Faster Hotter (14 page)

And before anyone can utter another word, Harrison closes out of the chat window and snaps my laptop closed. He turns to me with a satisfied smile on his face.

“And that is how you win a meeting,” he says.

“What...the hell...is the matter with you?” I say, my eyes fixed on his.

“What do you mean, what’s the matter with me?” Harrison says, standing up from the bed, “Those two were bullying you.”

“My employers and I were trying to have a civil discussion about a complicated issue,” I reply, “A very delicate discussion, I might add. And you bulldozed your way in, acting like a total ass!”

“Come on,” Harrison scowls, “Those stuffed shirts were just going to lecture you. Why the hell do you care about what they think?”

“Maybe because my job depends on it?” I shoot back, jumping up from the bed, “Maybe because Ferrelli has been my entire life, for my entire life, and I value my relationship with the team? And forget about that very obvious fact for a second. What are you doing trying to jump in and fight my battles for me?”

“I was protecting you,” Harrison says, his jaw clenching.

“I don’t need to be protected from a freaking business meeting,” I cry, “I’m more than capable of standing up for myself. I had a whole life before I met you, Harrison, that I feel like I navigated pretty damn well. Don’t insult me by intervening like that.”

“You’re giving these assholes way too much power over you. Over us,” he says, “McClain’s breathing down my neck too, but do you see me changing the way I do things?”

“That’s because you don’t have to change,” I tell him, exasperated, “You’re a man. You can get away with anything.”

“That’s not fair,” Harrison says.

“No, it’s not! But it is true,” I say, crossing my arms, “You’re allowed to be a bad boy, a party animal, whatever you like, but I’m held to a different standard. I need to be smart, professional, likable, sexy, and competent all at once in order to be good at my job. It’s ridiculous, but you know what? I know what I’m doing. I’m good at it.”

“I’m not saying you’re not,” Harrison exclaims, “I just think that you’re letting yourself get walked all over.”

“Maybe I am, but it’s not by my bosses,” I say coolly.

“Are you saying that I walk all over you?” Harrison asks, hurt and angry.

“I think that you’ve been calling the shots between us lately, yes,” I reply, “And that you’ve tended to be in charge since the beginning.”

“Where is this coming from?” Harrison asks, color rising to his face, “We’ve always been equals in this relationship, Siena.”

“Have we?” I ask him honestly.

“How can you even suggest otherwise?” he growls, “Don’t make me into someone I’m not just because you’re frustrated with your damned job.”

“It’s not my job that I’m worried about,” I shout, “Ferrelli is more than a job to me, and you know that! Ferrelli is my life.”

“Fine,” he steams, shoving a hand through his hair, “So, what, you’re willing to change the way we work as a couple for those assholes’ sake? Is being a Ferrelli shareholder more important than being with me?”

“Of course not,” I tell him, “I mean, I can’t believe you’d even phrase it like a damned ultimatum, but—”

“It just seems like maybe you’re not as on board for us being together as I thought,” Harrison tells me, “You know, there is nothing that could keep me from being with you. The way we want to be together. Not McClain, not my family, nothing.”

“This isn’t about me not wanting to be with you!” I say, going to him, “I just need you to respect me enough to let me have some control over my own life.”

I lay a hand on his arm, but he quickly shrugs it away. I flinch back, hurt by his dismissal. The blood rushing through my veins goes cold. This is one of the worst fights we’ve ever had, and over something as stupid as a meeting. But it’s not really the meeting itself I’m upset about, is it? It’s feeling like I’ve lost agency over my own life.

“I’m going to take a walk,” Harrison says, heading for the door.

“Please don’t leave here angry,” I say, “Let’s just talk through this—”

“I need to cool down first,” he says shortly, “Unless you’re fond of people punching holes in these walls, you need to let me go.”

I step back warily. I know that Harrison would rather die than hurt me, but that temper of his is not to be messed with. He wrenches my door open and departs without saying goodbye. I can hear his heavy steps echoing in the stairwell as they descend.

