Page 80 of My Totally Unfair Deal

I stay tucked in the back office. The last thing I need is another reminder of Harrison. I’ve done enough crying over him.

Then I hear it.

The low purr of a luxury engine coming down the main lane—the one lined with no-driving signs every ten feet.

I glance through the window and spot a black Escalade rolling right over the gravel.

Of course.

You can take these city boy guests out of Manhattan, but they’ll still disrespect posted signs—and the landscaping.

Time and time again.

Frustrated, I yank off my gloves and storm outside, stepping directly into the car’s path.

It finally halts at the tenth sign, and I don’t even hesitate before throwing up my middle finger. “Can’t you read, asshole?!”

The driver’s door opens.

And out steps Harrison.

Crisp white button-down. Dark blue jeans. No tie. No shield. Just him.

He removes his sunglasses slowly and looks right at me—expression unreadable, but those eyes… they drag over my dress, then back to my face.

My heart stumbles.

Don’t you dare fall for that again.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten everything I taught you that easily,” he says, stepping toward me. “Week one lesson: don’t flip off strangers in polite company.”

“You mean in that crash course you gave me on how to get abandoned and humiliated?” I fold my arms. “Yeah, I aced that one.”

“My brother should be back soon,” I add coolly. “You can wait on the porch.”

“I didn’t come to see your brother.” He winces and I notice a slight bruise under his left eye.

“Do you have a reservation at this resort, then?” I raise a brow. “Because if not, I’m calling security?—”

“Go ahead.” He keeps walking. “I’ve called you for six days straight. Did you block me?”

“No.”

“Then why haven’t you answered?”

“Because I have better people to talk to,” I snap. “You got what you wanted, Harrison. You said the deal was done. So if you don’t mind?—”

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

He says it fast. Like he’s been holding it in.

“I should’ve never let you go like that. I should’ve been there for you after the conference, and every day since.”

My breath catches, but I steel myself.

“Come back when one of those ‘sorries’ erases all the nights I cried over you,” I say. “Apology unaccepted. Now get off my property.”

“I’m sorry for not calling sooner. I should’ve fought harder—for you, for us.” He inches closer. “I screwed up, and I know it. But I need a chance to make it right.”

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