19. Hunter

With one towel hanging low on my hips and another in my hands as I dried my hair, I left the billowing hot steam of the bathroom in our penthouse bedroom. Across the space, Lottie slept soundly on the bed, the blankets pulled up and bunched in front of her bare chest. Rays of sunlight reflecting off of the taller building beside us filtered in through the open blinds, covering the skin of her back and her hair, an extra bit of warmth for her nap.

She deserved the nap. I'd lost count of how many times she'd come unraveled because of me, how many times she'd moaned my name, how many times she'd clung to me like she never wanted to let go. When we weren't fucking, we were talking or sleeping or eating, always close, always wrapped around each other.

I had never experienced anything like this before with any other woman.

There were times I'd come close, times I'd fallen, but never this quickly and this hard. The warmth that bloomed in my chest as I watched her breathing was familiar, but so wholeheartedly different. If this were any other woman, I'd have run the second that spark flew. But two things were holding me in place: the unavoidable agreement we had that would keep us together for at least the next few months, and the terrifying realization that I wasn't afraid of it this time. With her, it felt good.

That feeling made me want to hold her, keep her close, go above and beyond for her.

Silently, I grabbed the new phone I'd picked up during our outing yesterday from the nightstand, taking care not to rouse her from her nap. She snuggled in deeper, tucking her chin into the bundle of blankets.

I grabbed a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt, and my old, shattered phone and tiptoed to the bedroom door, cracking it open without a sound and slipping through. I knew what I wanted to do, knew what it meant for me.

I swapped over my SIM card and I called in a favor.

————

While I waited for Lottie to wake up, I spent the majority of my afternoon putting out fires.

"I understand you're worried about the changeover," I said, trying to keep my hands from balling into fists from the number of times I'd said that exact phrase in the last two hours. "But I can assure you that nothing will be different. Edward Harris will still be around."

"But he's retiring." Chris, a long-time client, wasn't happy about any of this. We'd been supplying him with horses, feed, crops, and machinery for nearly twenty years to his farm on the outskirts of Colorado, and now, because of the Keelings, he doubted us. We'd never failed him before. "Whoever takes over will inevitably want to change shit and I don't think I want to be around when you crash and burn because of it."

"Nothing will be different," I repeated, trying to drive home the point. I only partway believed it myself. If my brother managed to win over my father, there was a good chance the company would crash and burn. "Either me or my brother, Fred, will be taking over."

"Edward hasn't chosen a replacement yet?" Chris boomed, irritation dripping from each word. "Christ. The Keelings were right—you are underprepared."

"The Keelings are very good at what they do," I ground out. I flexed the muscles of my hand, pain blooming from the tightness. "This is how they thrive. They convince a company's clients that the company will fail. They convince them to bring their business to their company instead, and when the former company eventually crumbles from a lack of clients, they swoop in and purchase the business for pennies. Do you honestly believe that sticking with us will be more of a hassle than changing hands twice?"

A moment of silence hung between us as he mulled it over. All I could hear was the whistle of his nose as he exhaled and the scraping of something metal against concrete. "I guess not."

I breathed a sigh of relief and stood up from the couch, watching as the people below, small as ants, made their way toward their destinations. "We'll be here every step of the way to reassure you that nothing will change."

"I'll give it some thought."

"Chris," I groaned, dragging my hand down my face. "Please. You've no idea the amount of fires I'm having to put out behind the scenes because of this nonsense. The Keelings are just desperate for your money. I'll have my father send over some of the outlines for the changeover, alright? That way you can feel a bit more secure knowing we're handling it."

The bedroom door creaked open behind me.

"Alright. I'll hold off. Just don't fuck me over, Hunter." The line beeped once, twice, and when I pulled my phone from my ear, I realized he'd hung up. The temptation to crush the piece of metal and glass gnawed at the back of my mind as I stuffed it into my pocket.

Warm and soft arms wrapped around my waist. "Morning," Lottie mumbled, her voice muffled from her face pressing into my back. The ache in my chest bloomed again.

I did my best to wipe the stress away and spun around in her arms, cradling her into my chest instead. "It's basically evening," I chuckled.

"Let me pretend it's morning."

