Suddenly, I feel as if the floor of the plane is opening up and sucking me into the turbulence.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Harper
My hand is at my throat as I turn away from Eric, trying to calm down. A bank account in my name, with wire transfers, which is now closed. I’m still trying to recover from this fact when Eric pushes forward. “Talk to me, Harper,” Eric says. “Be honest, no matter how bad it is.”
My gaze rockets to his. “I have two accounts. Checking and savings. I’ve had the savings since I was ten. I’ve had the checking since I moved to Denver years ago. I don’t have, nor have I ever had any account that received wires. I also haven’t closed an account.”
He studies me, his expression impassive, unreadable, his blue eyes steely, his jaw hard.
“I promise you, Eric. I promise on my mother’s life. I swear to God above. I’m telling you the truth.”
He turns away from me, keys into the MacBook and then stares at the screen for a few beats before turning it for me to look at what appears to be my bank account. I grab the MacBook and study the account, and my God. It looks like it’s mine. I check the data, all that I can see online, and it’s a terrifying match for me. I then scan the wires and the sum of money that came into this account and what’s left is six figures many times over. My stomach rolls.
“I need a bathroom,” I say, sliding out of the booth and hurrying down the small walkway toward what I think is my destination. When I find the small alcove, I grab the door there and enter a space that is as compact as most airlines, despite this being a private plane. I shut the door and I do what anyone would in here. I go to the bathroom. I wash my hands. I act like normal activity will make this go away right up until the point that the normal activity is over. Now I’m just standing in a tiny space, staring at myself in the mirror. How have I given this much of myself to this family to end up here?
Eric knocks on the door. “Harper. Open up.”
Open up and say what?
To him, I’m a liar. Again. Anger surges in me and I yank the door open to find him big and intimidatingly male, filling the doorway and the entire exterior space. It doesn’t make me back down. “I thought you wanted to talk about the miscarriage, but obviously, you didn’t get me up here, trapped in a cage, to talk about a baby that meant nothing to you. You brought me up here to corner me about a bank account that isn’t even mine. You don’t want to trust me. You want to prove I’m the damn princess you can hate. You wanted me to be her so badly that you carved her name on your body.” I shove against him. “Move. I need to get out of here.”
He shackles my wrists and in a quick second, I’m against the wall next to the door, and he’s all but suffocating me with muscle and man. “Don’t bully me. I don’t like it.”
“You think the baby we lost means nothing to me? Are you fucking serious?”
“Yes, I am. You never said it mattered to you.”
“Again I ask, are you fucking serious?”
“Did it?”
“Yes. It did.” He cuts his gaze, turbulence flooding off of him before his jaw sets harder and he pins me in an arrow of a stare. “You’re deflecting.”
“Like you did with the baby?”
“You’re pushing me in ways you don’t want to push me, Harper.”
“Or what? What are you going to do? Kill me for them?”
His eyes glint hard, anger burning deep and dark before he releases me and starts walking away.
Shocked, I sink down against the wall and I swear my knees go weak. Right when I feel as if the floor of the plane is opening up to suck me out again, Eric is back, pulling me to him. “I would have wanted to know and father our child. I would have loved our child. You matter to me. Everything you said in those messages matte
rs to me, but I want us to talk about those things when we land because I want us to be on the same page when we get to New York. Me and you against the world. Meet me halfway, Harper.”
“It’s not my account. I swear, Eric, it’s not mine.” My fingers curl around his shirt. “It’s not mine, but how are you going to believe me? How can you ever believe me?”
He studies me all of two seconds. “I believe you.”
I blanch. “What?”
“I’d know if you were lying. I’d see it in your eyes.” He leans in and brushes his lips over mine, a soft, lingering touch before he whispers, “I’d taste it on your lips.” He pulls back. “We’ll handle this. Together.”
“How do we handle it? How does this even happen? How can anyone open an account in my name?”
“There are hackers like Blake Walker who have the skills to do it.” The messages on his MacBook beep in rapid succession and he kisses my hand. “Come on. Let’s sit and make sure we end this.”