him. His lunch appeared on his desk while he was in the restroom. And she only brought reports in when he was busy talking on calls.
Every time he went to her desk, she had to take a call, or pop over to talk with a colleague.
Late in the afternoon, Vander called. “Got a lead on Carlson. Gregor Howard has been helping him out.”
“Bring him in, Vander.”
“Yeah. I have to dodge Armand and Pierce’s goons while I’m doing it. Those two have made it a contest to bring Carlson in first.”
Shit. “Scarlett?”
“She and Gia are as thick as thieves. Scarlett has announced that she may never move out of Saxon’s gorgeous house, that Saxon is mighty fine, and if we have a hot guy for her, she’s ready and willing.” Vander’s voice was dry and amused.
Easton’s lips twitched. “Okay.”
“How’s Harlow holding up?”
Easton squeezed on the phone harder with his fingers. “On the surface she’s acting fine, but she’s stressed and scared.”
“You’ll get her through this.”
“If she ever truly lets me in. She thinks that when this is over, I’ll be done with her.”
Vander was silent for a moment. “Well, she has no evidence to make her believe otherwise. You’ve dated, but you’ve never kept a woman long.”
“Because none of them were her.”
“She know that?”
“I moved her into my place, I’m helping her every way I can, I introduced her to Dad and Ma—”
“Easton, I think it takes more than that. You have to tell her what she means to you.”
“How the hell did you get good at giving relationship advice?”
“I’m a private investigator. I watch, I gather intel…all so I can avoid this particular trap.”
Easton laughed. “The tougher they are, the harder they crash and burn.”
Vander grunted. “Not me.”
Easton hoped his brother met someone who cracked through that tough shell of his. Someone who gave him hell, because Vander thrived on a challenge, but who gave him peace, as well. If anyone had seen and done too much, it was Vander.
“Thanks, Vander. Let me know as soon as you find Carlson.”
“Will do, bro.”
Easton glanced out the window and saw the sun was setting. It was time to go home. He realized he’d usually stay at least another hour, but he was excited to go home with Harlow.
He grabbed his jacket and strode out of his office.
She was sitting at her desk, looking so fucking beautiful.
“Let’s go home.”
She spun. “Keep your voice down. People might think you mean together.”
He looked at the ceiling. “I do mean together.” He did understand her concerns, even if he didn’t like them. But he wasn’t hiding how he felt for her for long. “Fine. Can I give you a ride home, Harlow?”
“Sure.” She packed her gear and grabbed her handbag.
In the elevator, she stood with two feet between them.
The doors closed.
“Vander has a lead on your father.”
She released a breath. “That’s good.”
Easton wanted to reach for her but curled his fingers into his palms. “Let’s get home. You need a glass of wine, and I’m going to make risotto.”
She turned toward him. “You’re angry with me. About not wanting people to know that we’re…that I’m…”
“Living with me? Sleeping with me? Having sex with me?” Mine.
She nodded.
“I do understand not wanting people gossiping about you, Harlow. And I’m actually aware that I’m the man in charge, and that gives me a lot of power. I just…hate that you want to hide it.”
Her face changed, then she moved to him and wrapped her arms around him. “Let’s go home.”
He smiled. Just having her close helped. “Can I kiss you?”
“Yes,” she murmured.
He kissed her until they reached the parking garage. He helped her into the Aston, and soon, he was pulling out onto the street.
They hadn’t gone far when he stiffened. “You buckled in?”
She frowned. “Of course, why?”
He glanced in the rearview mirror. “We’re being followed.”
She stiffened. “What do we do?”
“We lose them. Hang on.” He accelerated and yanked the wheel.
Harlow cried out, and the tires screeched. The Aston Martin shot down a side street.
Behind them, a dark SUV sped up, cutting through traffic and setting horns honking.
Easton thrust his foot on the accelerator.
Chapter Seventeen
Harlow pressed her palm flat to the door as Easton threw the car into another hard turn.
Her throat tightened, a scream struggling to break free.
Easton’s face was hard and focused. He weaved them around another car.
“No one is crazy enough to come after you,” she cried.
“Someone’s crazy, or desperate.”
She looked back through the rear window. The big, black SUV roared closer.
Her pulse skittered. This was