“At the hospital, but not with your father,” he says. “He was in there when the heart attack happened though.”
“Of course he was,” Eric says dryly, and again, moves on. “None of this is the problem you announced. A problem is something I can affect. A problem is something that I can fix. Like the problem of you. You watching us make out on the street and then following us here.”
“Eric,” I say softly, more and more aware that he’s on edge, standing on the side of a cliff ready to jump. And who can blame him? The father that basically ensured his mother’s death is hanging onto life by a thread.
Savage doesn’t push him. He doesn’t pop off with a smart remark. He gets it. I see that in his steady stare, his even tone. “Do you want to make a showing at the hospital?”
“No,” Eric says. “If the police come looking for me, let me know. Otherwise, I need you to do what we discussed. Find the fake FBI consultant, Savage. Find out what he knows.”
“Another one of our men is taking over my post and then I’ll step into that problem. I’ll solve it so you don’t have to.”
“Your post? You mean following us? You’re relieved. You don’t need back-up. I got this.”
“I’m not leaving you uncovered,” Savage retorts, leaning in closer. “Not with a fucking assassin on the loose and if you want to fire me, I’ll still fucking follow you. So, tell me to fuck off all you want. That’s not happening.”
“You know Harper is sitting right here,” Eric says, as if I’m delicate and can’t handle the F-word, but I’m pretty sure he’s just goading Savage now, because Savage really does make it entertaining.
Savage eyes me. “I’m fucking sorry for saying fucking, Harper, but I’m still not fucking leaving you, or the asshole you’re with, exposed and alone. Not fucking doing it. Have a fucking good dinner.” He slides out of the booth and leaves.
“Well, that was—interesting,” I say, biting back laughter that Eric doesn’t seem to be sharing. “Savage is as stubborn as you,” I add, casting him a sideways look.
But he doesn’t reply and doesn’t look at me. He downs his wine and refills his glass.
I watch him and give him a full minute to just breathe before I gently prod, “Talk to me.”
“I solve problems, Harper. I do that in my own space. I need to breathe. I need to think.”
“Then let’s go home. I can leave you alone and—”
“I don’t want you to leave me alone. I want this fucking family out of our lives.” He turns to face me. “We’re going to take a few hours, just a few damn hours, and pretend that they are. I need to relax and let my mind work and that’s what we’re doing. Relaxing. Together.”
I don’t think there’s any chance of him relaxing right now, but I lean forward and press my hand to his jaw. “Some time alone together is good.”
He covers my hand with his and leans and kisses me. “Just what the doctor ordered.” His voice softens on the end of the sentence, and I can almost feel him beating at his inner demons. And I know why.
“Your father—”
“Isn’t going to die and as far as I’m concerned, that’s a damn shame.”
With that cold, but highly justified remark, the waitress appears and places our food in front of us. Soon I’m staring at a plate of delicious smelling pasta topped with sauce and cheese that matches Eric’s. As silly as it might seem, I love that we ordered the same thing. I love that we connect on everyday things, that he’s a man, not just a savant, with favorite foods and movies and a past history of pain, love, and success. I want to know that person. I want to know all of him.
He watches me eagerly while I sample the food, and the apt way he waits for my approval of his favorite place here in this city charms me. The way his eyes light as I offer my approval, lights me, too, inside and out. I love this man. I hate what this family has done to him but I make no mistake by seeing him as defeated. He isn’t. He’s battling what to do. He’s battling with his demons and if they win, people get hurt. A lot of them deserve it, even my mother, and that hurts me.
We finish up our meal and we are heady with the passion in the air, the weight of wine and food in our bodies. “Let’s go shopping,” he says, and this sends a flare of worry through me.
He pays the bill and helps me out of the booth, helping me with my coat. Once it’s in place, I turn and watch him shrug into his, my fingers catching his lapels. “I can’t spend your money. I have enough to get by until—”
He kisses me. “You’re going to have to get used to all this money, baby. And we’re going to get you started now.” He doesn’t give me time to argue. He leads me through the cozy, dimly-lit restaurant and we step outside into a chilly night, bustling with people. “Shopping and then this ice cream spot I love.”
“And then the gym,” I laugh, “because if I eat like this, nothing we buy will fit.”
“We have a full gym in the apartment. I’ll show you a few days from now. Right now,” he leans in and whispers, “You can work out on me.”
My cheeks heat, right along with my body, and it’s not long before I have bags of clothing that I try to fight him on, but he just starts buying things. I finally give up. He seems to need me to spend this money and I’m not sure why. The one shop we both enjoy is Victoria’s Secret. I’m guilty about all the purchases but that one. That one is for both of us. By way of a hired driver we pick up after the shopping trip, we end up at an ice cream shop not far from the apartment, which is perfection considering it has a gas fireplace and coffee as well. Eric and I have ice cream and he makes a few calls on the NFL deal and sets up meetings for tomorrow instead of tonight. This spurs us to talk about Bennett Enterprises and where I might fit into the picture. He sends a text to Mia and Grayson, and before I know it, we have a couple’s breakfast planned to talk about how Mia made working for her husband—well, work. Mia and I even talk on the phone a few minutes while Eric grabs us coffees. We settle in, side by side, on a soft, oversized chair, with coffee by the fireplace.
And finally, finally, I feel Eric’s readiness, and even need, to talk about the deeper subjects in the air, but before I can broach any topic he does it himself.
“Why,” he says, “when I hate him this much, can you be right about what I feel?”