Lifting her chin with one bent knuckle, she looked up at me with the haze of sleep still buzzing in her. Fuck. The back of my throat tightened, that telltale sign that there were things I wanted to say to her that wouldn't come out. The fact that this woman had somehow wormed her way into my head from the very first night, was still unreal to me.

I leaned down, pressing my lips to hers, cherishing the moment of calm without the overwhelming need to be inside of her. I couldn't blame it on anything, it was just a want, pure and demanding.

"You should get ready," I whispered against her mouth. My fingers dragged through her hair, my body betraying me and keeping her close when I needed her to go and prepare for the evening. "I've got a surprise for you."

————

Of course Charlotte decided to wear the sexiest possible thing she could just to get a rise out of me.

She leaned over the hotel kitchen's workspace, her long black hair piling against the stainless steel countertop and her breasts practically falling out of the top of her dress. I'd shoved my phone into a glass to act as an impromptu speaker, and the same playlist I'd had on during her interviewback on Oahu played calmly in the background as she watched me work.

"How much did you have to pay them for this?" she asked, her teasing grin widening as she pushed her elbows closer together.

I had to physically stop myself from looking directly at her breasts. "That is a secret I will take to my grave."

Her eyes flicked upward, a half roll. "Come on. They had to close the restaurant. That's staff pay, cover for the profit they would have made, enough on top to sweeten the deal…"

"I'm not telling you," I laughed. Dark alcohol cascaded from the top of the bottle I held in my hand, deglazing the bottom of the pan before I tilted it on its edge, catching it on fire. Charlotte's little gasp reminded me far too much of the noises she'd made that morning and I had to direct my thoughts away from it before I caught my dick on fire, too. "Does it bother you how much I might have spent?"

Her head shook back and forth, her hair flying. "No. Not on something like this."

The alcohol burned off quickly and the flames died down. Grabbing a spoon, I started basting the top of the steaks

with the liquor, butter, and herb combination. "What does that mean?"

She pushed up from the counter, stretching her arms in front of her. "It means that if you wanted to take me on a date, this is the kind of thing I like. Not fancy restaurants with teams of photographers, something more personable."

The tiniest drop of guilt took form in my chest. I hadn't thought to ask her what kind of dates she preferred, but in fairness, private things wouldn't work very well for the image we were trying to present. We needed coverage, and coverage came with being in public so the press could photograph us. I had assumed that fancy dinners were something most women enjoyed. I guess I hadn't stopped to consider that maybe she didn't.

"I've just never been one for over-the-top, lavish dates."

"Booking out the hotel kitchen and restaurant for two people isn't over-the-top or lavish?" I chuckled, taking the pan off the heat to give the steaks time to rest. I pulled open the oven, checking on the baby potatoes and roasting tomatoes.

"No," she grinned. "Because you did it to cook just for me."

————

"Have you ever had a stable girlfriend or have you always fucked anything that moves?"

I had to cover my mouth to keep the red wine from coming out of my nose. Lottie didn't even bat an eyelash as she cut into her perfectly cooked cut of steak, plopping a bite into her mouth with a satisfying hum. "You can't just ask me that out of nowhere," I laughed, half to cover up the minor uncomfortableness of the question and half because her pupils dilated as she chewed.

"This is so good," she said around a mouthful, her hand blocking my view of her lips.

"I know it is."

"Come on, then," she pushed. "Answer the question. I'm just curious."

I took a deep breath and let it out. There was only so far I'd been willing to go into my past with other women, only so much I was willing to tell. But talking with her felt like talking to an old friend, like speaking with someone who knew everything about you. "I had a fiancée."

Her eyes widened further and her body stilled.

"I was young, naive," I explained. My fingers began to tingle as the fog I'd deliberately placed around those memories cleared up just a little. "This was…. God, nearly ten years ago. I was twenty-five, she was twenty-four. We'd only been together about ten months before I decided I wanted to marry her."

I don't know what came over me. I hadn't spoken about her for at least eight years, at least not to that level. I'd barely told my parents a word about her in the time we were together, and when I was ready to announce our engagement to them, we'd ended it. There hadn't been the time to speak about her, or the want after that.

"Her name was Annie," I added.

"You were engaged?" she asked. Her knife and fork came to a rest on her plate, every bit of attention trained on me. I tried not to let it overwhelm me.

