Page 122 of One Wrong Move

“You did? I’ve already worked out?—”

“Some kind of payment plan. Yeah, they told me,” he says. “But I don’t want you to worry about it. I took care of it.”

Dread sinks through me like a stone in a pond. “Don’t tell me you paid it in full.”

“I did,” Dean says. “It’s not right to keep them waiting, Harper.”

“I wasn’t going to keep them waiting. I was going to pay it off in four months, with interest, and they said they were fine with?—”

“I’m fine with handling it,” he interrupts. “And who knows, we might even be able to get some kind of future credit if we hire them again. They’re usually fully booked.”

“Dean, I told you I wanted to pay my half. I’ve told you this over and over again.” I run a hand over my face, struggling to keep my voice steady. Across the kitchen island Nate has gone very still.

Damn. He’s hearing all of this. Seeing all of this. Embarrassment mixes with frustration within me.

“You don’t have to,” he says. “I got you, honey. I’ll always have you.”

“No, you won’t. You can’t. That’s the whole point—we’re not together anymore.”

“No, we’re not,” he says. “And that was your decision. A decision I still don’t understand. I thought we had it good. Didn’t I treat you nice?”

“Yes, you… that’s not what this is about. I have tried to explain this to you. I told you that night,” I say, “exactly why I made this decision. And I will pay my half of the wedding expenses.”

“Okay,” Dean says, but it’s his placating voice, the one I hate the most. It sounds like he’s speaking to a child who doesn’t understand any better. “I’m sure you will. In due time. There’s no rush, Harper.”

Only that he’ll continue being wedged in my life until my debt is paid. And now, it’s not the caterer or the venue that are my creditors. He is.

When all I want is to stand on my own two feet.

And Dean knows it, damn it. He knows that I’ll want to pay back what I owe, and to do that, I’ll have to keep in contact with him. Irritation strikes me so hot and fast that it brings tears to my eyes.

“Dean,” I say. “You called my mom a few weeks back. I never want you to do that again.”

His voice takes on a tone of feigned hurt. “We were almost family, Harper. I care about your mother. She and Greg don’t understand what happened, either.”

“Don’t call them again. I mean it.”

“I can’t make that promise.”

Frustration makes me groan into the phone. “Why are you doing this? Why can’t you just let me go? What’s the point, Dean?”

He’s silent for a long moment.

Like I’ve actually stumped him for once.

“You left me,” he says. “And that was the wrong move.” His voice comes across as confident, but there’s a hint of wobbliness to his words.

“Screw you,” I whisper. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Have a good night in London, Harper,” he says. “Enjoy the food. I sure miss your cooking.”

The line goes silent, and I put the phone down with a trembling hand. The exasperation feels so palpable in me that I need to scream, to cry, to thrash. Something. Anything.

I rub my eye, but tears have already overflowed. They race down my cheek, and I hurry to brush them away.

“Harper,” Nate says. His voice is soft in the otherwise quiet kitchen, punctuated only by the sound of boiling water.

“I hate him,” I say fiercely. More tears make it hard to see, I’m so angry. “I hate him, and I know he’s your be— your best friend, but I hate him so much. Why can’t he just listen to me? Why can’t he leave me alone?”

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