Chapter 139: Chapter 139

Kimberly hands him a glass of brown liquor, and he gulps half of it down within seconds.

He raises his brow to Christian. “Bourbon?”

“Only the best,” Christian responds with a grin.

“You should call Lillian up sometime. You’d be a good influence on her.” Max’s eyes move to Hardin.

“I don’t think she needs any influence,” I retort. I didn’t care much for Lillian, due to my jealousy, but I feel a strong need to defend her against her father. I can’t help but think that he’s referring to her sexual orientation, and that bothers me immensely.

“Oh, I beg to differ.” He smiles a bleached-white smile, and I sink back against the couch cushions. This whole exchange has been uncomfortable. Max is charming and rich, but I can’t ignore the darkness that lurks within his deep brown eyes and the hidden malice in his wide smile.

Why is he here with Sasha, anyway? He’s a married man, and by the short cut of her dress and the way she smiles at him, they don’t appear to be only on “friend”-ly terms.

“Lillian is our regular sitter!” Kimberly chimes in.

“Small world.” Hardin rolls his eyes so as to appear as uninterested as possible, but I know he’s fuming.

“It is, isn’t it.” Max grins at Hardin. His British accent is thicker than either Hardin’s or Christian’s, and not nearly as pleasant to listen to.

“Tessa, go upstairs,” Hardin quietly instructs me. Max and Kimberly both look at him, making it known that they heard his command.

This situation is even more awkward now than it was only seconds ago. Now that everyone’s heard Hardin tell me to go upstairs, I definitely don’t want to oblige. However, I know Hardin, and know that he’ll make sure I get upstairs, whether he has to carry me or not.

“I think she should stay and have some wine, or a shot of this bourbon. It’s aged and very good,” Kimberly says as she rises to her feet and pads over to the little bar. “Which will it be?” She smiles, clearly defying Hardin.

He glares at her and presses his lips into a thin, hard line. I want to laugh at the way Kimberly is challenging Hardin, or leave the room—preferably both—but Max is watching our exchange with more curiosity than seems necessary, and I stay put.

“I’ll have a glass of wine,” I say.

Kimberly nods, pours the white liquid into a long-stemmed glass, and brings it to me.

The space between Hardin and me seems to be growing by the second, and I can practically see the heat rolling off him in small waves. I take a small sip of the crisp wine, and Max finally looks away from me.

Hardin is staring at the wall. His mood has drastically changed since we kissed, and that really worries me. I thought he’d be excited, happy, and most of all, I thought he’d be turned on and want more, the way he always does, the way I do.

“Do you two live here, in Seattle?” Sasha asks Hardin.

I take another sip of wine. I’ve been drinking a lot lately.

“I don’t.” He doesn’t look at her as he answers.

“Hmm, where is it that you live?”

“Not in Seattle.”

If this conversation were happening in any other circumstance, I would scold him for being so rude, but right now I’m happy that he is. Sasha frowns and leans against Max. He looks at me before gently guiding her in the opposite direction.

I already know you’re having an affair, so don’t play coy now.

Sasha stays quiet, and Kimberly looks to Christian for help to turn the conversation to more pleasant matters. “Well . . .” Christian clears his throat. “The club opening was great; who knew we’d have such a turnout?”

“It was brilliant, that band . . . I can’t recall the name, but the last one . . .” Max begins.

“The Reford something . . . ?” Kimberly suggests.

“No, that wasn’t it, love.” Christian chuckles, and Kimberly walks over to sit on his lap.

“Well, whoever they are, we need to get them booked for next weekend, too,” Max says.

Within minutes of the start of their business talk, Hardin turns and disappears down the hallway . . .

“He’s usually more polite,” Kimberly tells Sasha.

“No, he’s not. But we wouldn’t have him any other way.” Christian laughs, and the rest of the room joins in.

“I’m going to . . .” I begin.

“Go on.” Kimberly waves me off, and I give a small good night wave to the guests. By the time I reach the end of the hallway, Hardin is already in the guest room and has closed the door. I hesitate outside of the room for a moment before turning the knob and pushing the door open. When I finally enter, Hardin is pacing back and forth across the length of the room.

“Is something wrong?” I ask him.

“No.”

“Are you sure, because you’ve been weird ever since—”

“I’m fine. I’m just irritated.” He sits down at the edge of the bed and rubs his palms against the knees of his jeans.

I love his new jeans. I recognize them from our—his—closet at the apartment. Trish got them for him for Christmas, and he hated them.

“And why’s that?” I quietly ask, making sure to keep my voice from traveling down the hall and into the living room.

“Max is a prick,” Hardin booms. He clearly doesn’t care if he’s heard.

Laughing, I whisper, “Yeah, he is.”

“He was just asking for me to lose my shit when he was being rude to you,” he breaths.