Beg For Me: Chapter 33

We spend two hours in bed talking until I have to go home to make sure my mother hasn’t burned down the house or invited some card shark friends over for supper. When I arrive, the house is still standing, but suspiciously quiet.

Even more suspicious is the smell of something delicious cooking.

I wander into the kitchen. Spying the cast iron pot on the stove, I take a look inside, half expecting to find a bubbling brew of bat wings and toadstools. Instead, a beautiful saffron-infused broth of chicken and sausage simmers with bell peppers, tomatoes, rice, and peas.

Someone is making paella in my kitchen.

Unless my daughter suddenly gained an interest in cooking, this is Carmelina’s doing, and it’s got ulterior motives written all over it.

I go upstairs and find Harlow sitting up in bed, reading a book. “Hi, honey.”

She doesn’t look up. “Hi.”

“You good?”

“Yep.”

I gaze at her for a moment, debating whether I should tell her what’s happening with her father, but decide I’ll let it wait for later when I have something more concrete than a convoluted conversation with his fiancée.

If or when the lawsuits drop, there will be time to explain. But right now, I need to know if Carter being in my life is going to be a problem for us.

I sit on the edge of her bed and take the book from her hands. “I want to ask your opinion about something.”

Looking interested, she folds her long legs underneath her and sits up straighter. “Okay. What is it?”

“It’s about Carter.”

I struggle for a moment to find the right words, but can’t find exactly what I’m looking for. Staring down at the book in my hands, I say softly, “I like him, honey. I really like him. We get along great, and he makes me laugh like nobody ever has.”

I take a breath and meet her eyes. “But it’s been just me and you for the past few years, and I’m worried about how me being in a relationship will affect you.”

She smiles. “Are you asking my permission to keep dating him?”

“Would you mind if I did?”

She pushes her hair off her face and leans over to prop her elbows on her legs. “I mean, look, I want you to be happy. You weren’t happy with Dad. And you deserve to be. And it’s not like I think you’re going to suddenly start ignoring me because you’re in love.”

I blink, startled at her use of those words.

“In love.” Is that what I am? Does she see something I don’t?

“But…” she picks at the blanket under her legs, then glances up at me. “How old is he?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“Oh.”

“You look surprised.”

“I thought he was younger than that.”

“Does it change your opinion?”

She shakes her head, then stops and thinks about it. “I mean, maybe. It’s probably better that he’s not like twenty-five years younger than you.”

“Why do you say that?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Because if you stay together, when you’re an old lady, he’ll still be young.”

I sigh heavily. “You sound just like your grandmother.”

“Does it bother you that he’s younger?”

I look around her room as I consider the question. “In some ways, yes. Mainly because people don’t seem to care about an age gap when a man is older, but when it’s the woman who’s older, they lose their minds. Your father said people will think I’m a pervert.”

She laughs at that. “Bro, please. You’re not a pervert.”

I’d scold her for calling me bro, but we’re having a nice conversation. I don’t want to ruin it.

“It’s 2025, Mom. You can date whoever you want. You can date a younger guy, an older guy, another girl, a mix of all of them, whatever. It’s not about any of that stuff. It’s about who makes you happy.”

“You’d be okay if I dated another woman?”

She looks at me as if I’m the dumbest person to ever walk the face of the planet.

“Mom. Don’t be lame. Love is love.”

I try to picture her grandmother’s face if I told her I was dating a woman. She’d probably have a stroke on the spot.

I’ll keep that in my back pocket if I need it.

“So, look. Here’s the only stuff you should be worried about with anybody you date, right? Forget about how old he is and ask yourself, do you get along? Is he respectful? Do you have stuff in common? Is he as smart as you? Because you’re really smart, and if the jokes are going over his head, it’s not worth dating him no matter how cute you think he is.”

I smile, thinking of his handsome face. “He is pretty cute, isn’t he?”

She retches. But she’s grinning, so I know she’s only playing.

“Back up a second. How do you know so much about dating? You’re not allowed to date until you’re sixteen.”

Her eye roll is extravagant. “Common sense, bro. Catch up.”

I stare at my daughter with overwhelming love for her, my sweet little girl who’s growing up right in front of my eyes. How did I get so lucky?

One of Ev’s kids just got caught throwing firecrackers into the school toilet.

I have to remind myself Harlow’s currently grounded for sneaking out of a hotel room in Mexico and drinking beer with a bunch of strangers. She’s not exactly an angel.

Then again, neither am I.

As if reading my mind, Harlow says, “Was Grams telling the truth about you losing your virginity at my age?”

I make a face. “Your grandmother is full of malarkey.”

She’s not buying my explanation. “Uh-huh. Nice way to dodge the question.”

