In Too Deep (Man of the Month 10)

"Now you watch it."

"No." Matthew took a step toward the man, all of his energy going to contain his fury. "You may be right. Maybe I'm not good enough for her. But that is her money that you've kept from her, making her jump through hoops and all sorts of other bullshit. You can delude yourself all you want, but this isn't about her. It's about you controlling her. Controlling Amelia. I know it. You know it. And most of all, Hannah knows it."

Ernest glanced down, and Matthew realized that he'd made a fist. "So you're going to hit me?"

"It crossed my mind," Matthew said.

Then he did the hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his life. He turned around and walked the other direction, his fist thrumming with the unfulfilled desire to smash in the smug son-of-a-bitch's nose.

*

Hannah was on her third glass of wine when she heard the knock at the door. She cringed, afraid it was her mother. Or, worse, Ernest.

But when she looked through the peephole, relief swept over her, and she pulled open the door to reveal Matthew.

"Hey, sorry I bailed. I think I'm coming down with something." She glanced at the clock. "I'm surprised you were able to get out of there so quickly."

"I was motivated," he said, his smile thin. "I wanted to see you."

She frowned at him, certain something was off. Then again, maybe it was just her. She definitely wasn't having one of her best days.

He reached forward and felt her forehead, and the mere sensation of his skin against hers made her feel better. As if she could survive anything so long as he was beside her. As if Ernest and the money didn't matter a whit.

"You're not warm," he said.

"It's mostly my stomach." Not really a lie, since that's where all her angst was gathered, in her belly. She turned away, mostly so he wouldn't see the truth on her face, and he followed her into the living room. The half-empty bottle of wine was on the coffee table, and she mentally winced, hoping he wouldn't notice.

"I'm not sure wine is the best cure for stomach troubles," he said. "Do you want to tell me what's really going on?"

She sighed, then sat on the couch. "It's only--well, I've been thinking."

His face went blank as he sat on the edge of the coffee table facing her. "I'm listening."

"I've decided not to open the firm with Easton. He can find someone else to step in as a partner. He won't have any trouble at all."

She searched his face for a reaction, but he was obviously good at poker. The only clue that he was processing any of this was the way he tilted his head to one side, as if he knew that she was leaving something important out. He just didn't know what.

And if she had her way, he never would.

So she didn't have the money--that was fine. She could get another regular job. She could save up again. And she'd happily do that if it meant that Matthew could stay in her life.

But that meant that in no way could she tell him that her parents backed out--or that he was the reason.

"Why?" That was all he asked.

She swallowed. This whole moment was far too surreal. "I was thinking about your decision not to franchise. And I think what you said makes sense for me, too. If I'd started this firm when I was younger, I'd be all in. But I'm in my thirties. I should be thinking about other things, not about spending all that energy building a business. Does that make sense?"

"Baby, it makes perfect sense." He leaned forward to take her hands, and relief swelled through her. "It's also a complete lie."

She pulled back, or tried to. He kept a tight hold on her hands.

"You're sweet," he said. "But I'm not screwing this up for you. Talk to Brent. He's about as upstanding and stable as they come. Maybe he'll be a guy who'll impress your father."

"He talked to you." The words came out dull and heavy, as if she was in quicksand.

"I managed not to break

his face. On the whole, I call that a win."