The Hotter You Burn (The Original Heartbreakers 2)

“Why?”

“For the first time in our history, you’ve turned a business meeting into a personal gabfest.”

He had, hadn’t he? Damn it! It was a small change, but a change nonetheless.

He adjusted his tie before standing a little too swiftly. “All right. Meeting adjourned. I’ll tell West you want his new program as soon as possible, and you’ll be paying full asking price.”

“You could at least give me the friendship discount.”

“Full asking price is the friendship discount. Everyone else will have to pay double.” He strode out of the office before he did something stupid, like ask more questions about Harlow.

The assistant spotted him and leaped to her feet, smoothing her skirt. “Leaving so soon, Mr. Ockley?”

Not just the perfect distraction, he decided, but the perfect means to an end. Harlow wasn’t anything special to him, and she wouldn’t usher in any more changes; he would prove it. “Now that my eyes are on you,” he said, leaning against the counter in front of her, “leaving is the last thing on my mind.”

She batted her lashes at him, playfully twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. “Thank you. I’m flattered.”

“Then I’m pleased.” But was he? He’d said the words by rote, with a definite lack of enthusiasm. Where was his enjoyment? His sense of victory?

Or was this yet another change to place at Harlow’s door?

“Will you have dinner with me?” he asked, his hands fisting.

Green eyes widened, a cherry-red mouth forming a small O. “I... Yes. When?”

“How about tonight? The sooner I see you again the better.” That he meant with every fiber of his being.

She practically hummed with excitement as she rattled off her digits.

“I’ll be counting the minutes.”

By the time Beck made it home, the farmhouse was empty. West was at the office, while Brook Lynn and Jase were out delivering sandwiches for her catering business, You’ve Got It Coming.

Beck threw his briefcase on his bedroom floor and sank into the chair in front of his desk, where pictures of Harlow were scattered. He went still. Sad ocean-water eyes stared up at him, holding his gaze captive, silently beseeching him to help...to save. His gut knotted. He was no one’s savior. He was too screwed up.

Look at him. He bounced from moment to moment without any thought for the future. He broke into a sweat at the mere thought of commitment. He had an all-consuming hatred for change. His first sexual experience had been with a married maternal figure. He’d helped kill a man in a fistfight, and then allowed his best friend to rot in prison for nine years.

Beck anchored his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his upraised hands. Clearly he needed someone to save him.

As if he could be saved.

But...maybe it wasn’t too late for Harlow. While he wasn’t a savior, there were things even a guy like him could do to help. Like set her up financially, maybe even move her into the city where she wouldn’t be reviled at every turn. And bonus for him: she would be out of sight, out of mind.

Yes. He picked up the landline and started making calls, putting the wheels in motion to set up a trust in Harlow’s name, telling his real estate agent what kind of home to search for in Oklahoma City. Then he called West.

“You in front of a computer?” he asked in lieu of a greeting.

“Are you a top contender for banging the most women in any given year?”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Work your magic and tell me how Harlow Glass has been making money.” To survive as long as she had, she had to be bringing in a little cash from somewhere.

“All right.” Fingers click-clacked over a keyboard, one minute bleeding into another. “Okay, this is strange.”

“What?”

“My superpower is finding information—nice trust you’re setting up for her, by the way—but I can’t locate Harlow’s place of employment. Or where she’s been staying. She has no known address and hasn’t paid taxes. She has zero credit cards and no checking account. She doesn’t have a tag registered for a vehicle.”

Damn. “Thanks, West.”

“Anytime, my man. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

“No worries. Just...do me a solid and keep digging.” He hung up, mind racing. Where the hell was Harlow staying? How was she getting around? How was she eating?

The answer to that last one seemed an unequivocal she wasn’t, and for a moment, his vision went black, rage boiling to the surface. No one should have to live that way, and whether Harlow liked it or not, he wasn’t going to stand for it in her case.

* * *

LATE THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Beck was ready for a straitjacket and a padded room. They’d make a nice vacation. Harlow hadn’t shown up to work on the garden that morning, and he’d had no luck finding her in town. He’d asked around, but no one had seen her. A couple of people had offered to round up a lynch mob and go hunting for her, and he’d had to curb the urge to respond with his fists. She seemed to have disappeared into the ether.

Now he racked the balls on one of the most expensive pool tables ever made, the outer shell a limited edition 1965 Shelby GT 350. Normally he took great care with every inch of it. My precious. Today, he wanted to rip out the felt and pull the metal and wood apart piece by piece.

His date with Sandra...Sally?...could have made a Worst Ever list. He’d thought about Harlow all evening, wondering where she was and what she was doing. Frustrated with the lack of answers, he’d turned up the heat with S girl until she’d practically begged him to stay the night at her place. There was no better distraction than sex, but as she’d undressed, his mind had returned to Harlow yet again. He’d thought of the nice steak dinner he’d just enjoyed and wondered if she’d had any dinner at all.