Page 29 of The Final Faceoff
Cue waterworks. I’m sobbing desperately—what is wrong with me? Usually I would fight him for bringing up things that I told him in confidence, not to use them against me. I can’t today.
“You’re my best friend, Hailey. And that means I’ll always be in your corner, whether you want me there or not.” He pauses. “Especially when you don’t.”
Something in my chest cracks, threatening to split wide open.
I force another laugh. “Ugh, why do you have to be so . . . like this? I can’t with you.”
He grins. “That’s the spirit.”
I roll my eyes. “You really think moving into your house is going to fix all my problems?”
He lifts a brow. “No. But I think it’ll make it easier to figure them out.”
I hesitate.
Because the truth is . . . I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t have a plan. I don’t even have a place and searching for one has been difficult.
I chew my lip. “You sure you can handle me as a roommate?”
He smirks. “Hailey, I’ve been handling you for years.”
I groan. “Wow. And I was almost starting to be convinced.”
“I’d be worried if you weren’t giving me a hard time.” He tilts his head. “So, what do you say?”
As I’m about to say nope, he adds something that can only be described as a low blow. “Think about the baby, Hailey Bean. You can’t be jumping through hotels or rentals during your pregnancy.”
“That’s low even for you, Crawford.” I glare at him.
He grins. “I know. Let’s pack your shit and leave. I’ll even let you choose what we’re eating today.”
“Ooh, we’re ordering takeout?” I clap, excited.
“Nope. I got a chef—Scottie’s idea. She thinks it’ll help me keep a more nutritious diet during the season when I don’t have time to cook.”
“Your family is not going to be happy with this,” I say, not sure if it’s just a comment or my last chance to push him out.
“My family is the total opposite from yours—they’re going to be thrilled that we’re having a baby.”
Well, at least someone is thrilled. Me? I don’t know how to be.
ChapterEleven
Leif
What to Do When You Have No Defenders and No Backup
The first thing I notice when Hailey walks into my penthouse is that she hates it.
She doesn’t say she hates it, obviously. Hailey is far too skilled at feigning indifference for that. But I know her too well. I know the way her nose scrunches just slightly when she encounters something that offends her soul. I know the way her arms fold across her chest when she’s debating whether or not to roast me. I know the way her lashes flutter a little too fast when she’s trying to convince herself she’s not standing in the middle of something objectively absurd.
Right now? She’s doing all three.
I lean against the kitchen island, watching her take in the ceilings, the sweeping skyline framed by floor-to-ceiling glass, the emptiness of the space that screams, ‘billionaire villain with an affinity for monochrome.’
She turns slowly, assessing me with the kind of practiced patience that comes from years of knowing exactly who she’s dealing with.
“Leif.”
