20. 20
Harlow
I park in the driveway of the mansion in my usual spot. I grip the steering wheel, trembling with nerves.
It has been only a day, but it feels like forever since Killian ran out of my trailer like I was poison.
I have no idea why he wants to keep the arrangement going.
Maybe he felt sorry for me. I was pitiful.
I can’t believe I cried in front of him the morning after.
Who does that? It was definitely one of my more shameful moments.
“Ugh,” I groan as I push open my door, preparing myself to see this man again.
Be professional. Don’t let any crooked smiles get to you. Don’t linger in his cologne. Don’t forget it was a one-night stand, and be grateful you still have this job.
Cool.
I march inside, determined. As soon as I shut the door, Killian is there.
“Oh,” I say, palm over my heart. “You scared me.”
“Come on, I have a doctor’s appointment. It’s a follow-up with the surgeon,” he replies, cold and indifferent.
“This late?”
“Mm-hm. Follow me.”
“Uh, okay.”
He opens the door and leads me toward my car. He holds up some keys, and tosses them to me, then points at a red Audi. “We’re taking that.”
“You got a new car?”
“It’s a company car. For you.”
“What?” I say, truly confused.
He opens the driver’s door. “Get in.”
I’m frozen, my gaze shifting from the car to him several times. He doesn’t look his normal self. No smiles. No jokes. No problem I can’t seem to solve. If I wasn’t mistaken, Killian is behaving professionally.
I slip into the car, adjust the mirrors, then buckle in. Soon, we are driving down the highway lined with palm trees.
“I’ve never driven a car this nice,” I say.
“Do you like it?” he says.
“Yeah,” I chuckle softly. “It is a little much to drive you to doctor’s appointments. We could just take your car.”
Killian stares out the window, casually stroking his jaw. “You need something to get around safely. How will you show up to work on time if your car breaks down?”
I squint at him. “I’ve never been late.”
“You said the transmission is going out.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Do you want the fucking car or not?” he snaps.
I flinch at his sharp response. I didn’t expect that in the slightest. He usually doesn’t get mad.
“Um, okay. Yeah, I like it,” I whisper.
He nods, eyes still fixed outside of the window. “Good.” The tension in his shoulders releases and he sits less rigid.
We arrive at the hospital and wait patiently to be seen. It doesn’t take long, though. VIPs like Killian don’t wait long, I suppose.
The surgeon greets us warmly and he studies Killian’s face for some time. Then he steps back, folds his arms, and sighs.
“You are forming some fairly serious keloid scars, which are extending outside the bounds of the incision. They can be raised and webbed. You have a little of both.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your body is creating too much collagen. We can do a corrective surgery eventually. There are lasers we can use too.”
Killian rubs his cheek, quiet.
The surgeon adds, “Or you can do nothing. The scar tissue will continue to expand, but we’re not sure how much.”
For the first time, Killian looks at me with an expression that isn’t all business. “What do you think?”
Whoa.
I wasn’t expecting that, either. I shrug and search for the appropriate response.
“Whatever you want,” is all I manage.
“Do you think I should get them fixed?” he clarifies.
I slump in my chair.
“You know I like your scars,” I admit softly, hating myself.
Because I love his smile and his scars. I don’t want to love anything about him.
And there’s that crooked smile.
I look away fast, trying to calm the butterflies threatening to make me the foolish girl who cried in the kitchen.
“I’m good, doc,” Killian says and shakes his hand. “Thanks.”
“Anytime. Come back if you change your mind.”
We walk out of the office.
“So who is the guy you go to lunch with? Did you go with him today?” Killian asks coolly.
“Hudson. He’s...” I squint at Killian but he isn’t looking my way. I finish my sentence, but I’m confused why he wants to know. “...he’s a nice guy.”
“Nice guy,” Killian mumbles. “Hey, did your ex come back to your place?”
“No.” I wish he hadn’t asked that. I don’t want to think about Evan. Ever.
“And Jaxson? Did you guys talk?”
“He texted me he wanted to stay friends.”
“Good.”
“How is that good?” I say, aghast. “He obviously left mid-date because I was so terrible.”
Killian shrugs, unbothered.
“Why are you acting so weird?” I push on his shoulder. “We should face this, okay?”
“Face what?”
“I know I made things weird. I’m embarrassed that I got all soppy in front of you. I promise I’m alright.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? What I’m trying to say is, if you are just having me come back because you feel sorry for me, don’t worry, I won’t be a pathetic mess.”
He smirks, far too wickedly.
“What is that smile for?”
“Well, come on, Harlow. You are a pathetic mess.” He chuckles to himself.
“No, I’m not!”
“You were when I railed you from behind. Shaking and saying my name over and over and—”
“Whoa!” I balk. I rush into the car as fast as I can, mortified. As soon as he buckles in, I slam the car in reverse.
We drive silently. I’m speechless. I grip the steering wheel, wondering if I can do this.
“Killian,” I finally say. “We can’t bring up what happened again. It’ll be too weird for me if we talk about our one-night stand.”
He grunts.
My brow furrows and I glance over, finding him glaring at me like I just slapped him.
When we reach the mansion, I park the Audi in the driveway and get out.
“Well? Do you agree? Can we just move forward with a clean slate?”
He scowls.
That’s when I realize...
“Where’s my car?”
“I had it towed to a dealer. They’ll make an offer. I’ll give you the cash.”
“What? That’s my car!”
“No, that’s your car.” He points at the Audi.
“Killian! What am I supposed to do when this job is over? Take your company car?”
A fire ignites behind his eyes. He snatches my forearm so tightly it hurts. He jerks me close. My neck cranks back as I cower under his gaze.
“I am taking care of you. So get used to it.”
Then he releases me and stalks inside as if he didn’t just jolt me to my core.
What in the heck is going on? Taking care of me. What does that even mean?
A black car pulls up and Christine steps out wearing sunglasses and carrying a fancy bag. Her high heels click as she strides with purpose towards the house. She gives a polite wave.
“Is that your new car?” she calls out.
“Uh.”
“It’s nice. My son has good taste.” She lowers her sunglasses, looking at me from under her brow. “He’s never bought a woman a car before. It’s nice to see him appreciate the help. Keep up the good work.”
She flies inside, never having missed a step.
I rush to the car. I search the glove compartment and find a folder from the dealership. Warranty, registration, title...
REGISTERED OWNER: HARLOW ANDERSON
It doesn’t say Easton Holdings.
It’s not a company car.
Killian bought me a car.