10. Ten
By the time I’m finally ready to leave the Olympus International Tower, it’s well after dark. I ask Weiss to send Javi into my office as soon as I leave my last meeting and then tell her to finish up for the evening since she’s been here longer than I have. She just gives me a knowing look and a backward wave as she exits my office. I can”t believe I still haven”t melted that woman’s iceberg exterior.
I have an idea that’s been percolating in my subconscious all day, despite everything else that is going on. Probably not a good one, given the day of negotiations that didn’t go my way. I had to fight with Hayes to up our offer for a deal that would replace Rosenthall, and I’m annoyed as fuck after dealing with that shifty bastard Rex only providing the barest information. Besides that, Payton’s incessant need to hash out how we are going to fight back after we learned of the connection to Archer Donovan left me feeling drained.
Despite the work piling up and the team scrambling to pivot, I can’t stop thinking about running into Harlowe, of all people. Why would we be thrown back together like that? To have seen her photos on the Atlanta Haute List moments before the world conspired against me, literally crashing us into each other, just so we would be in the same place at the same time? Not fucking normal.
Neither is my irrational obsession with her all week, despite my insistence that I wouldn’t think about her again, and I couldn’t possibly have any attachments to her this long after. I’m still obsessing about the time we spent together and how that could have changed my life as I know it, now that I’ve seen the photos of her son.
To make matters worse, I gave into my curiosity and looked up her Foulmouthed Foodie Instagram account, only to catch the fucking thirst trap she posted the same night I saw her. Holy shit, did that one grab me by the balls. Her glorious, feline smile as she took a bite of some delicious, creamy-looking pasta dish, her tits looking even more fucking delectable, slightly out of focus, just below the forkful of food. Her caption was the kicker, my cock growing harder with every salaciously dirty word that tripped across my feed, saying creamy cacio is her favorite, and ending with loving yourself at every size.
It was a reminder that, yes, her body is different, and goddamn does it look so fucking good I could spend another two weeks eating her up and learning every new curve and how it fits against me. I fisted my cock right then and came so quick and violently it felt like lightning snapped down my spine with the force of the ropes of cum that shot out of me. I don”t know the last time I jacked off to a photo on the internet, one that was safe to post to a social media feed, at that.
I need to see Harlowe. I have to talk to her. It’s a thought that has never crossed my mind about any woman who has been in my bed, and that breaks the rules, but so does possibly having a connection with her that stuck around longer than I did.
I retreat to my office and pace behind my desk. There’s way too much at stake and going on in my professional world and the stress from my personal life is only adding to the mix, given the fucking bombshell that I’m pretty damn sure I have a kid and Harlowe doesn’t want me to know anything about him.
“You wanted to see me?” Javi says as he enters my office without a knock. Thank fuck that didn’t take long.
“I need whatever information you have on her,” I say, hand outstretched for good measure.
Javi takes a seat across from me and pulls out his phone. “I’m going to take a flying leap and assume you mean Harlowe Sorenson.” He taps his phone screen and scrolls a bit.
“Of course, that’s who I mean. I give you the credit you deserve for your intelligence and aptitude to connect the dots. No need to rub it in,” I gripe.
“Touchy about this one, are we? Sending a photo of her insurance documents and her contact card now. Don”t say I never do anything for you. I follow your crazy ass out of perfectly good planes and give you contact information I’m pretty sure you normally wouldn’t want.” He gives me a knowing look.
My phone vibrates on my desk and I immediately snatch it up. “Thanks,” I say, already saving the contact. “Have you sent her your insurance info yet?”
Javi rubs the back of his neck. “We’ve had a lot going on the last couple of days. It sort of slipped my mind. I should send it right now.” He swipes his screen open again and starts tapping.
“Don’t bother. Send it to me instead.” Possibilities are rushing through my mind, concocting scenarios and evaluating risks. If I see Harlowe, I need an excuse. This could be it.
Javi pauses and looks at me hard before shaking his head in deference. “Okay, but can I also offer some words of unsolicited advice?” When I don’t stop him, he continues. “Maybe don’t show up unexpectedly. Give her the heads up I know you yourself would want. Connect with her and create a rapport before you spring your obnoxiously big ego on her after however long it’s been. You seem to have a history, and that alone is unusual for you.”
I cock my head and consider his words for a moment and finally nod. He’s intuitive, catching on to far more than I’ve said. He knows my normal patterns with women, and yet he’s read into the quick interaction from Monday that there was something very not normal about the situation with Harlowe. I hate that he’s that perceptive when it comes to my personal life, but that’s why he’s my SVP. It doesn”t mean I’ll actually take his advice, but I appreciate it nonetheless.
