my gaze to hers.
She peers up at me, wide-eyed and pleading, silently begging me to play along.
This would be the perfect moment to strike. To toss her straight into the flames and watch her burn. To claim a long-awaited win in this rivalry of ours. But as she looks up at me, all soft and desperate…I can’t do it.
Turns out, I’m as much as a pussy as Finchy Boy.
“That’s me,” I boast, plastering on my best smile. “The boyfriend.”
Relief floods her features, her posture instantly relaxing.
I take Finch’s outstretched hand, gripping it a little tighter than necessary, my warning clear.
He doesn’t back down. Instead, he puffs out his chest like a damn peacock, something I find highly amusing considering the weasel barely reaches my chin.
Harlow cuts back in, ending the pissing match. “Hattie, you remember Linc, don’t you?”
Surprise flutters across her sister’s face. “Wait…Linc, as in our old neighbor?”
I nod. “The one and only.”
“I thought you looked familiar.” She tilts her head, smiling faintly. “Didn’t you two used to hate each other?”
“Uh…” Harlow pauses, scrambling for an explanation.
Unlike her, I’m quick on my feet.
I sling an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in nice and close. “Well, you know what they say, there’s a fine line between love and hate. And Harlow here just couldn’t resist my charm any longer. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
Fury radiates off her in waves, I can feel it in every stiff bone of her body. I also notice how fucking good she smells. Like vanilla and something else sweet. The scent penetrates every one of my senses, making my cock harden behind my zipper.
Pull it together, Masters.
“That’s right,” Harlow says, her tone sugary sweet as she loops her arm around my waist. “Couldn’t deny all this charm any longer.” She follows the words up with a sharp, hidden pinch to my side.
Ow. Shit.
“Well, this is great!” Hattie beams.
“Yes, it is,” Finch chimes in, draping his arm around her shoulders in a way that mirrors mine.
What a jackass.
“Maybe we should share our news, darling.”
Hattie stiffens, clearly disagreeing.
“What news?” Harlow asks, her gaze shifting between the two.
“Nothing,” her sister rushes out. “It can wait.”
Finch doesn’t follow her lead, blabbing it anyway. “Hattie and I are getting married.”
The announcement lands like a bomb, detonating a thick, suffocating silence.
I chance a look at Harlow, her face unreadable, but I don’t need to see her expression. I can feel it—the hurt, the shock, the betrayal…it rolls off her in waves.
Jesus. What the hell happened between these two?
“Wow. Congratulations,” Harlow finally says, her smile as tight as her voice.
“I called to tell you last week,” Hattie utters softly. “I left a message.”
Harlow nods once. “Right. Sorry. It’s been busy.”
The lie is more than obvious and only makes everything more awkward.
“Speaking of busy, I should get back to work.” She straightens, tone brisk. “I’m sure we’ll see you around later. Enjoy your night. Congratulations again. Come on, honey.”
Her hand finds mine, gripping like a lifeline as she pulls me across the church and into an empty room. The moment the door shuts, her composure cracks wide open.
“I can’t believe that just happened,” she breathes out, pacing the floor like a caged animal. “His parents are business associates? Seriously? How the hell did I miss that?”
Considering she’s the wedding planner, I would have thought she’d know the entire guest list but now doesn’t seem like the time to point that out. So, I hang back by the door instead, giving her space, my gaze tracking the subtle sway of her skirt with each flustered step.
She’s dressed differently than every other woman here—professional, understated, with a touch of elegance. And yet she’s the only one who stopped me in my tracks the second I laid eyes on her.
Story of my fucking life…
“Why couldn’t she just spit it out in the damn message?” she continues, her voice rising with every word. “Instead of, ‘Hey, call me when you have a sec,’ she could’ve said, ‘Surprise! The guy who cheated on you with me? Yeah, we’re getting married. Talk soon. Bye.’”
My brows shoot up. Not just at the betrayal but the fact she even dated that loser. Finchy Boy doesn’t exactly scream her type. Not that I know much about her type, but I’d have bet money it wasn’t some stuck-up prick in a tight suit.
“I even talked to my mother just last week,” she says, bitterness sharpening every word. “Could she be bothered to tell me? Of course not. Why would she? My feelings have never mattered to her.”
Her anger’s shifting now…less sharp, more raw.
