I stagger with the boxes, but Harry is fast and catches them. Without saying anything, he moves fast, placing them carefully into the back seat.
I back quickly around the Mustang as my tattooed ex, Lucas, walks forward. He is pissed and, as always, in a white singlet.
He walks fast, and aggressively. Harry cuts in front of Lucas to block him and he grabs his thick arm. “Back away, now.”
Harry looks as cool as ice, and Lucas snarls, “The hell I will.”
I’ve seen Lucas like this before; his mood swings are extreme. Even if he had said a million times he was getting his life together, having anything to do with him—a huge mistake.
Harrison and Lucas stand off and circle, ready to fight.
Fuck.
Harry then stops, and he does not move an inch. His arms in the tight business shirt look huge, and for some reason, he does not show fear, at all.
Lucas paces, looking all over the place, his energy scattered. “So, who the fuck is pretty boy? Your new guy?”
I don’t answer. I just stand on the far side of the car, my heart racing.
“I knew it,” Lucas says. “You’re single again. You’re too messed up to get anyone else to love you. You will never find anyone again! No fucking way.”
“Watch yourself,” Harry says, stepping forwards. “She’s mine.” I don’t know how to feel as Harry steps up to protect me, again. “Turn and walk,” Harry says. “NOW!”
Lucas watches me as I shake. I quickly climb into the Mustang, terrified. Outside, Harry backsteps while doing a calm three-sixty.
As soon as we are both inside, Harry guns the engine. He then does a burn out, and we streak off, smoke pouring out the back of the car.
I breathe in, but I’m having trouble. Harry turns to look at me and he holds my hand. “You alright?” I nod, trying to breathe. I can’t. I start to rock, and it’s not going away. Harry throws an arm around me, and I slide over, under his protective wing.
He kisses my head and holds me close. “You’re okay, you’re okay.”
A block later, I start to calm myself. I can feel his warm chest next to mine, and it’s comforting. So is he.
After a last slow inhale, I try to talk. “Thanks. Thanks, I owe you.”
“My pleasure,” Harry says as if it was nothing.
I stay under his arm, and I don’t want to leave.
21
HARRISON
My meeting in LA went well. I dislike traveling long distance for a simple sit-down, but the meeting was with a media bank. Actually, three.
Three media banks, with my internal banking team, and one after the other, and fast.
We negotiated the terms and conditions, and I have agreed to borrow fifteen billion.
With my own capital, it should cover all I need, and the money will be parked in Boston. That is, until the deal locks.
With a shaken Sam under my arm, and with whatever personal effects she has from dipshit, we drive to the jet.
My man at the airport has refueled us, and the team from my office have prepared my other requests.
I walk a tired Samantha aboard, and then I carry the poor girl’s belongings in.
Putting them down the back, I notice a few kid’s books.
