Page 70 of Protected By the Grumpy Single Dad
“You just couldn't leave things alone, could you? I told you I was never interested in selling my diner to you. I didn't need your money, but you desperately needed me to sell, didn't you? You are so desperate that you've managed to run me out of myown house. My house, Harold!” I add his first name with as much menace in my voice as possible.
“Ms. Wallace—”
“And now, the one person who's been managing to help me through all of this is going to die because of your selfish need to have people squirming in your palm. You sent your guys to beat him up because he was helping me, didn't you.”
“Did you just come to my office to lay false accusations?”
“Oh, screw you and this stupid charade. Pretending is not going to get you anywhere. The doctors don't think Asher is going to make it through the night and it's all because of you. Do you hear me? Asher’s going to die. His son won’t have any parent! And it's all your miserable fault!” My rage is as real as it’s supposed to be. No longer an act, tears are threatening my ability to talk.
“Okay, I've entertained this enough,” he says, raising his hand and gesturing for me to stop talking. “If you're not ready to have a civil conversation, then I might as well call security back in to escort you out of the building.”
I breathed in the air filled with the smell of paper. “I'm not having a ‘civil’ conversation with you.” I move even closer to him, feeling my feet dig into the marbled office floor. “And if you think this is going to make me sell for some reason, you've never been more wrong.”
I turn around and head back to the door, ignoring the repeated calls of my name. It begins to dawn on me even more that I'm not just doing this for myself. I'm doing it for Asher too. Because I don't need to be puzzled anymore. My feelings have never been clearer, and it has never been more apparent to me. I'm in love with him and I have been for quite a while. Maybe since he put those handcuffs on me that first day. And I'm going to tell him just that when I get back to the hospital. Where we go from here completely depends on him.
Chapter twenty-one
Asher
Harold Swanson took the bait.
And the plan is working even better than expected.
The hours leading up to it were brutal. Hospitals at night have a way of playing tricks on you. Every beep of a monitor, every whisper of rubber soles against tile feels magnified. I kept staring at the clock on the wall, convinced the second hand was deliberately slowing to test my patience. My ribs throb with every shallow breath, and underneath the physical ache, a question gnaws at me:What if this doesn’t work?
Riley’s voice echoes in my head from earlier that day, when I’d tried one last time to talk her out of it.
“This may not work,” I’d told her, careful, measured, the way I’ve learned to argue cases in front of juries. “And if it backfires, we’ll be the ones paying the price.”
“Trust me.” She’d just smirked, like she had a private deal with fate. “If there’s anything you can easily prey on, it’s the egos of rich white men.”
I’d called Brick earlier to convince him that I’m okay and in no danger. All I have to do is lie here, I told him. I had asked David, the deputy who Brick knows best, to stay with him at my house overnight. He was so happy to do it, he brought along Otto and Gary. I guess Brick is having a real “guy’s night” with pizza, soda and TV way too late for a school night. I’m so grateful to my guys. Couldn’t ask for more.
The plan had been deceptively simple: Jasmine would go to Swanson, venting her fury and grief, telling him I was circling the drain. Dying. It wasn’t true—the doctor had assured me my injuries are painful but far from fatal. Fractures, bruises, tenderness in places I don’t want to move. Nothing life-ending. I’ll be good as new in a few weeks.
But Harold doesn’t know that. He thought he was walking into a victory lap.
The door creaks sometime after midnight, slicing through the steady hospital hush. My pulse spikes so hard it hurt. A shadow spills into the room before it’s owner did, and then Harold Swanson steps inside, all polish and self-importance. He stands by the door for a moment, watching me the way a vulture watches a wounded animal.
For a second, doubt claws at me. What if he saw through it? What if he walks out untouched? My chest tightens, not from broken ribs, but from the weight of what failure would mean—for me, for Jasmine, for all of us.
Then … he opens his mouth.
He starts small—muttered boasts, little slips of arrogance, words he probably thought would vanish into sterile air. But the longer he lingers, the bolder he becomes. He just couldn’t resist. Ego never can. Soon, the phrases tumble out, each one another nail in his coffin, each one captured by the device tucked away in plain sight.
Not a full confession. Men like Swanson are too seasoned, too careful for that. But enough. Enough to tie him to things he thought were invisible. Enough to justify the cuffs waiting for him in the next room.
I’d called for backup well before he arrived. Plainclothes officers milled in the hall, posing as restless visitors. When they heard what they needed, they slipped inside with practiced precision. The quiet crackle of handcuffs closing around his wrists was sweeter than any gavel’s strike.
Harold’s eyes widen, outrage flashing across his face as he realizes he’d outsmarted himself. He sputtered denials, but it was too late. He is dragged out into the harsh fluorescent light, no longer a kingpin but just another criminal in custody.
The adrenaline was still thrumming when she walked in. Jasmine.
Her presence hit me harder than the drugs in my IV. She fills the doorway, chest rising fast, eyes finding mine with a force that pinned me to the bed. Relief, fear, fire—all of it burning in her expression. And then she was at my side, leaning down before I could even find the words to speak.
Her lips crash into mine, and the sterile, lonely hospital room disappears. The kiss wasn’t tentative—it was raw, desperate, unrestrained, like she’d been holding back a dam and finally let it break. I taste the salt of her tears, the tremor of relief in her breath, and something inside me shatters and heals all at once.
That kiss tells me everything. She loves me. Not out of gratitude, not out of fear, but because somewhere along the chaos and danger, we’d found each other.