"Yeah," I sighed. "Believe it or not, I wasn't always the shithead your father makes me out to be. Not that he's wrong."

Her lips pressed together into a fine line as she watched me. I couldn't tell if she knew it was difficult to talk about, but considering I was doing my absolute best not to break the table and run, it must have been at least a little obvious. "What happened? If you don't mind me asking."

I swallowed the pool of saliva sitting on my tongue. "She slept with my brother."

Her eyes went wide, her lips parting just enough for her to breathe through them. "Oh my God."

"This was back before he had a wife and kids," I clarified. But in truth, it didn't make it any better, any more excusable. The anger was still there, buried under the rubble. "Her true colors surfaced when I found out. Told me that she was just securing a spot one way or another as a member of my family."

Lottie swallowed and reached one shaking hand out to her glass of wine, leaving a little lipstick stain when she sipped it. "She was in it for the money."

"I'm sure that was the main reason, yeah. I think she'd seen the attention I was beginning to get and thought there was a good chance of me slipping away to someone else." I pushed down the bile creeping up my throat and forced myself to cut into my steak. "She created her own downfall, as far as I'm concerned."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up?—"

"It's fine," I said, cutting her off before she could disparage herself. "It's good to talk about these things. I just haven't in a long time."

Lifting my fork to my mouth, I savored the flavor and the texture of the meat, letting the juices dance along my tastebuds before sliding down my throat.

"I swore off relationships after that. My name was getting out there more and more since I'd started working for my father, and my gut told me that any woman who approached me was just looking for either sex or money. So I gave them sex. Benefitted both of us. But otherwise, I kept to myself."

Lottie blinked at me as if she'd seen a ghost, as if something I'd said had thrown her. "So… this," she started, motioning to both of us, "isn't normal for you?"

As much as I wanted to deny it, there was no way out of it. I'd run from it too many times, and it was bound to come out anyway. I wouldn't be able to hold back for the next few months. "No, Lots, it's not normal for me."

She nodded to herself, just a microscopic movement that I wouldn't have caught had I not been watching her. "Okay," she whispered, the single word not directed at me in any sense. "I need to tell you something."

As if like magic, everything suddenly felt lighter. "You don't have to give me a story because I gave you one," I joked, cutting off another piece of steak and popping it into my mouth.

"No," she said, her tone dropping. Her face had gone pale, one hand tucked under the table and the other fiddling with the horseshoe charm on her necklace. "I mean there's something I've been meaning to tell you and I haven't. And you deserve to know."

She's just in it for the money. I couldn't stop the intrusive thought—it was always there, always screaming at me when it came to feelings, but it had taken longer than usual to make its appearance this time. Maybe it was the tone of her voice, or maybe it was the way she looked so guilty.

"Okay."

"You've probably begun to put some of the pieces together," she said, shifting her weight in her seat. "It's about my ex."

Her ex. I knew enough to know that he was a piece of shit, whoever he was. Brody had made that much clear. He'd broken her heart. "Okay," I repeated.

"I don't like to talk about him. He was an asshole in a million different ways, but we were together for two years before everything went down," she sighed, her voice so quiet I could barely hear it.

The candles on the table flickered with my heavy breaths. I wanted to know, of course, but there was a part of me that knew I'd want to rip off his head at the end of this.

"I met him during my final year at college. I was interning at a ranch on the other side of Boulder." Her eyes went glassy as if the memories were playing before her. The hand on her necklace tightened. "My dad had met him a handful of times. I know he blames himself for telling me that he was a good guy, but there's no way he could have known. I didn't see it for far too long."

"Lottie, if this is too hard?—"

"No, it's fine." She took a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth. "I mean, it's not, but I need to do this. I need to talk about it and tell you about him. You deserve to know."

"Alright." I couldn't deny that my curiosity was piqued.

"Things started to get messy after about a year and a half. Missed calls, lying about where he was, coming home smelling of perfume and alcohol… it was obvious but I didn't want to see it, you know?" She sniffled then and I noticed little droplets forming in the corner of her eyes.

I didn't want her to relive it, I didn't understand whyshe felt the need to. All I wanted was to wrap her up in my arms, pull her into my lap, and force her to stop talking with my lips on hers. But there was also a part of me that knew she felt the need to get this out and I wanted to let her, wanted to allow her to handle it the way she felt was best.