I point a finger at him. “You think on the next level and have my back, even when I’m not looking for it.”
Javi gives me a crooked grin and stands from the chair. “I think that’s one of a handful of true compliments you’ve given me, and with that, I’m out of here before you ruin it by saying something shitty. Good night, man. Be careful.” His backward wave as he strides through the door is enough to get me to crack a smile.
The smile fades when I realize once again I’m about to break one of my steadfast rules: don’t contact anyone you’ve already fucked. That’s how things get messy. That’s when attachments form and expectations spring up. I’m not relationship material, and I never let anyone consider the idea because I’m out of their life too fast. But if I keep after Harlowe like this, whether or not she wants it, there will be a problem. I know this for a fact.
Harlowe was trouble from the start, and we both knew it.
And yet, here I am, going against my better judgment. I grab my suit jacket and leave the building without another thought to my own rules.
I’m already pulling up the message from Javi with her insurance card as I slide into my sleek, vapor gray Karma SC2 electric car, knowing I’m crossing so many lines by typing it into my GPS and starting the drive to her home. I know there’s a process I should take, a better road to conversations with her about the kid who could very well be mine, but the only path I’ve ever taken has been the hard one I found for myself. I’m treading on unknown terrain with baggage that wants to take me down, but I’m starting the trek, anyway. I’ve scaled actual mountains. How hard can this be?
Harlowe lives a ways from downtown, but still in Atlanta proper, and it’s strange rolling through the very suburban neighborhood when I normally stick to the highrises of downtown. I know I can”t just walk up to the door and expect her to let me in for a chat, so I pillage more of her information from Javi’s message and dial her number.
I’m surprised she answers an unknown number, even one with a local area code.
“Hello?” Her husky rasp floods me with a sense of nostalgia that shouldn”t exist, and it takes me a moment to reply.
“Hey.” I swallow. “Lowe, it’s me.” My voice is low and casual, not disclosing the internal turmoil as my brain screams warnings about how bad this could be. My heart is pounding a rapid staccato beat in my chest, expecting her to hang up on me. The adrenaline rush of the situation keeps me on the line, feeling each roar of my spiked pulse like a drug. Rush. Rush. Rush. Mine. Mine. Mine. She gets me so fucking high, and I’ve only heard her voice. Seeing her will send me to the fucking moon. I won’t need to jump out of another plane for years if I keep this up.
Her sharp intake of breath is clear through the line before she slowly says, “Zander?”
“I’m at your house. I have Javi’s insurance card for you.” I use the last-minute excuse I created for what brought me to her home after dark. I clench my jaw, knowing she won’t buy it any more than I can sell it, and that’s saying something, given I have built a world-class business based on how I can sell a vision.
She chuckles softly, but the sound holds no mirth. She’s laughing at me. Fuck.
“Your audacity knows no bounds. Javier could have sent me a photo of his insurance card like he said he would, yet here you are, skulking outside my house, using it as an excuse to be there because you think you have the right to everyone else’s time and attention, you pompous ass.”
She saw right through me and fucking called me out like I’m nothing. I tip my head back against the seat and close my eyes. I don”t want to fight with her, not when there’s so much on the line. “You’re right,” I grit out, leaving it at that. She doesn’t need to know how on the money she is.
“Oh, wow! Well, that’s new. I didn”t know you could ever admit defeat,” she says, the warmth of her voice soothing despite the words that needle at me. “Why are you here, Zander?”
I scrub my hand across my face, feeling the rasp of beard and grit from a day in the trenches of business. “I need a drink,” I say, more to myself than to her.
She sighs. “There are bars strewn all across this city and you chose to come all the way out here to get a drink from me.” She’s quiet for a beat, and I’m readying for the disappointment when she turns me away. “Get your ass inside and be quiet about it. And do not, under any circumstances, make me regret letting you in.”
I’m out of the car before the call ends. There’s a lightness to my step that shouldn”t be there with the weight of responsibility and the shattering of rules put in place to protect me and those around me. I rap my knuckles against her door, stilling in anticipation, and she opens it a moment later. Warm light spills out onto the dark porch as she’s revealed in a blue and white striped pajama set that, while not skimpy by any means, hugs her curves and looks adorable on her. Her face is bare of makeup, dark hair tumbling over her shoulders and calling for my hands to twist in the long tresses.
Just seeing her calms some of the manic energy in me. I”m able to take a full breath for what feels like the first time since I saw her last. She stays silent, wariness in her expression as she looks at me on the threshold of more than just her home.
