Big Rock

“You should ask to talk to Mr. Offerman. See if you can smooth things over.”

I cringe at the thought of groveling to that asshat. “He doesn’t want to have anything to do with Dad anymore.”

“That’s right now,” Nick says. “Tempers flare in the heat of the moment. See if he cools down. You’ve got to try.”

I nod, taking this all in, knowing they’re right. “And if that doesn’t work?”

They lock eyes again, then look back at me. “You. You’re the way to unfucking it,” Harper says.

“Oh shit,” I say in a heavy voice as it hits me exactly how I’ll have to reverse osmosis this fuckup for my Dad.

*

Harper gives me a ten-dollar bill. I feel like a grade-schooler clutching his allowance. “Now, only use it if you need to take a bus home, dear,” she says, like a parent admonishing a child.

She gives me a shove toward the entrance of Katharine’s. “Go.”

I head inside, sticking out like a sore thumb with my gym shorts and ball cap. I make my way to the elevator and press the button for the sixth floor. After the doors close with a whoosh, I inhale and exhale, fighting to keep my focus on my dad. Not on Charlotte. Not on the worst words I’d ever heard in my life.

It was never real.

I don’t know how I could have misread things between us so badly. I was so damn sure we not only had epic chemistry, but so much more. But that must just be the cocky bastard in me, making assumptions that the woman wanted me.

When the woman doesn’t lie.

She made that clear from the start.

She said she’s a terrible liar, which means everything she said at the ball field was true.

How the hell am I supposed to go back to working by her side? To running a business with her?

When the elevator reaches my dad’s floor, the doors slide open. I step out and see a familiar face. Nina walks toward me, dressed in a crisp suit even on a Saturday. But then, Saturdays are the store’s busiest days.

“Hey there. Are you looking for your dad?”

I nod. “I am. Is he in his office?”

“Yes. He’s working on some contracts.”

A flicker of hope ignites in me. Maybe the deal is back on. Maybe the kerfuffle blew over in mere minutes. Maybe there are Walmarts on Jupiter.

Still, I have to ask. “Is Mr. Offerman in there?”

“No,” she says with a small smile, then drops a hand gently on my arm. “But go see him.”

She leaves, and I draw a deep breath, square my shoulders, and walk to my father’s office. Whatever is coming—whether anger or disappointment—I will take it like a man.

I knock, and Dad says to come in.

He’s at his desk, still wearing his softball jersey, his fingers poised over the keyboard. I can’t read the expression in his eyes. I seize the moment, the words tumbling out in a traffic jam.

“Dad, first of all, I owe you a huge apology. I lied to you and tricked you. And I’m sorry. You raised me better than that. I should never have pretended I was engaged, but in my defense, I thought—stupidly—that it would be the thing you needed for the deal. When I met Mr. Offerman, he so clearly didn’t like my past or my ‘reputation,’”—I sketch air quotes—“so I thought I could simply be engaged for a week as you finished the deal. It wasn’t Charlotte’s idea. It was mine. I thought I was doing the right thing and making sure that my past wouldn’t be the reason your deal went sour. But instead it went sour anyway, because of me.”

“Spencer,” he begins, his lips twitching.

I hold up a hand and shake my head. “I should have been honest with Mr. Offerman at breakfast the next day, and I should have been honest with you. But I wasn’t. You said all those nice things about Charlotte before Fiddler, too, and I felt like a schmuck for lying to you. You taught me to be better than that.” I sigh and say the hardest part. “But at some point, it stopped being a lie, because even though it started as a fake engagement, it became real for me, and I fell in love with her.”

The corners of his mouth curve up. “Spencer,” he tries again, but I keep going, standing on the other side of his desk, my mea culpa pouring out of me.