“Not that my sordid past is anybody’s business, but no. I was not having sex at your age. But I will say this: I didn’t lose my virginity. It’s not a misplaced dry cleaning ticket. The first time I had sex, it was consensual and with someone I cared for very much who felt the same way about me, which is exactly what I want for you.”

We look at each other silently for a moment, until I say, “Do you want to ask me any particular questions about sex?”

She wrinkles her nose. “We already had this talk.”

“A few years ago, before you’d even started your period.”

“Okay, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but us talking about sex in the same conversation you asked me if you should be dating the pool boy is way ick.”

“He isn’t a pool boy!”

She grins at my scowl. “Just checking to make sure you do really like him.”

I say drily, “Ah. You’ve got a bit of your grandmother in you, I see.”

“She’s not that bad.”

That makes me laugh. “Live with her for a week and see how you feel. Which reminds me, where is she?”

“Last I saw, she was in the laundry room folding towels.”

First dinner, now laundry. Next, she’ll be up on a ladder outside, painting the eaves.

That she’s trying to con me into letting her stay longer than a few weeks is obvious, but two can play that game. She can do all the housework she wants, but I’m not budging on that timeline.

My sanity can only withstand so much.

I rise, kiss Harlow on the forehead, and tell her I love her. She waves me off, pulls her book from my hand, and returns to reading. I watch her for a moment, a smile tugging at my lips and pride swelling in my chest. My daughter—so strong, so independent, so damn smart.

She’s the best thing I’ve ever done.

And if Nick dares to show up here drunk again, my mother won’t be the only one threatening him with a cleaver.

Over supper, the three of us sit at the kitchen table like a normal family and make small talk. The paella is delicious. Even Harlow, a notoriously picky eater, cleans her plate. There’s no mention of Nick, Carter, or any other sensitive topics, and everyone goes to bed that night in a good mood.

My good mood lasts until I walk into the office Monday morning and see the way people look at me.

The subtle smirk from the receptionist when I walk in.

The unmistakable snicker from an account executive in the coffee room.

The hushed whispers that trail behind me as I head through the cubicle field on my way to the weekly staff meeting.

The meeting ends without anything unusual happening, but the underlying tension in the air is obvious.

The cause of that tension becomes clear when my assistant brings me the weekly reports she prepares for my inspection. She sets them down on my desk, then folds her arms over her chest and gazes at me in silence with what appears to be deep concern.

“Is there something you’d like to say, Alex?”

“I was just wondering if you’re okay.”

“Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She hesitates a moment. “I assume you’ve seen the photos? The tabloid stories about you and Carter McCord?”

Sighing, I sit back in my chair and nod. “I take it everyone else has too.”

“It’s only the talk of the entire company.”

Curious despite myself, I look at her. “What’s the general consensus?”

“That you’re having a midlife crisis and Carter McCord is using you. The guys down in accounting started a betting pool on how long it will last. Odds are fifty to one that he dumps you by the end of the month.”

So now I’m an infamous, middle-aged cradle robber with my very own scandal-themed office lottery. I’d pour myself a drink if it wasn’t so early in the morning.

Perching on the edge of my desk, Alex leans toward me, lowering her voice. “You didn’t hear this from me, but word is that Hartman’s already looking for your replacement.”

My heart slams against my ribcage. I’m breathless for a moment, stunned, until anger unglues my tongue. “That’s not true. He can’t fire me for dating a competitor.”

Leaning back, she shrugs. “All I know is that he asked his admin to contact an executive headhunting firm. Said he wanted to set up some meetings.”

My mind is racing. Can this be real or is it just a rumor? “How do you know that?”

“His admin asked one of the girls in HR if she had a recommendation for a firm, then it got out from there.”

A cold knot tightens my stomach. If this is true and Hartman is already laying the groundwork to replace me, I’ve got bigger problems than I thought.

If I’m fired and I can’t find another position right away, Nick could use my unemployment against me. He could go to court to request full custody of Harlow, citing my inability to support her.

He could make good on his threat to take her away from me.

I force myself to breathe and push down the panic ballooning inside my chest. “I need to find out for sure,” I say, more to myself than her.

“Just be careful who you talk to,” she says, giving me a pointed look. “You can’t trust anybody around here.”

I nod, my head spinning with possibilities. Alex goes back to her desk, closing the door quietly behind her to leave me alone with my thoughts. As I’m sitting there, Carter sends me a text message.

Can’t stop won’t stop thinking about you. Happy Monday, beautiful.

He signs it with a heart emoji.

Needing to hear his voice, I quickly dial his number, unsure if he’ll be able to pick up. When he answers, relief floods through me.

“Hi! This is a surprise.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

His voice softens. “Nothing’s more important than this. How are you?”