I’m bathed in her presence, memories of nights spent with her barreling straight to the forefront of my mind like a good bourbon on an empty stomach. The thoughts tangle around my limbs and trip me as I hesitate on the doorstep. Every instinct in me says to gather her in my arms and crush her against me, to take those full lips with mine and kiss the hell out of her. To touch her the way I know she likes. But, while I’m acting irrationally and against my better judgment, I’m not my baser instincts, and I know better than to rush into her space and take what isn”t offered.
Who the fuck am I to want her this badly after walking away? I made my decision, knowing full well it was the best option. I shouldn’t want her still, after having had my fill of her. But there is something more than our explosive chemistry and memories holding us together, and that’s what is driving me to be this out of control of myself. If I can just get some answers from her, maybe I can stop this madness and get back to what I do best—no attachments.
“Are you going to stand there all night, or are you coming in?” she finally asks, cocking her hip and placing a hand on it. My eyes are drawn to where her hand rests, the new fullness calling to my hands, asking me to sink my fingers into her lush curves and pull her tight against me.
I blink the thought away. Being around her and not putting my hands on her is going to be a nearly insurmountable task. Good thing I like a challenge.
I follow her inside without a word, softly shutting the door behind me. She pads over the warm-toned hardwood, her bare feet peeking out from under the cuffs of her pajama pants, her ass jiggling through the stretchy material, and I have to will myself not to grow hard at the tantalizing sight. We pass a comfortable-looking living room and make our way into a spacious kitchen that has been done in the home’s modern-meets-traditional style.
“I have a bottle of merlot open, and I may have some gin and tonic around, but this bar ain’t stocked with much else.” She pulls open the fridge and eyes the contents, arranged to perfection with carefully labeled containers holding a host of ingredients, and fresh produce stocked in the crisper drawers. “I have sparkling water, milk, and juice boxes, too.” She turns back to me and shrugs a shoulder, not apologizing for her lack of drink options. A heavy pour of bourbon is what I really need.
“The wine is fine.” I settle myself at a stool along the island, the thick marble veined in a deep blue-green that reminds me of the Indian Ocean we swam in together and I can’t help but trace it with a finger while she pulls out a wine glass. There’s one glass sitting in the sink, so I know she opened the wine for herself. At least there’s not a second glass in that sink, so she wasn’t drinking with the fucking jock she’s seeing.
Rage fills my blood at the thought of him and the feeling of—what the fuck is this? Jealousy? I look up when she sets the wine in front of me. I smooth my thoughts away to contemplate later and let a smile touch my lips. It’s my disarming expression, but her face hardens when she sees it.
“Are you going to tell me why I’m playing bartender to you tonight, or should I guess at your nefarious intentions?”
She leans on the island across from me, the undone first few buttons of her pajama top gaping with the movement and showing me the swell of her tits. It’s hard to drag my gaze back to her face when memories of her incredible body and how responsive she is under my touch surface in my mind. On Monday, her nipples grew hard when she saw me, so even if she hates me now, her body remembers and may not feel the same way. Mine fucking knows what it wants, my cock twitching at the very sight of her.
“I was dealing with a lot of shit at work today. You may have heard about the cyber attack on Olympus?”
She nods warily. “Who hasn’t?”
“The attack was to get into a project that isn’t ready and the hackers stole proprietary information that is likely already sold to our competitors. It means years of work down the drain if we can’t push production and get our product out before anyone else. It’s also tanked a bunch of our subsidiary stocks and we’re losing millions due to investors thinking we’ve had all of our data mined, so it’s been a stressful few days.”
“Oh, I see. You’re actually taking this bartender thing seriously and plan to spill your woes all over my kitchen.” She rolls her eyes and arches a brow before continuing. “Let me be clear. I don’t care. I don’t care what’s going on for you, professionally or personally. It doesn’t concern me and I’m not being paid to pretend otherwise. So what really brought you here tonight?”
I can’t stop thinking about you. “What do you think threw us together again earlier this week?” I say instead of the thoughts that bang around my head.
“Uh, traffic?” she says, her beautiful face twisting in confusion. “Wrong place, wrong time,” she continues sardonically.
I take a sip of the wine—it’s good, and a far cry from the tropical cocktails she enjoyed in the Maldives with me—and wave a hand through her explanation. “I saw you on the Atlanta Haute List just before Javi hit you. There’s a reason you were thrust back into my life twice in the span of a morning. I think you know why,” I say, hoping her thoughts run parallel to mine.
“Please enlighten me,” she says with another roll of her eyes. “I thought it was bad traffic navigation on your friend’s part. As for why you saw something about me, I never asked to be the focus of a local gossip blog, but you should know they don’t exactly take our feelings into account before writing about us.”