“Look, Harlow.” I push off the door, but she barrels right over me, too far gone to even register my voice.
“Now I need to check the seating chart and make sure they’re not sitting with anyone who knows us, which is a pain in the ass, because I already had to move Uncle Ray away from Aunt Carol. Apparently, they hate each other, and no one thought to mention that until this morning, and—”
“Harlow,” I bark, snagging her arm.
She whips around, eyes blazing. “What?”
“Take a goddamn breath!”
She glares but does it, her chest rising and falling until the heat in her cheeks slowly fades.
“You good?” I ask, tone softer now.
“Oh yeah, Linc. Just fantastic,” she snaps, ripping away from me. “I’m working a wedding where my sister and my ex just announced they’re getting married. I’m beyond peachy. How are you?”
I grunt at her sarcasm but decide it’s better than watching her spiral.
She drags a hand through her hair, trying to pull herself together. “Look, I’m sorry. We just need to get through the next few hours, then everything will be fine.”
My brow cocks at the statement. “I’m sorry, we?”
Her gaze sharpens. “Yes, we. We’re dating, remember? Which means no cock-partying for you tonight, Mister. You need to keep up the pretense that we’re dating.”
This chick is something else…
My arms fold over my chest, a slow smirk tugging at my mouth. “I don’t have to do shit, sweetheart.”
Before I can blink, she’s in my face, jabbing a finger into my chest with a fierceness that shoots straight to my groin. “Oh yes, you do. You agreed to this. You can’t back out now.”
Grabbing her wrist, I jerk her against me. “First of all, I didn’t know I’d have to keep this charade going all damn night.”
She opens her mouth, but I cut her off.
“And secondly, instead of barking orders, you should be thanking me. I could’ve thrown you under the bus back there.”
Her chin lifts. “You also could have walked away and minded your own damn business, but you didn’t. So here we are.”
She’s got a point, but I refuse to admit that. So I meet her glare head-on.
The fire in her eyes sparks against mine, shifting the tension in the room—hotter, tighter—until it licks at the edges of my control, threatening to incinerate me where I stand.
Just when I think one of us is about to combust, a knock at the door shatters it.
“What?” we snap in unison.
A bridesmaid pokes her head in, timid and wide-eyed. “Uh, sorry to interrupt,” she says, gaze darting to Harlow. “But Jaime’s asking for you.”
Harlow nods, her professional mask sliding into place like second nature. “Tell her I’ll be right there.”
The bridesmaid turns to leave, but not before sneaking a quick look my way, blatant appreciation darkening her gaze.
I toss her a wink before I can stop myself, amused by the blush that creeps up her neck.
The second the door closes, Harlow’s hand connects with the back of my head.
“Ow. What the hell was that for?” I ask, rubbing the sting.
“That,” she hisses, “is exactly the kind of shit I’m talking about. You can’t do that, Linc. Not tonight.” Her finger jabs into my chest with each word. “I mean it. No flirting. No dancing. And absolutely no charming your way into anyone’s panties. Got it?”
“Except for yours, right?”
She bristles. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” I lean in, close enough to see the pulse hammering at her throat. “You want me to play the part? I’ll play the part, baby. I’ll play it so fucking good, you’ll not only give me that dance, you’ll be begging me to rip those pretty panties off you.”
Her eyes flash with heat before she masks it with a smile. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Slimer, but I’ll be working all night. You’re on your own to keep this little charade going.”
She’s out of her damn mind if she thinks I’m carrying this myself. I’m about to tell her so when she rises to her toes, lips brushing my ear.
That sweet vanilla scent wraps around me like a noose, locking the words in my throat.
“But I’ll tell you what,” she murmurs, “since you’re so desperate for that dance, I’ll ask Jaime’s grandma to step in for me. I’m sure she’d be thrilled.”
After a light, patronizing tap on my cheek, she saunters out, making damn sure she gets the last word.
My hands curl into fists, every muscle pulled tight with the urge to haul her back, pin her against the wall, and fuck that sass right out of her.
Instead, I’m left standing here like a chump, watching the door she disappeared through.
What’s even worse? The night plays out exactly the way she said it would. She dodges me at every turn, while I do exactly what she told me—stay away from other women and play the part.
Why? Because Harlow Hayes has me by the balls. Always has…even when she doesn’t know it.
She may have won this battle, but the war will be mine.