"Then something happened, something that he'd promised me would never, ever happen, and it was like the veil had been ripped away from my face. So I called him out on it, and everything exploded." Her voice broke as the tears sprung free. My chest ached for her, longed for her, but I kept myself seated. I wanted to ask what the something was but I knew I needed to just let her continue. "He screamed at me. Called me… called me awful things that I don't want to repeat. He told me I was overreacting, that I was stupid for thinking it wouldn't happen, that I… that I wasn't worthy of love, and that's why my mother died."

Anger filled my veins faster than I could blink. My knuckles turned white as I clenched my fists, my jaw immediately blooming with pain as I grit my teeth. "Who?" I said, the word rough, venomous.

She shook her head.

"Who, Lottie?"

"Stop," she croaked, wiping at her cheeks with the hand she had held her necklace with. "Just let me finish."

It took absolutely everything in my power to not force her into telling me a name. I wanted to break him, wanted to kill him, but I would wait. I would handle this the way she wanted me to because, well, because she deserved it.

"He turned up on Dad's doorstep a week later, crying his eyes out and apologizing over and over. Dad wouldn't let him in, but when I heard him, when I understood what was happening, the love that I had for him took over. I went to him. I pushed my dad out of the way to get out on the porch." Every breath was shaky, every tear dripping down her face adding more fuel to my fire. "I wanted to believe him. He was so convincing, Hunter. But he didn't actually want me, even though I didn't know that at the time. He just wanted control."

"Lottie—"

"He dropped to one knee. Pulled out a ring with his snot-covered hands. I almost said yes. Dad kicked him off the porch before I could. Literally. Foot to his shoulder and everything. Told him to get off our land and never come back unless he wanted to leave in an ambulance."

"Good," I snapped. I couldn't help myself.

"It took him about two hours before he started texting me horrible, disgusting things that I had to delete. Over and over. Thousands of missed calls and texts. I realized how stupid I'd been to even consider saying yes to him. He followed me around, popping up in random places where I was. He fucking stalked me, Hunter. He was everywhere. And the police couldn't give two shits because he knew all of them."

I wanted to rip his goddamn throat out.

"I went to Oahu to get away from him. Dad promised not to say a word to anyone, and somehow, I managed to evade him. I changed my number. I hid for months. And then you gave me an opportunity to come home, and I didn't want to have to hide anymore. But he's still around. He's still texting me, calling me. He's still showing up."

She pulled her phone from her bag and placed it face up on the table with a trembling hand. Do Not Reply was the name that littered her lock screen, text message after text message after missed call after text message. Half of them a request to talk, half of them calling her a disgusting whore for being with me. I didn't know what to say.

"I'm so sorry," I mumbled, half in shock and half consumed with rage that was ready to boil over, as I scrolled and scrolled. I noticed the time stamp on each one, all within the last hour or so. "I wish you'd told me sooner."

"I couldn't." She leaned forward onto the table, resting her face in her hands to hide from me. "I'm sorry. I'm trying, I just… I didn't know how to tell you. I've wanted to, and yet I've notwanted to. I knew you'd want to know who he is."

I'd never seen her like this. It was harrowing, humanizing, and her hesitation and anger toward me at the start made far too much sense now for me to think straight. "Don't apologize. This isn't your fault. You can tell me when you're able to, there's no pressure."

"You need to know," she breathed.

"I don't unless you want me to beat his face in," I muttered.

"You don't understand." Her palms pressed against her eyes, and when she pulled them away, her mascara was smeared and her eyes bloodshot. "I don't care if it hurts. I don't care if you hate me."

My brows knit as I leaned closer, studying her. Why on earth would I ever hate her?

"You deserve to know. I can't keep it in any longer, Hunter. It changes everything. It's Ja?—"

Her phone buzzed beneath my fingertips. Dana's name and face popped up on her screen, and I pushed the phone toward her. My stomach sank, and I couldn't quite tell why. "Lottie, Dana's calling."

She lifted her head, her face a mess of makeup and tears, and stared at her phone. "Dana shouldn't be calling me. I told her not to unless it was an emergency."

"Then answer it, Lots."