“Not so great. My assistant just told me she heard Hartman’s looking for my replacement. Word is, he hired an executive search firm.”

“That fucker,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“Thank you for not saying I told you so.”

“For the record, I wasn’t thinking it either. Do you want me to come over there and break his nose?”

Tempted by the offer, I laugh. “Better not. I don’t want you getting arrested.” When he’s silent too long, I add softly, “If you’re thinking I’m regretting us, you’re wrong.”

“I just hate the thought of me being any kind of problem for you.”

“You’re not. Besides, he could be looking to replace someone else on the team. I don’t know anything for sure yet.” I pause for a moment to gather my thoughts. “I need to say something to you.”

“Holy fuck, that sounds terrifying.”

I wince at the fear in his tone. “I’m sorry, I should’ve prefaced that by letting you know it’s nothing bad.”

He exhales, then chuckles. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I know it can’t be easy dealing with an emotional wreck like me.”

“You’re not a wreck, Carter,” I say sternly. “You’re a wonderful man who’s trying his best. And I don’t like it when you talk badly about yourself. I wouldn’t let anyone else say negative things about you, so I don’t want to hear you do it either. Deal?”

His swallow is audible. “Deal,” he says, his voice husky. “Can I tell you that I adore you now or should I wait for the next time I’m inside you?”

I picture him doing every filthy thing to me that either of us can imagine and smile. “I adore you right back, handsome. Here’s what I was going to say before: I think you’d be an amazing father.”

His silence is stunned. Frozen. I can’t even hear him breathing.

I carefully choose my next words and keep my voice gentle. “I wasn’t backtracking there. I still don’t want more children. And I’m not trying to convince you that you should want them either. All I’m saying is that I think it’s a credit to your character that you’re working on yourself. My ex-husband has never once considered the needs of others before his own or how his shortcomings might affect other people. And I know it’s not fair to compare, but he’s got all the confidence in himself when he shouldn’t have any. You’re the better man by far, but you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

I pause to take a deep breath and close my eyes. I don’t know why this suddenly feels so imperative to say, but it does, so I’m saying it. “If we keep seeing each other—”

“If?” he interrupts loudly.

This stubborn, sensitive man. I don’t know if he’ll ever get comfortable with our relationship enough so that he doesn’t panic over my every choice of word, but I do know that I’m going to need a lot of patience to show him he can trust me.

And I am going to show him he can trust me, because he’s worth it.

“Rewind. How’s this: because we’re crazy about each other, and we’re both on the same page about where we hope this relationship is going, I spoke to Harlow about how she feels about that.”

“Oh God. She hates me. You’re breaking up with me. I knew this was too good to last.”

I have to stifle my sigh of exasperation. “Carter?”

“Yeah?”

“I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” he answers instantly. “What is it?”

“The next time you think I’m about to say something that will upset you, I want you to give me a little space to get the words out before you jump to conclusions. It’s not helpful to either of us if you always assume the worst. Can you do that for me?”

He groans. “I’m sorry. I’m such a—”

“Good man with a good heart,” I interrupt before he can insult himself. “Who makes me happy when he says nice things about himself instead of mean things.”

We sit in silence for a moment before he says cautiously, “So…you like it when I…”

“Demonstrate self-respect, yes.” Lowering my voice, I add, “It pleases me. And I know how much you like to please me, don’t you?”

As I knew they would, those words leave him breathless.

“Yes,” he says, his voice thick.

I whisper, “Good boy.”

He groans again, only this time it’s broken. “My dick is getting hard. When can I see you?”

Alex knocks on my open office door. I hold my finger up to let her know to give me a moment, then focus again on Carter. “Hopefully soon. I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

“You got it. Good luck with Hartman. My offer to break his nose still stands.”

Smiling, I decline, then we hang up. I look over at Alex waiting in the doorway. “What’s up?”

“Denise from HR called. She asked if you had any open time on your calendar today to stop by for a chat with the manager.”

A chat? That sounds suspiciously friendly coming from HR, especially in light of the rumors about Hartman and the search firm. “Did she say what she wanted?”

“No. But you’re open after lunch. Should I schedule it?”

I nod, steeling myself for what’s sure to be an interesting conversation. There’s no dodging this. Whatever’s coming, it’s already in motion. “Do it.”

When she leaves, I sit musing. Will there be attorneys present at this meeting? Maybe I’m about to be fired and humiliated in front of the entire company when they have security escort me from the building. Maybe Hartman’s going to scold me about Carter again, hoping this time, I’ll back down.

Or maybe I should follow my own advice and stop jumping to conclusions.

Only one thing’s for sure. I didn’t get this far in my career by kissing ass, playing it safe, or being intimidated.

If I’m going down, I’m going down swinging.