Page 41 of Dream Girl Drama

Sig didn’t say that out loud. Couldn’t. Hope was slipping through his fingers.

“I’m asking you for the last time,” Sig rasped. “Please.”

“Please call off the wedding to the woman I love?” Harvey scoffed. “No. You can’t ask me to do that. And Chloe’s relationship with Sofia is decent right now, despite what you’ve already done to ruin it, whisking her off to Boston with no warning.” He dropped his voice even lower. “Now, I’m proud of what you’ve done in the hockey world, but you’re a free agent come the end of the season, son. That doesn’t sound like a lot of security. Not like Sofia and this world can offer her. Sofia loves her daughter. But I’ll remind you what kind of shitstorm would erupt if something like this went public. You need to consider how your actions now are going to affect Chloe’s future. Or her relationship with her mother and Darien, in general.”

“Not a minute goes by that I’m not thinking of howeverything under the sunaffects her,” Sig said through his teeth.

Harvey appeared to be taken aback by his vehemence. “I’m marrying Sofia, Sig. What can you possibly do once that happens? Marry yourstepsister? Jesus, Sig. Pull your head out of your as—”

“Watch yourself,” Sig cut in quietly, causing the man to snap his mouth shut. “You might have the upper hand tonight, but you haven’t earned the right to speak to me like that.”

After a tense moment of eye contact, Harvey broke first, sighing. “I don’t want this to come between us. I don’t want it to come between Chloe and her mother, either.”

Sig studied Harvey hard and asked himself the same question he always did. Was this man genuine or was he all an act? A game player? It irked him that he couldn’t get a read, when he was usually adept at making judgments of someone’s character. Was his head too clouded by the past to see Harvey clearly? Was there an ulterior motive in play here or was it all in Sig’s head? If only his mother didn’t shut down every time Sig tried to speak to her about the past, all the circumstances surrounding her relationship with Harvey, maybe he’d have answers.

“Fair warning, I’ve hired my own investigator. If you have any skeletons in the closet, I’m going to rattle them.” He walked backward toward his truck, maintaining eye contact with Harvey the whole way. “You won’t hear the word ‘please’ from my mouth ever again.”

His father flinched, ever so slightly, but Sig caught it. “You won’t find... anything you can use.”

“We’ll see.” Sig started to climb back into the driver’s side of the truck, but he paused with a growled curse, remembering the other reason he’d driven three hours. “Listen. I need you to get me a blouse out of Chloe’s closet. Black-and-white silk. High, ruffled neck.”

“What?” Harvey exclaimed.

“Just do it.”

Ten minutes later, the truck engine blasted to life and Sig got back on the highway to Boston, blouse draped over the passengerseat, the words “you won’t find anything you can use” echoing loudly in his ears.

He refused to believe that was true.

Because if it was, where did that leave him?

Without her. That’s where.

A place he couldn’t fathom being.

Chapter Ten

Chloe peeked her head into the building to make sure the coast was clear, before sneaking into the vestibule and soundlessly opening her mailbox. A stack of envelopes and a Free People catalog dropped into her hand and she quickly stuffed the mail into her purse, making a mental note to show them to Sig later. Just to make sure there wasn’t anything important, like a bill. He was always complaining about bills being paid late, but nothing ever really happened when they were late, as far as she could tell.

Except for the rent.

Now whenthatwas late, her landlord let her know all about it. In fact, that was theonlytime she ever saw Angry Raymond. On the seventh or eighth of the month when the rent check hadn’t been dropped off yet, he seemed to sense when she entered the building and he would spring forth from his apartment like a haunted jack-in-the-box, shouting words like “late fees” and “grace period.”

Holding her breath, Chloe climbed the first few steps, wincing when the step let out a tiny whine—and like clockwork, Raymond shot out of his doorway like a demented whack-a-mole character in socks and sandals.

“Ms. Clifford—”

“I know. I know. I’ll drop it off tomorrow!”

“It was due last week.”

Chloe gasped. “It was?”

His withering sigh was mightier than the North Wind. “Why don’t you give me Mr. Sig’s number. I’ll sort it out with him.”

She was already shaking her head. “No, we cannot tell Mr. Sig. Mr. Sig doesnotneed to know.”

Chloe knew the exact look Sig would give her if he found out the rent was overdue. She’d seen it before. Three times to be precise, which didn’t seem like a lot until you considered she’d only lived in Boston for six months. He’d tilt his head to the right and narrow his left eye. “What am I going to do with you, Chlo?” he’d ask, fondly exasperated.

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