“Give your grandmother credit, not me. She’s your biggest fan,” James says with an unmistakable tone of sarcasm. He pushes the chair back and stands. “Empty.” Raising his glass, he walks toward me, needing a refill from the bar I’m still leaning against.
“I have a question for you,” James says. I turn around to face him as he pours himself another glass of scotch and brings it to his lips. He consumes his second drink in one quick swig like Harlow did at the restaurant.
“Shoot.” I nod my head to let him know I’m game.
“What made you choose medicine over the family business?” James stands still and waits for my answer. I know exactly why he’s asking me this question. He grilled Harlow in the car and she told him why we were touching at the restaurant. My answer is nothing more than an attempt to corroborate what she said to him.
“You know why. She told you.” I turn the tables, unwilling to be intimidated by him. Harlow and I did nothing wrong, no matter what he thinks.
James sets his glass down hard on the bar counter and looks at me with a tight expression, fueled by frustration. I’m not sure what causes this anger inside of him. It could be a million things, but it revolves around the woman likely waiting for him in his bedroom.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to love a woman like Harlow?” He runs a hand through his blond hair and fills his glass with more scotch.
“I’ve never been in love,” I confess.
“Well, it’s maddening as hell. You’ve gotta understand where I’m coming from, Sin. Harlow’s beautiful with an unassuming appeal. You should’ve heard the conversations at the hospital and club before we were officially together. Even the married doctors joined in. When I finally announced we were a couple, the talk around me stopped, but I see the way they look at her. I feel their envy. You touching her triggered something in me.”
Any man near her would elicit this response in him. It wasn’t just me. He’s jealous of other men and their feelings for Harlow and fears she may return those feelings. I don’t do relationships, but I’m smart enough to know this type of love is more of an obsession. It explains his heavy-handed control, but it doesn’t justify how he treats Harlow. His version of love has made her his captive.
“The touch was innocent,” I respond. James stretches out his arms and leans his hands against the bar top. He bows his head in defeat then looks up at me with worry lines running across his forehead.
“I suppose.” He’s not convinced yet, but it’s his own doubt and insecurity keeping him from trusting me, or any man that comes near Harlow—innocent or not.
“I’m beat.” You’re drunk. “Let’s call it a night.” Even though it’s not late, I’ve had enough and need some time to figure out what the hell has happened since I landed here. My four-week program, which I assumed would be a quiet experience, has turned into a freak show.
“I’ll show you to your room.”
James pushes off from the bar and heads to the door. He trips over the edge of a rug, but recovers quickly. We travel back down the same hallway and I grab my suitcase as we pass the entrance.
“The kitchen is off to the right. Media room to your left.” He points in various directions as he shows me the layout of the house. “All the bedrooms are upstairs.”
“Right.” I follow him up to the second floor and he leads me past several doors. The first one we walked by is shut, so I assume it is the master.
“I mentioned you borrowing a car in our emails,” James says.
“You did.” Before I met this version of you. It had sounded like a good idea a few weeks ago, but now, I’m not so sure I want to owe him a thing.
“Well, I have a white Porsche parked in the garage. It’s yours while you’re here.” He stops outside a room and turns to face me. “Believe me, you can’t rent a set of wheels like that in this town.”
“I’ve never driven a Porsche.” And I’m not sure I want to drive yours. Right now, a rent-a-wreck sounds better than a strings-attached vehicle.
“It’s a chick magnet. Not that I would know.” He waggles his brow and punches my arm hard in an attempt to be funny.
I give him a weak half-smile. Jerk.
He walks inside the room and flips on the lights. “This one’s yours.”
I notice an indention in the bed, as if someone had been lying on it and forgot to straighten the covers. James grumbles under his breath and scurries over to the bed, straightening the wrinkles.
“Sorry about that.”
“You kidding me? I never make my bed,” I laugh, but James remains stiff as he stands close by. He’s making way too much out of a few wrinkles.
“Well, it should’ve been ready for you either way.” He leads me to an open door inside the room. “Here’s the bathroom.”
“Nice,” I say as I follow him in. The shower is large enough for a party of five and has frosted glass doors. It seems over the top for a guest bath. Towels hang perfectly from racks on the wall. I laugh to myself. Once I use those towels, there’s no way in hell I’ll get them to look like that again. I’m lucky if I remember to pick the towel up off the floor.
“You should be set.” James moves to exit the bathroom and I follow behind him.