Hero in Disguise

by Sharla Lovelace

  “That’s right,” she said with a look, “he works for the Jerichos. And when a Jericho twitches a finger, he has to come running.”

  Jake winced. Was it like that?

  “Well, hopefully he gets paid well,” he said.

  “Not well enough to quit doing it,” she said. “Has to be hard, trying to run a business and being at someone’s beck and call at the same time.”

  And he’d just done that to Frankie. Shit.

  “Yeah,” he said. “So.”

  She met his eyes. “So.”

  “I didn’t just show up for a booty call,” he said.

  “You always carry condoms in your front pocket?” she said, laughing.

  “Well,” he said, grinning as he looked away. “I was taught to always be prepared.”

  “Don’t tell me you were a Boy Scout.”

  “Hardly,” he said. “But the man who taught me probably was.”

  “Your dad?”

  His phone buzzed and he glanced at it, shaking his head.

  I’ll be downstairs in 10 mins.

  “Ten minutes,” he said, looking at her seriously. “There’s a lot to say in ten minutes.”

  “Look, Jake.” She folded her fingers under her chin. “We don’t have to make this a big thing. It happened. I think we were pretty sure it was going to. We had a good time.” She averted her eyes. “It doesn’t have to mean any more than the last time did.”

  Jake narrowed his eyes. “The last time.”

  Harper held up a finger. “I know what I said. But remember how young we were, and it was my first time, and—”

  “So you didn’t mean it?”

  He was kind of messing with her. Or if it were anyone else, it would be messing with her. Truth be told, he really wanted to know.

  “I—” Her whole face went pink. “I mean, we—what we had didn’t mean anything special to you.”

  “Really,” he said. “That’s the second time you’ve assumed that.”

  “Come on, Jake.” She rolled off him, giving him a beautiful back view as she sat. “Don’t pretend that an eighteen-year-old boy had that much depth, and then hauled ass.”

  He knew he should go with that. She was letting him off the hook. But his insides twisted at the description of a player that—in her case—he wasn’t. Leaving her had been horrible, but it was the first price in a lifelong bill for lying about who he was. And her cavalier attitude about all of it—just didn’t fit.

  She patted his chest and got up, while Jake’s finger scrolled and tapped on his phone independent of what he should do. Till the music was brought up.

  Don’t do it.

  He hit Play before she could make it across the room.

  When I saw you standing there . . .

  She stopped.

  I ’bout fell off my chair . . .

  She stood there, her back to him, for the entire first chorus, and when the lyrics got to the part about her blue eyes, she turned slowly. When she met his gaze, her eyes were wet with tears. That reaction was like a dropkick to the chest, and told him volumes more than her bogus little speech had.

  Fuck.

  “You remembered that?” she whispered through the lyrics that once made them.

  His phone buzzed, pausing the song temporarily and breaking the moment.

  I’m here.

  Something like panic settled in his gut as he looked at her, standing there naked and vulnerable. Like he was messing up the timing. Like he was losing his window. The overwhelming feeling that this was it was a sharp pain under his ribs, and he was torn between pulling her back to bed and running out the door.

  He hit Stop on his phone and she blinked, swiping at her cheeks.

  “Boys have first loves, too,” he said quietly, swinging his legs to the floor. He walked to her, never breaking eye contact as he watched his words register on her stunned face. He tipped her chin up and kissed her. “Frankie’s downstairs, I have to go,” he whispered.

  Harper nodded, and he turned away to pull on his jeans and shirt and shoes. When he looked again, she had on a large T-shirt and shorts, her hair up in a ponytail, looking not much older than that girl he’d left behind.

  The last time.

  Why were those words eating him? Why did he have to go kiss her again, touch her again, see that smile—again—before he could finally walk out that door?

  He got into the front seat of Frankie’s town car, bringing a look he was in no mood to address.

  “I owe you,” was all he said.

  Not another word was spoken.

  • • •

  Harper walked around in a daze during the first few minutes of solitude. She picked up her pajamas from the floor, straightened the bed, and smelled his stupid-ass pillow.

  Ugh! Sometimes she hated being a girl. Mooning. Reliving every second. Including the sentence where he admitted he should leave again, standing in her doorway. And ending with that gut-checker about first loves.

  A dark object under the edge of the bed caught her eye as she pulled the comforter straight. A folded lump of—oh, his wallet. It must have fallen out of his pants.

