Page 21 of He Has Charm

I head to my bedroom and collapse on my bed without taking off my jacket. Exhaustion takes precedence over everything now and I close my eyes. As I let myself doze off, the raised voice in the room beyond my half-open door pulls me back to the awake side of the blurry line.

“I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise. Maybe an extra thousand dollars.”

It’s Harper and her voice is filled with anguish more than anger, almost sounds desperate. Does she owe some leg-breakers some money? Does my all-business, straight-as-an arrow Harper have a gambling problem?

“You don’t need to keep calling. I’ll take care of it.” Her words are angrier now.

Fully alert, my body tenses at the distress in her voice and reacts like a fire alarm went off and I need to save all the women and children. No, more like the game is down to thirty seconds and I’m the sixth man on the ice who my teammates are counting on to score the winning goal.

Ripping off my coat because I’m suddenly overheated, I rise from the bed and storm out my half-open door to find her. More importantly, to find out who or what is causing her a problem. Because money problems I can handle. I’ve solved more than a few of those for my family.

But Harper isn’t family. And I’m not exactly as financially secure now as I was a week ago. Shit.

She tosses her phone onto the chair then turns and we come face-to-face. Her color is high, her cheeks flushed, her eyes blazing, and if I didn’t just overhear her conversation, I would think she’d just finished bringing herself to a pleasant little orgasm. Fuck. I clear my throat, trying to remember she’s a woman in distress.

“What the hell, Maddox. Did you just—were you listening to me?” A combination of embarrassment, fear, and anger rises with her voice.

“I heard… something. Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“What? No. And how dare you eavesdrop.” She pushes past me, avoiding my eyes, the pink shade of her cheeks deepening.

There’s a knock on the door. It’s room service with the food, and she takes care of the tip. The food temporarily gets me a reprieve from her scolding about the eavesdropping and I take a seat at the table. She lifts the covers from the plates.

“Pasta Bolognese with meatballs, homemade bread, a Caesar salad, and spumoni for dessert.”

“This came from room service? No way.” I don’t waste time getting a forkful of pasta into my mouth.

“No, I arranged to have it ordered from a local Italian restaurant, Monica’s Trattoria, and sent up.”

“You can do that?” She arches a brow at me.

“Enjoy.” She turns.

“Where are you going? You’re not off the hook yet. You didn’t tell me what’s going on to make you so upset.”

“I’m not telling you. That was a private conversation. And you’re not off the hook for eavesdropping.”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping. You were loud. You woke me.” I put down my fork. “Sit down, Harper. Have something to eat.” She sits, reluctantly, and predictably puts some salad on her plate, not meeting my eyes. I stare until she looks up. I recognize true distress when I hear it.

“Tell me about it. Do you have… gambling debts?” The words sound ridiculous the second they come out of my mouth and I wish I could snatch them back. She stops with her fork midair and I swear she wants to throw it at me, but I’m not about to wait and find out. Instead I take hold of her wrists and pin her hands down on the table between us.

“How—why would you make such a … ludicrous accusation?” The way her eyes skitter away from mine tells me I’m dead-on and my stomach knots up with excruciating disappointment that Harper may not be as sweet as I first thought. So what? She’s nothing to me but a temporary babysitter.

“Because I overheard you saying that you owe someone money and it sounded like you were being threatened.” I wait a beat and she meets my eyes. The storm cloud in her look threatens to erupt and I’m pretty sure that’ll mean tears. All disappointment about her relative innocence disappears and all I see is a strong, smart woman reduced to a vulnerable mess. “Tell me.” I hold her gaze.

“It’s none of your business. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. Don’t let your imagination run away with—”

I cut off her rambling. “My imagination thinks you’re in trouble. If you don’t want me to worry, you’ll tell me what the fuck that conversation was all about.”

“I don’t owe you—”

“It’s not about anyone owing anyone. But for the next four months, we’re housemates and partners in this mission. We’re going to be relying on each other to come out of this season whole. And the last thing I want to worry about is some leg-breakers coming around and—”

She snorts. “Don’t worry about leg-breakers. There are no leg breakers. Besides, I can pay what I owe.” She meets my eyes directly, her eyes fierce, her chin up. “Okay. So there is a gambling debt—how did you know?”

“Lucky guess.” My stomach clenches. “Though I wouldn’t have pegged you for—”

“Me?” She squeaks like an old door closing and the shock on her face is real, but she pulls her wrists from my grip and before she closes the door on me, I jump in.