So she has read about me, too.She crosses her arms and cocks a hip, striking a pose worthy of being photographed when she’s just in her pajamas in her kitchen, dark hair tumbling down her back, calling me out on bullshit I didn’t even realize I was stepping in.
I skip the preamble, going for the real reason I’m here, hedging my bets that I may get more out of her this way. “You have a kid now. One who could conveniently coincide with a trip we took years ago, and you never mentioned him to me. All I have are questions, Lowe. You hold all the answers.”
My fingers grip the stem of the wine glass tightly while my words are looser than I would normally hold them, knowing she doesn’t want to play games any more than I want to. I realize I misjudged the situation when her posture changes, straightening up and closing off. How can I know her body so well, yet not know the right thing to say to her now at all?
She plants her hands on the island and stares me down. “My son is of no concern to you.”
“You think not?” The words come out quick and incredulous. Entitled.
She stiffens and I wonder why I’m making it my concern when clearly she doesn”t want to share it with me. But I can’t let it go. Not when I saw the similarities for myself. I rub a hand across my face and feel what little patience I have waning.
“He has my eyes, Harlowe. I can see that from a grainy cell phone photo published on a gossip site. It could be a coincidence. Who knows if you found another gray-eyed man to fuck right after me, but I’m thinking that’s not the case.” The words are sandpaper in my throat, tearing up from a locked-down vault and exiting before I can carefully filter them out.
I know as soon as I speak that I hate the idea of another man touching her and fathering a child with her. I hate that I could be wrong when I don”t even know if I want to be right. I hate that I want to move around the island and bend her over it, making more gray-eyed babies with her. Fucking hell, get a hold of yourself, Olsen!
“You better drink that wine faster; you’re overstaying your welcome.” She says the cold words with a hot fury as she unwinds her arms from the protective stance along her waist and paces down the length of the island before returning with a look of righteous indignation animating her striking features. My Wildcat is still in there, vicious and beautiful, willing to claw and fight, to challenge me like the valkyrie she could so easily be. “You think you can waltz into my home, demanding to know about me and my life after five years?” She laughs bitterly before returning her fiery gaze to me. “You discarded me like a used cum towel. Why now? Why couldn’t you have cared back then, when it actually mattered?”
“You knew what you were getting into when you boarded that jet. I laid it out clear as day, and you agreed. It was just an all-expenses-paid vacation where we would fuck like bunnies and have a really good time in paradise. It would be over when we got back. I never lied to you or told you I would be good relationship material. I’m not.”
I’m standing and moving toward her as my words froth at our feet, white-capped waves rushing onto a desolate shore and leaving the foam of memories behind. I don”t intend to touch her, but suddenly, I have her in my arms, her hands on my chest and face tipped up to meet my eyes, a look of surprise widening her gaze.
“What are you doing?” she asks hotly, her furious breaths pressing her chest against mine, fingers unconsciously curling into my shirt like she wants to keep me close. Do it, little Wildcat. Claw me, bite me, fuck me up and keep me here.
My hands roam along the too-familiar planes of her body, one coming to rest at the small of her back, just above the swell of her amazing ass, the other tangling in her hair at the nape of her neck and pulling until I get a sound from her I’m sure she doesn”t want me to hear. It feels so natural. So right.
Fuck, what am I doing? I shake my head slowly. I can only answer her honestly, no matter how convoluted it is.
“Reminding you of what we enjoyed, as per our agreement,” I growl, my eyes trained on her lips.
My body moves unhurriedly into hers as my brain disengages from rational thought. She makes no move to step away, her body warm and pliable against mine, eyelashes fluttering. I kiss the surprised O of her mouth before I can stop myself. It’s a brush of lips, butterfly soft, that has hers parting against mine. I sweep my tongue against hers, still soft, still tentative. She tastes like red wine, dark chocolate, and something drugging that is altogether her that I will never be able to get enough of.
My fingers clench, tugging her hair, and a little whimper rises in her throat. I keep the kiss gentle when I want to haul her up onto the counter and pillage her lips. I take my fill of her mouth slowly. The intoxicating taste of her that hasn’t changed in five years sends my head buzzing with adrenaline, my veins pulsing with the rush I crave so badly. Mine. Mine. Mine. I move my lips to flutter along her jaw, feeling her neck roll to give me access, and am seconds from biting just under her earlobe where I know she’s sensitive when she freezes in my arms.
