Page 11 of Georgia Guy
“Ouch, okay,” I say. “Well, if you’re going to spend the night roughing it out here in this ultra-luxurious leather seat that reclines all the way back, then I guess I will, too.”
“Such a gentleman,” she murmurs. Turning serious, she adds, “But I have lots of work to catch up on, so really, take the bed, if you want it.”
I shake my head to decline, but her attention has already shifted focus to her laptop’s screen. Feeling dismissed, I lean my chair back and decide to just close my eyes for a minute.
The next thing I know, the pilot announces that we are making our final approach and for Flo to prepare for landing.
After Flo does a final check on us, Alex glances up at me over her computer screen. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
I use the automatic button to raise my seat before yawning and stretching my arms high over my head. “Did you get any sleep?”
“No, but I don’t need much,” she says.
“Oh, Morrows aren’t like us mere mortals, huh?” I tease her.
“Exactly,” she agrees. “I’m so glad you get it.”
We grin like fools at each other, which makes me hopeful that she enjoys my company even half as much as I enjoy hers.
In a flash, we land and are whisked from the plane and into an awaiting limo. As we ride in the back of the car toward the current address I dug up for Harlow, it hits me that I’m about to walk straight into the lion’s den with Alex by my side.
“Perhaps I should go in alone to see Harlow,” I suggest, even though I’m fairly certain that Alex will never go for it.
Proving me right, she scrunches her manicured brows together before saying, “I didn’t come all this way to sit in the car.”
Narrowing her eyes, she guesses, “Are you scared to have me meet your ex? Do you think she’ll tell me something embarrassing about you?”
“No.” I try to sound firm, but my voice comes out in a higher pitch than normal, as if I’m a teen struggling through puberty.
“Hmm,” Alex presses her lips together, making it obvious that she doesn’t believe me.
I stare out the window at the passing scenery, silently cursing myself. In trying to dissuade Alex from talking to Harlow, I’ve somehow managed to make it even more intriguing to her.
All too soon, we arrive at the small house that bears the address listed for Harlow. Looking out the limo’s window as our driver pulls to a stop, Alex says, “I hope she hasn’t already left for work.”
I scoff at the mere idea of it. At Alex’s questioning gaze, I say, “Harlow is not an early riser. The only way she isn’t here is if she’s still out partying from last night.”
Alex gapes at the local time on her phone as if she can’t imagine someone staying out until the next day, but she refrains from commenting on it.
My nerves kick into overdrive as the two of us approach Harlow’s front door.
Showing no signs of apprehension, Alex opens the screen door and pounds on the thick wood of the home’s front door. When we don’t hear any signs of life from inside, she begins relentlessly pressing her pointer finger into the doorbell.
“I see that patience isn’t one of your virtues,” I tease her.
Alex shrugs. “We came all this way, so we might as well make sure she’s awake.”
From inside the house, we hear a muffled voice say, “Geesh. Hold your horses. I’m coming.”
A rumpled, irritated, and still-beautiful Harlow swings the door open. “What the hell is so damn import––”
Her sentence cuts off abruptly at the sight of Alex. Wide eyes travel back and forth between the two of us as Harlow obviously struggles to believe that the two of us are on her front porch.
“What?… Why?… Joe?…” Harlow asks, clearly hoping that I’ll help her make sense of this.
“Hello, Harlow. May we come inside?” I ask a little too formally.
The woman nods her head and swings the door wide open. Swiping a hand down the T-shirt and shorts that she obviously slept in, she says, “I’d have gotten dressed and cleaned my house, if I’d known you were coming.”
