Page 88 of Never Been Worse

“I have to ask you a question, and it’s important to me that you tell the truth.” I open my mouth to tell her I’ll always tell the truth, but she keeps talking. “The whole truth. No omissions, no nothing.” Now I'm nervous because the way she says it makes it clear she believes that I’ve done the opposite recently.

“Of course, Harper.”

She closes her eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath to center herself before they open again, and her eyes are locked on me. “Did you have a private investigator look into Jeremy?”

That takes me back, but slowly, I nod.

“Well, yeah. I...right after you told me about what happened with your designs, I got in touch with one.” I knew even then that Jeremy definitely had skeletons in his closet, and after he fucked with Harper, I wanted to make sure we knew what we were working with, just in case. Harper didn’t want to do anything to fuck with him, but at the very least, I didn’t want us to get blindsided with anything. I stare at her, my brow furrowed as I try and pick through what I know so far and understand what’s happening. “How did you know about that?”

“Does it matter?” she asks, attitude leaking into the words.

“Well, yes, because the point of a PI is to beprivate,and now you’re looking at me like you hate me, and I don’t like that at all. If part of that reason is because they told you something they found and it upset you, that’s going to be a problem.”

“Why were you hiding that from me?” she asks, disappointment and hurt lacing in her words, almost indistinguishable beneath the anger.

“I wasn’t—” I start, then remember her request that I not lie and realize I almost just did. I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up or for you to think we’d find something to get back at him. In my defense, while I agree I should have told you, it’s not like I was going to great lengths to hide it from you.” I reach out to push her hair back, desperate to touch her, but she steps away from me, putting her arms across her chest. “Harper?—”

“Don’t touch me,” she says. “I need to stay focused.”

“What?” I ask, fighting the small smile dying to come out because even now, angry and clearly out for blood, she’s fucking cute.

“If you touch me, it’ll mess with my head, and I won’t be as mad at you as I am.” She pauses and glares. “And I’m really mad at you, Wes.”

“You’re mad at me?” I ask, though it’s obvious she is, I’m just not super clear as to whyor how.

“Of course, I’m mad at you! You broke my trust, Wes.” My heart drops at her words, at the mere thought that I hurt Harper when I thought I was helping. “You didn’t tell me about the investigator, and that put me in a shitty position when Jeremy cornered me.”

The air in the room changes instantly as my gut twists and my blood starts to heat.

“You talked to him? Why would you talk to him? Why didn’t you tell me you were going to talk to him? When was this?” My own anger is rising to match hers because I don’t like the idea of that man breathing the same air as her, of her willingly putting herself in his presence, much less doing it behind my back.

She sighs and shakes her head before sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Not on purpose. I went out to grab coffee today, and he was there.”

“Why was he there?”

She shrugs. “To talk to me, I think. It was like heknewI’d be there somehow.”

“Is he following you?” I ask, sharp panic rushing through me at the idea of him following Harper or keeping tabs on her in any way. My mind moves through options to ensure she’s safe without suffocating her, already planning a call to Jaime to get a man on her. Though, it seems she got there before me.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so, Jaime didn’t find anything on my car, but I’m having him go through my phone in the morning to make sure there’s nothing hidden on there where he could track me. If you called me and I didn’t answer, that’s why.”

“Jaime knows about this?”

“I needed things from him, so yeah,” she says nonchalantly.

I decide I can tackle her talking toJaimebefore me later, instead focusing on the issue at hand. “So you talked to Jeremy at the coffee shop?”

“Not willingly. He forced me to sit with him because he told me he knew everything. He knows about you hiring a private investigator, about our marriage not being real.” I open my mouth to argue, but she keeps speaking. “He knows about Riggins and Stella’s baby. About their fears that the media would take it too far, that Stella is high risk.” I can feel the blood leave my face, making my head feel light with the panic of what she’s saying. Jeremy havinganythingover Harper is bad, especially with my gut feeling that he wasn’t going to just leave her alone after getting those first designs.

I can see it mirrored on her face: the panicked feeling of being backed into a corner. I can only imagine how she felt being sideswiped with this in public, where there were probably eyes on her, and she had to keep her cool. Guilt floods through me, but I force myself to push it aside to get through the rest of this conversation.

“How does he know?”

“Laurel,” she says, hatred taking over her face. “She called him after she was fired.”

My eyes close and I take in a deep breath. “I should have fucking listened to you about her.” Harper told me she was trouble after the first time she met her, but I didn’t listen. Laurel always seemed loyal, but it seems that was a facade. I’ll have to call my lawyers, since she violated her NDA and a dozen other clauses in her contract, but even if I sue her to high heaven, it won’t change the fact that Jeremy knows some of my—and my loved ones’— best kept secrets.

“You live and you learn. Next time, when your incredibly intelligent, beautiful, funny wife tells you someone is a red flag, you’ll listen.” I suppose her joking is a good sign, even if she’s doing it to cover the hurt and anger she clearly feels.

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