him, and now he was glad. Harlow Glass was nothing like the women he usually pursued; she wasn’t looking for a good time, and she wouldn’t go quietly in the morning. She’d already expressed curiosity about his past and would have demanded stories about his childhood as soon as she’d told stories about her own.
She was a complication he didn’t need, so, he’d find someone else. Easily. And he’d do it today.
The pencil in his hand snapped in half.
Dane Michaelson’s newest assistant... Sarah? Samantha? Whatever. She rushed over to pick up the pieces and give him a new one. He looked her over. She was understated but pretty, with brown hair and piercing green eyes. Not that it mattered. A woman was a woman. And he could have this one. She would take him however she could get him, and for the few hours he spent between her legs, he could fool himself into believing everything was okay. No thoughts. No problems. No worries, he reminded himself. Only pleasure.
He smiled at her, and she smiled back. Good. This was good. This was familiar.
“That will be all, Sasha,” Dane said. “Thank you.”
She sauntered out of the office, casting Beck a final peek over her shoulder. He winked at her.
“You surprise me. Flirting? At a business meeting?” Dane sat across from him, relaxed behind an elaborate desk constructed from salvaged wood. For a billionaire oil tycoon, he was absurdly young. Twenty-eight, Beck’s age. They’d known each other for...what? Close to six years now? Though they’d merely traded phone calls up until recently.
The guy had grown up in Strawberry Valley and even though he’d moved to the big, bad city for a number of years, he’d never been able to cut ties with his hometown, even tattooing his arms with wild strawberries.
“And now you ignore me,” Dane muttered. “We’ve been sitting in silence for a full ten minutes. You want to tell me about the new security program or not? That is the reason you’re here, isn’t it?”
“We both know you’re going to buy it no matter what I say. West does quality work and you won’t find a better system anywhere else.”
“Can we at least pretend to negotiate?”
“No. I’d rather talk about Harlow Glass. Do you know her?” Damn it. What happened to washing his hands of her?
What the hell made her so special? Yes, he’d seen pictures of her during childhood. Yes, he had an insane need to know more about the girl she’d been and the woman she’d become. But this seeming obsession with her did not fit his character.
“Know?” Dane said. “No. Know of? Yes. She went from shy and sugar-sweet to barbwire-mean overnight, eventually becoming the meanest girl in elementary school.” He worked his jaw. “She used to make Kenna cry.”
Kenna, Dane’s fiancée, was as tough as nails, so it was hard to imagine her breaking down, and equally hard to imagine Harlow the wannabe stripper as a school-yard terror. But then, most people probably didn’t look at him and see a murderer.
Dane eyed him thoughtfully. “Why the interest in her?”
“She and I have unfinished business.” He offered no more, his feelings too personal—too raw. “What else do you know about her?”
“Not much. I once overhead Kenna and Brook Lynn talking about her, and from what I gathered, she dropped out of public school her junior year in favor of being homeschooled and after that, she rarely left her house.” Dane leaned back in his chair and tapped his pen against the edge of his desk. “I must admit, your curiosity surprises me more than anything else.”
“Why?”
“For the first time in our history, you’ve turned a business meeting into a personal gabfest.”
He had, hadn’t he? Damn it! It was a small change, but a change nonetheless.
He adjusted his tie before standing a little too swiftly. “All right. Meeting adjourned. I’ll tell West you want his new program as soon as possible, and you’ll be paying full asking price.”
“You could at least give me the friendship discount.”
“Full asking price is the friendship discount. Everyone else will have to pay double.” He strode out of the office before he did something stupid, like ask more questions about Harlow.
The assistant spotted him and leaped to her feet, smoothing her skirt. “Leaving so soon, Mr. Ockley?”
Not just the perfect distraction, he decided, but the perfect means to an end. Harlow wasn’t anything special to him, and she wouldn’t usher in any more changes; he would prove it. “Now that my eyes are on you,” he said, leaning against the counter in front of her, “leaving is the last thing on my mind.”
She batted her lashes at him, playfully twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. “Thank you. I’m flattered.”
“Then I’m pleased.” But was he? He’d said the words by rote, with a definite lack of enthusiasm. Where was his enjoyment? His sense of victory?
Or was this yet another change to place at Harlow’s door?
“Will you have dinner with me?” he asked, his hands fisting.
Green eyes widened, a cherry-red mouth forming a small O. “I... Yes. When?”
“How about tonight? The sooner I see you again the better.” That he meant with every fiber of his being.
She practically hummed with excitement as she rattled off her digits.
“I’ll be counting the minutes.”
By the time Beck made it home, the farmhouse was empty. West was at the office, while Brook Lynn and Jase were out delivering sandwiches for her catering business, You’ve Got It Coming.
Beck threw his briefcase on his bedroom floor and sank into the chair in front of his desk, where pictures of Harlow were scattered. He went still. Sad ocean-water eyes stared up at him, holding his gaze captive, silently beseeching him to help...to save. His gut knotted. He was no one’s savior. He was too screwed up.
Look at him. He bounced from moment to moment without any thought for the future. He broke into a sweat at the mere thought of commitment. He had an all-consuming hatred for change. His first sexual experience had been with a married maternal figure. He’d helped kill a man in a fistfight, and then allowed his best friend to rot in prison for nine years.
Beck anchored his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his upraised hands. Clearly he needed someone to save him.
As if he could be saved.
But...maybe it wasn’t too late for Harlow. While he wasn’t a savior, there were things even a guy like him could do to help. Like set her up financially, maybe even move her into the city where she wouldn’t be reviled at every turn. And bonus for him: she would be out of sight, out of mind.
Yes. He picked up the landline and started making calls, putting the wheels in motion to set up a trust in Harlow’s name, telling his real estate agent what kind of home to search
