I step closer. “That’s not your business.”
“It is when the police call me.”
The blood drains from my face. “Why would they call you?”
He haughtily snorts. “I’m the governor. I keep tabs on whoever I want but especially those on my payroll.”
“I am not working for you now or ever.”
He points his finger in my face. “You will.”
“Get your finger out of my face before I break it.”
“You have a temper, I see. You’re going to need to control it. At least until my campaign is over.”
I storm over to the door and swing it open. “Get the fuck out of my house, or I’m calling the cops. See how your voters like that.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t be ignorant. I own the cops. How do you think you got to stay at Quinn’s wedding tonight?”
My gut twists.
Another thing he’s going to hold over your head and tell him you owe him for.
“Get out. Now.”
“I’ll send over the financial data to your office Monday.”
“For the last time, I am not working on your campaign,” I growl.
He steps into the hall. “Those who resist regret it.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, Son, I’m simply speaking the truth.”
I slam the door and lock it then secure the dead bolt.
How did he get in here?
Why is he so adamant about having me work for him? What is he up to?
I pace for hours with the buzz of the night gone. The happiness I rarely feel evaporated in mere minutes, and the hate I feel for Maximillion only grows.
When I finally get in bed, I curse myself further. I should never have punched Mitch.
He insulted Harper.
You could have ruined Quinn’s wedding, and now you gave Maximillion another thing to hold over your head.
I don’t sleep very well and get up at five a.m. and go into my gym. Instead of doing my scheduled routine, I increase my weights, lifting more than I usually allow myself when I don’t have a spotter. I push past the point I should and keep doing more reps until I end up lying on the floor in a heap of sweat with my muscles spasming.
“Fuuuuck.” I grunt, gasping for air and unable to move for several minutes without my legs collapsing.
When I finally make it to the bathroom, I have to sit on the shower seat because my legs keep giving out.
I spend the early morning with ice packs on my quads. I pop a few anti-inflammatories and watch the sun come up.
I spiral about what Maximillion is up to and what I have he wants. The man only uses people. So I have something valuable he needs, but I don’t know what it is.
My alarm rings, and I stumble through the building and outside.
“You hurt yourself?” Ted asks when I get to my car.
“I’ll be fine, just had a hard workout this morning.” I get in before he can ask any more questions, wincing in pain, but am soon at Quinn and Jamison’s.
They stayed at a hotel last night but are having everyone over for brunch to open their gifts and say goodbye before they leave for their honeymoon. I do my best to try and walk normally, but there’s no getting over my limp.
Quinn’s eyes widen when I walk in. “Steven, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I’m fine.”
She hands Hope to Jamison and pulls me into the kitchen. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I repeat. “Is Mom here?”
“Not yet, why?”
“Nothing to worry about.” I force a smile. “Besides my fight, did your wedding turn out to be everything you wanted it to be?”
“Your fight added some excitement, that’s all. But yes, it was.”
“Good. I’m happy for you.”
She tilts her head.
“What?” I ask.
“Why did you overexert yourself in your workout?”
“Who said I did that?”
She crosses her arms. “I’m not stupid, Steven. What’s going on.”
“Nothing. Everything—”
“Stop telling me everything is fine. You always do this when something happens with him. Did he call, or did you see him?”
I don’t answer.
“That’s why you want to talk to Mom, isn’t it?”
More silence.
“What’s he want?”
“Quinn, go enjoy your party. This is your special weekend. Don’t worry about this.”
“Worry about what?” Jamison asks.
I spin. “Nothing.”
“He’s harassing Steven.”
“No one is harassing me,” I lie.
“Who?”
“The sperm donor.”
Jamison steps into the kitchen. “What’s he doing?”
“No one is doing anything. Let’s go enjoy your party.”
“No, you’re hurt. You only do this when he reaches out. Tell me what he’s done,” Quinn insists.
I cover my face with my hands and groan. “Quinn.”
“Tell me.”
“He called my office yesterday and told me I was going to run his campaign finances.”
The blood drains from her face. “What?”
“Yep. And last night, when I got home, he was in my living room.”
“How did he get in?”
“I don’t know. But he knew about the fight at your wedding. He said I didn’t get arrested because he pulled strings.”
“That’s not true. Chase knew the cop from an ambulance run he made with the team during training,” Jamison claims.
I shrug. “Not according to Maximillion.”
“You can’t work on his campaign,” Quinn states.
“You don’t think I know that?”
She puts her hands on my arms. “Steven, you can’t go on one of your pain paths.”
“My pain paths?”
“Yeah. Where you work yourself out to the breaking point, trying to rid yourself of him. You’re going to seriously injure yourself.”
“No, I won’t. I’m fine.”
“Stop saying you’re fine,” Quinn cries out.
“What happened?” Harper’s voice fills my ears, and I cringe inside and focus on the ceiling.
“Nothing,” I say.
At the same time, Quinn says, “Steven hurt himself. He worked out too hard because our sperm donor is harassing him.”
“Quinn,” I growl.
“What? If you’re going to be here all week looking after Hope, then Harper has a right to know why you’re limping around.”
God, this is so embarrassing.
“What part of your body did you hurt?” she asks.
“I’m fine,” I bark.
“His legs. He always hurts his quads. Except for that one time, you pulled your biceps.”
“Quinn, stop!”
Jamison steps between us. “Quinn, let’s give Steven a minute. Let’s go greet our guests.”
Quinn leaves, shaking her head at me.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
Jamison pats my back on the way out.
I put the tips of my fingers on my forehead and inhale a few breaths.
Harper’s scent drifts into my nose. I breathe a few more times before I open my eyes, calming a little.