Page 74 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband
"Is that what you think this is? A complication?"
"Isn't it?" Her voice cracks slightly. "We've been sneaking around, lying to people, putting both our careers at risk. Maybe Harrison's right. Maybe we've been so caught up in the excitement of the forbidden that we haven't been thinking clearly."
"That's bullshit and you know it."
"Maybe the universe is giving us a pretty clear sign that this isn't meant to work."
Before I can respond, her phone buzzes on the coffee table. She glances at it, and I watch all the color drain from her face.
"What is it?"
She picks up the phone with shaking hands. "Another text. From the anonymous number."
Air rushes out of my lungs in a single hard punch. "What does it say?"
She shows me the screen:
Saw the captain entering your building again tonight. Story goes live tomorrow unless you want to make this worth my while.
Tessa looks at me with tears streaming down her face. "You have to go to Boston, Dax. Take the captaincy, start fresh, find someone who doesn't come with all this drama."
"Stop talking like this is over."
"Isn't it?" She gestures at her phone. "Someone's about to destroy both our careers anyway. At least if you take the Boston deal, one of us comes out of this okay."
"I'm not leaving you to deal with this alone."
"You're not leaving me. I'm setting you free."
"What if I don't want to be free?"
"Then you're an idiot." She tries to smile, but it comes out broken. "Take the deal, Dax. Be the captain you were born to be. Let me handle the fallout here."
I stare at her, this incredible woman who's trying to sacrifice herself for my dreams, and I realize that every choice Harrison gave me was designed to make us both lose.
CHAPTER 17
TESSA
My phone buzzes at exactly 6:47 AM, and the message that appears makes my blood turn to fucking ice water.
Story goes live tomorrow at noon. Last chance to comment. - M. Romano, Chicago Tribune
"No, no, no." I'm pacing my apartment in yesterday's clothes, having spent the night stress-cleaning my already spotless kitchen while spiraling about every possible worst-case scenario. "This is not happening."
I call Dax immediately, my hands shaking so badly I can barely hit his contact.
"Tessa? What's wrong?"
"Romano. The reporter from the café. He's publishing tomorrow." My voice cracks on the last word. "Dax, we're fucked. We are so completely, utterly fucked."
"Breathe. Where are you?"
"My apartment. Hyperventilating. Possibly having a mental breakdown."
"I'm coming over. Don't do anything stupid while I'm driving."
"Like what? Set my career on fire? Too late for that."
