Page 90 of Stuck with Mr. Grump

“Really?” I ask, glaring up at him.

He smiles before practically falling onto the armchair in the living room.

“Sorry. I went out with Spencer Harrington. That man knows how to party.”

My brows furrow. “I thought you didn’t like him.”

“He’s not so bad,” he says on a shrug. “So, did you meet Sterling?”

“You sent him to me, didn’t you? Of course I did.”

“And how was it? Did you tell him about her?”

I shake my head. Carson looks disappointed.

“You can’t put it off forever, Emilia. I’ve been telling you to call him for over a year. And now he’s here. He deserves to know.”

“I’m very aware,” I sniff.

“You need to tell him. I still need to punch the bastard for getting you pregnant in the first place.” He scowls.

“Mind your own business, Carson,” I mutter.

He smirks, getting to his feet with a yawn, “I’m beat. I’m going to bed. See you tomorrow, little sister. Good night, cupcake,” he whispers at my sleeping daughter.

The room falls quiet and I spend a long time sitting there, rocking my baby as I consider what my next plan of action is.

A sharp ringing suddenly cuts across the silence in the room. I frown, wondering who could be calling me so late. When I grab my phone and see it’s an unknown caller, my stomach drops. I answer the call, even though I already know the person on the other end won’t say a word.

“Hello?” I breathe, feeling my heart pounding. “This is the third call in two months. If this persists, I’m going to report it to the police.”

The person on the other end doesn’t respond. Absolutely nothing but heavy breathing and crickets. I hang up two seconds later, tossing my phone onto the couch. It’s getting really creepy and I’m terrified.

Because although I’m not ready to admit it, the call might just be a sign that my past is about to catch up to me.

CHAPTER 24

Sterling

The rooftop is bathed in the soft glow of string lights and the fading hues of twilight as I take my seat at the elegantly set table. The city sprawls below me, stretching far and wide. I shift a little, fiddling with the collar of my shirt as I wait for Emilia to arrive.

I wanted to pick her up but she insisted on coming here herself. She finally arrives, a vision in a burgundy top and a short skirt that clings gracefully to her curves, the fabric catching every subtle movement she makes. Her hair, loosely tied at the nape of her neck, frames her face perfectly. I rise to my feet.

“Hey, beautiful,” I greet with a tentative smile, leaning forward to kiss her cheek.

She returns the smile with a warmth that makes my chest tighten. I move to pull her chair back, gesturing for her to have a seat.

“A private rooftop dinner?” she asks, smirking.

“I’m a Harrington, angel. Go big or go home is practically our motto,” I reply before moving to take my seat as well.

The private chef, a consummate professional whose presence seems to elevate the entire ambience, glides silently toward our table. He informs us that he’s prepared a five-course meal thathe hopes we’ll enjoy. In the background, soft piano melodies mix with the gentle murmur of the city. For a brief moment, the world narrows to just the two of us, an intimate oasis.

We begin with an appetizer, a delicate amuse-bouche of seared scallops atop a smear of citrus-infused puree, as the chef explained. I watch as Emilia delicately picks one up, her eyes briefly meeting mine as she shoots me a smirk I understand perfectly.

“It’s a little pretentious, isn’t it?” I ask, my tone carrying a teasing lilt.

“A little? This is, like, crazy fancy. I have never eaten anything like this before,” she exclaims.

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