Alone in my shoebox apartment, a crash of loneliness, frustration, and confusion slams into me. I sink down onto the floor in the middle of the room, hot tears springing to my eyes. I wrap my arms around my knees and let the sobs come as they will.

I’ve been watching my life turn completely upside down for weeks, now. As the championship ended, I felt like I was invincible. My two boys had kicked ass on the race track, I’d proven myself to be a force to be reckoned with, and I was madly in love with all the potential in the world behind me. But with Dad’s passing, and finding out about my pregnancy, and the pressure from Ferrelli to shape up and fly right, everything’s gone awry. I’m still madly in love, still full of potential, but I don’t know how to stick the landing, here. And things are going to get a lot more complicated before they can possibly resolve.

I’m just so overwhelmed by everything that’s happened. Everything that’s happening. And with Harrison angry with me, I don’t feel like there’s anyone in the world I can talk to. I feel alone in all of this, for the first time.

“Well, not entirely alone,” I mutter, gazing down at my stomach, “That’s for damn sure.”

* * *

The day passes slowly, torturously. I field calls from just about everyone I know, asking about this morning’s incident. Enzo wants to know if I’m OK, my mother wants updates about the baby and whether I’ve told Harrison yet, and the owners and I smooth things over the best we can. Harrison’s left his cell behind, but it’s ringing like crazy, too. I notice, not without a bit of outrage, that his mother is one of the people trying repeatedly to catch his ear. Oh, how I’d love to know what she has to say about me after this.

Just when I think I’ve finally snatched a moment to breathe between clean-up calls, my cell fires off again. I glance down uneasily, but Bex’s name is illuminated on the screen. Thank god, a voice of reason in all of this.

“Bex,” I say, hurriedly taking the call, “You will not believe the day I’ve been having.”

“Oh, but I would,” she tells me, “This little PR snafu is in my court now. That’s what I get for being the new head bitch in charge of public relations, I guess.”

“Oh shit,” I mutter, “I’m sorry you have to deal with this.”

“Please,” she says, “You’ve been in worse scrapes than this.”

“I don’t know if Harrison and I have, though,” I tell her, “We’ve just had the worst fight.”

“Over the reporter thing?”

“No, he sort of crashed a meeting I was having with the owners and made things more than a little tense,” I tell her, “It’s the first time I’ve ever felt so small next to him.”

“I’m sorry, Siena,” Bex says, “That’s shit. No one should make you feel that way.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I tell her, “He stormed out of here pissed as hell. I don’t even know where he is right now.”

“I’m sure he’ll be back in no time,” Bex says.

“I just want him to know how much he means to me,” I tell her, “Our life together is the most important thing in my world.”

“So tell him that,” Bex insists, “That’s all he needs to hear, I’m sure of it. He’s nuts about you, he needs to know that you’re in this for real, too.”

“You’re right,” I say, “God, if only he knew how in I really am. We’re going to be parents soon, for god’s sake. Not that I have any intention of dropping that on him the second he walks back through the door.”

“Of course not,” Bex says, “Because the first thing you’re going to do when he walks in that door is have amazing, mind-blowing make up sex.”

“I hadn’t thought about that...” I say.

“Silver lining, my friend,” Bex giggles, “Nothing better than putting a fight to bed in bed, am I right?”

“Right as ever,” I tell her.

“Gotta dash,” Bex says, “After I do a little PR clean up, Charlie and I are going suit shopping. I think he’s even more excited for his outfit than I am for mine!”

“It’s coming along so quickly,” I say, “Talk about a breakneck wedding.”

“Hey, Charlie and I are F1 people, right? We like things quick and dirty.”

“I’m gonna do my best not to think about what else that applies to,” I groan, “I love you two together, but I reserve the right to never consider your sex life.”

“Oh, come on!” Bex laughs, “That’s, like, one of the primary functions of a best friend, Siena Lazio.”

