Twenty-Six: Harlow

TWENTY-SIX

HARLOW

A cache of designer shopping bags separated me and Olivia on the backseat.

The twins were fast asleep in their car seats, exhausted from a two-hour show they couldn’t understand.

For some odd reason, Olivia hadn’t said much to me today, so I was convinced she was days away from drifting back into the seas of hating me.

If that were the case, I was more than ready to launch a white flag and surrender.

“I really enjoy hanging out with you, Miss Hawthorne,” she said as we stepped out of the car. “I hope it doesn’t have to end when I start a new school.”

“You mean that?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I don’t think the twins enjoy the shows as much as me, but they always need the sleep.”

“I agree.”

“If I pick St. Anne’s and join their poetry club, will you come see me perform?”

“I’ll reserve a permanent seat in the front row.”

She smiled, and I let out a sigh of relief.

When we walked into the living room, Pierce was pacing by the windows.

“Hey, Uncle Brooks!” Olivia rushed to him for a hug. “I bought you something for your birthday while we were out shopping!”

“I look forward to opening it this weekend.” He kissed her forehead. “Go change clothes so we can have dinner with Brian and Denise.”

“I’ll be ready in twenty.” She let him go and waved at me before disappearing down the hall.

“The twins have been sleeping for the past two hours,” I said. “They’ve had a pretty long day.”

“I could’ve sworn I told you that taking my children outside of Manhattan, especially during nighttime hours was out of the question.”

“I didn’t believe that The Theater District would be a problem,” I said. “Olivia really loves Broadway, so I thought?—”

“You thought you could break the top rule that’s literally in bold at the top of every other page in my guide?”

“No, I just didn’t think you would mind.”

“You thought wrong .” He glared at me. “I barely know you, Miss Hawthorne, which means I barely trust you. Now that you’ve broken what little bit of that I had in you, I suggest you apologize and perhaps I’ll reconsider.”

“Reconsider what ?”

“You have to give me the apology first, Miss Hawthorne.” He narrowed his eyes. “Then I’ll handle the reconsideration.”

I said nothing.

“This is a limited time offer,” he said, looking at that damn watch, as if his minutes were more precious than everyone else’s. “If I were you, I would start talking.”

“And if I were you, and I had so many insufferable rules—” I’d had enough of his shit. “I would start watching my own damn kids.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t possibly expect us to stay in a bubble and do the same things day after day.” I glared at him. “For a so-called billionaire with the world at his fingertips, you sure are limiting theirs.”

The large vein in his neck swelled, but I refused to stop talking until I made my point.

“Your security team was watching us the entire time, and I can assure you that if someone did attempt to kidnap your children, they would return them the second they got a taste of their personalities.”

“You don’t have a say in how I set the rules, Miss Hawthorne,” he said. “You’re not their mother.”

“And you’re barely their father.”

Silence.

It hung between us, palpable and thick, waiting for us to address the lingering tension we’d avoided for weeks.

“Miss Hawthorne…” He clenched his jaw.

“Yes?”

“You’re fucking fired.” He took out his wallet and quickly flipped off hundred dollar bills like they were nothing to him. Then he held them for me.

“I included a few extra hundred, since you may need a day or two to look for another job,” he said. “You’re very welcome.”

“Fuck you.” I didn’t take them. “Save it for all the therapy your kids will need in the future.”

I turned away and stormed into the hall. Refusing to let a single tear fall, I didn’t bother waiting for the elevator.

I ran down flight after flight of the emergency steps, vowing never to come back.