Cold clarity washes over me. I remove my lips from her skin and my hand from her hair, pulling back immediately. But I can’t bring myself to let go of her hip, where my fingers dig into the plush softness like I need an anchor to keep myself attached to her. The steel rod of my cock is pressed tightly against her hips and has a mind of its own that very much wants this to continue.
I shouldn’t have done that, and I damn sure shouldn’t have come here tonight. This was a mistake I couldn”t stop myself from making. My thoughts refocus, disengaging from the very physical reaction I have to her. I have to stop this, stop thinking it’s okay to touch her now, when I know better. I have to kill this piece of me that wants anything more than I should.
“We had a physical connection. You weren’t offered a place in my life other than for the duration of a trip.” The words ground me in reality, not the fantasy land I thought I could get away with exploring again, even just for a few minutes.
She untangles herself from my grasping hands and puts more space between us, her molten chocolate eyes flashing. “What the fuck is this?” she hisses. “Are you trying to rub my face in how I misjudged you? Why would you kiss me like you want me, while telling me I mean nothing to you and you never offered me more than what I got? Just to, what, make me even more aware of what wasn’t on the table to begin with?”
I rake a hand through my hair and look around, not sure why I’m acting without thinking, doing the exact opposite of what I know I should. I shouldn’t even be here. I should have told my brothers my suspicions and let them subpoena a paternity test and kept out of a fifty-mile radius from the gravitational pull she has on me. Where’s the fucking restraint I usually have in spades?
“I didn’t mean for that to happen.” My voice is gritty with self-loathing. I hate not knowing the motivations that push me to be so fucking impulsive, to overstep boundaries I put in place for this very reason. How could I lapse like this?
It’s Harlowe. She’s the antithesis of my rules, and everything my desires want, but my self-preservation knows isn’t good for me.
“It was a mistake to let you in tonight, and it was a mistake to get mixed up with you in the first place.” She’s backing away from me, her eyes narrowing. The fury of her words feels like a punch to the gut, my lungs constricting with the reality that I brought this on myself.
“You’re willing to call your child a mistake to bite back when you feel insecure about misreading what was offered?” The words are meant to cut her back, but I instantly hate myself for saying them when I catch the flicker of hurt cross her face that is quickly replaced by resolute indignation.
“How can you be such a shallow asshole?” She holds up a hand to keep me from responding to the rhetorical question. “No, I shouldn’t even ask, it’s just in your selfish nature. You didn’t give a shit about me before you saw a headline that was enticing enough clickbait to get you interested for some reason. Please, just go back to forgetting I existed. It was easier that way.”
“I can”t fucking forget about you,” I say, my words coming out harsh, yet the most honest of anything I could have said tonight.
I run my hand against my stubble in irritation, frustrated that this went ass up when I had every intention of being civil. She pushes my buttons so easily. Instead of remaining in control, I slip into bad habits and strike first before anyone can get the upper hand on me. Only, this isn’t the place or the time to be acting on those well-honed skills.
“This isn”t what I wanted when I came here. I had no intention of fucking up your night or fighting with you.”
She’s backed away from me as far as she can, her arms returned to the defensive position across her chest as she stares me down. “I’ve spent years getting past the blip in my timeline where you reside and I don’t owe you space or my time now.” Her voice is brittle.
The brokenness in the words tells me just how hard she’s worked to put me behind her. I should have stayed there and let her have her peace. I don”t deserve to be in her present or her future after how I fucked up her past.
“Should have quit while I was ahead.” I reach for the full wine glass across the island and set it in the sink next to hers, wishing this had gone differently and I could have sipped it while talking to her like a reasonable man. I don’t wait for a reply as I cross the kitchen and see myself out as she remains frozen in place.
This is exactly why I don’t do repeats or attachments. There’s not a chance of the vacillating drama to contend with if you just steer clear of seeing the person you fucked ever again. And hell, why would you care what happens in their life after? Feeling something other than intense pleasure or sexual satisfaction is overrated. Why did I decide to follow through with the urge to contact her, to see how she had changed over the years, or if I could still fit into her life with the kid that could possibly be mine?
It. Doesn’t. Fucking. Matter.
Back to not caring, removing attachments, and continuing on with what I do best.
I slam my car and pull up Instagram, opening my DMs, and furiously scrolling through the messages from countless beautiful women. I settle on a gorgeous model in town for a shoot who messaged me this morning, and send her a casual Are you up before continuing my scrolling. It takes less than a minute to get a reply with an invite to a party she’s at full of heart emojis. Bingo.
I’ll fuck my way past this sudden attack of conscious and the shitty masochistic walk down memory lane I took myself on. I’ll be back to myself tomorrow and Harlowe will be firmly removed to the past where she belongs, kid or not.