“Then at least just ease me into it,” I sigh.

“I will,” she replies, “But I expect full updates the second you roll out of bed with your lover boy. Got it?”

“Got it, you weirdo,” I smile. Bex has a knack for putting me back in a good mood even in the most dreadful situations. We say goodbye and hang up, promising to get some hardcore wedding stuff done in the next few days. The ceremony itself is speeding toward us like a car down the track, and we’ve got to be prepared.

All I want to do is leave the apartment and blow off some steam, but Harrison’s left all his things here—I have to be in when he finally comes back. I pace around the tiny room, replaying the argument over and over again in my head. I think I was justified in getting angry with Harrison after that ill-fated conference, but maybe I should have just done a better job at sticking up for myself in the first place? I think we both lost our cool a little, and it’s no surprise. We’ve both been under a ton of pressure, lately.

I sigh wearily as my cell begins to ring once more. Who could it be this time—my bosses calling to reprimand me some more? My brother telling me to shape up? I glance at the screen and see a number I don’t recognize. I usually let such calls go to voicemail, but in my heightened anxiety I decide to take it.

“Hello?” I begin.

“Siena,” Harrison says across the line.

“Baby,” I breathe, “Where are you calling from?”

“A hotel in SoHo.”

My heart plummets. Why is he checking into a hotel? “Harrison,” I say quickly, “Can we meet up somewhere? I want to—”

“Come here, as soon as you can,” he cuts me off. “Houston and Mott Street.”

“OK...” I tell him nervously, “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t stay here—”

“Let’s wait until we’re together to talk,” he says, “See you soon.”

The line goes dead as my heart clenches painfully in my chest. Was that fight the last straw for Harrison? Could he be at the end of this rope at last, after everything we’ve gone through?

I grab my things and head out the door, dead set on righting things between us. If anything’s ever been worth fighting for in my life, it’s Harrison.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I stare up at the sleek, streamlined hotel, my breath tight and quick. The whole way here, my mind’s been reeling with what I might say to Harrison. How can I convince him that what we have is strong enough, beautiful enough, to fight every day for? Or perhaps what I have to really convince him of is how committed I am to fighting, too. As long as we can both agree on that, there’s nothing in the world that can stop us.

My shoulders squared, I march into the chic hotel and give my name to the concierge. His eyes sparkle with curiosity as he directs me to the penthouse suite. I should have known—Harrison’s not one to shy away from the finer things in life, that’s for sure. I step into the elevator and feel my body begin to tremble in anticipation. This is a crucial moment for us, I can tell. I just have to have faith that it will turn out the right way for us. If it doesn’t...I honestly don’t know what I’d do.

The elevator comes to a stop at the very top of the building. The chrome doors slide open noiselessly, and I find myself staring at another door, adorned with an elegant, simple “PH”. I take a deep breath and raise my fist to knock—but my knuckles meet with air as the door swings open into the room.

“Oh,” I say, surprised. Standing before me is not the six foot tall sex god I’ve fallen madly in love with, but a scrawny, freckled boy around the age of twenty. He’s dressed as an honest to goodness bellhop, and looks terrified to have foiled my expectations.

“Sorry!” he chirps, leaping out of my way into the waiting elevator. “I was just—I’m—Sorry, Miss.”

“It’s really OK,” I tell him, stepping across the threshold of the penthouse. But the elevator doors whisper shut before I can reassure him, and I find myself standing in the hotel suite that Harrison’s flown to.

“Wow,” I breathe, drinking in the space. If I weren’t so anxious, I’d be entirely spellbound by the simple beauty of the suite. Everything is as minimalist as can be, all elegant lines and fine contrast. The far wall is made entirely of windows, facing out toward lower Manhattan and the East River. Spidery bridges are lit up in the darkness, at odds with the towering behemoths of the financial district. But the view is not the only thing to marvel at, at the present moment.