  “Damn.” She extracted the wallet and ran her fingers over the expensive leather, soft and supple. She felt a little rush in her belly about the memory of pulling his jeans off and dumping them on the floor. Of him begging her to get the condom. “Guess he might have to come back,” she said, picking up her phone to text him as she opened it for the address. “Or I could call a cab or Uber and surprise him with it. Obnoxious money, but hey, some sacrifices—”

  The words died on her lips when her eyes settled on the ID inside. The handsome picture staring back at her was undoubtedly Jake, but the address wasn’t a Greenwich Village one. It was West 57th Street. Harper heard the bump of her phone hitting the rug before she even registered that it had slipped from her hand. Because every cell in her body was zeroed in on one thing. The name next to Jake on the ID. Jericho.

  It. Was. Jericho.

  • • •

  The car pulled up to Metro Tower on West 57th, and Jake hesitated before opening the door. Frankie hadn’t spoken during the ride, and while on one hand Jake was glad, he felt that something needed to be said.

  “Frankie—”

  “I need this job.” He stared straight ahead. “And I like what we’re trying to do. But she’s family to me. And she’s trusting you while you’re lying to her.”

  “I know.”

  “No, you don’t know,” Frankie said. “How do you think she’s gonna feel when she finds out who she just slept with?”

  Jake inhaled deeply and let it go, looking ahead but only seeing Harper’s face as she turned when he played that song.

  “All I’m saying,” Frankie continued, “is I don’t care who you are. If you fuck her over again, I’m done. With all of it. In fact, if you know you’re going to, tell me and I’ll be done right now.”

  Jake blinked. That was loyalty. That was family beyond blood. Something he’d only experienced for a short time. On a ranch in Montana.

  But what could he say? He wasn’t out to fuck her over, and he’d rather die than hurt her, but could he say that he wasn’t going to? No. He already knew the direction of their train, and it was straight off a cliff.

  He opened his door, got out, and closed it behind him. It was the best answer he could give. As Frankie drove away, Jake rubbed a hand over his face and walked inside, nodding at the security guard. He reached into his back pocket to retrieve his key card—and froze.

  • • •

  Harper didn’t remember walking four blocks to find a cab near the bridge. Or telling the driver where to go. She didn’t remember putting on a bra or shoes. She just found herself there, on the sidewalk in front of Metro Tower, staring at the glass doors after telling the driver to wait.

  Her reflection stared back. Oversized T-shirt and shorts, messy ponytail, flip-flops, no makeup in a district of suits and leather bags and expensive shoes, even on a Su
nday whizzing past her like she was part of the sidewalk. This fast-paced, high-dollar, high-maintenance world that was so different from her side of the bridge.

  She didn’t belong there. She didn’t belong—Harper opened his wallet again and let the fire bolster her, the rage swallowing the hurt that threatened to take her down.

  Walking inside, she saw the questioning gaze as she approached the desk, and she pulled out her hair tie. It might have been a mess from drying naturally and then romping all over the bed—her breath caught on the memory—but at least she wouldn’t look thirteen.

  God, what she’d done. With an impostor. Everything she’d given. Twice. Everything she’d talked about with him. It was nauseating. It was—

  “Can I help you?” the guard said.

  “I need to see Jake—Jericho,” Harper said, her tongue struggling with the word.

  “Is Mr. Jericho expecting you?” he asked.

  “Not exactly,” she said. “But he just came from my place and he left his wallet,” she added, holding it up. “I’m returning it.”

  The changed look on the guard’s face as he stood told her she’d said something very wrong.

  “No—I didn’t steal it,” she said as he approached, palming his weapon. “I found it under my bed. After he left.”

  It wasn’t getting better.

  “Minus the cash and credit cards, I’m sure?”

  “What?” she exclaimed. “I have no idea. All I saw was Jake Jericho, and I assure you that was enough. And seriously—who would steal a wallet and return it in person?”

  “Why don’t I call him and ask him that question?” the guard asked snarkily.

  “Please do,” she said. “Tell him his wallet has some questions.”

  “Mr. Jericho,” the guard said haughtily into a receiver. “Your wallet was found—” He stopped, and his lofty expression faltered during the pause. “Yes, sir, a young woman.” He glanced at her. “Yes, she’s still here.” He put the phone down. “He’s on his way.”

  Harper’s throat closed. “Let me guess. From the penthouse?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Oh, God,” she choked, turning around.

  “Ma’am? The wallet?” he said. “Why don’t you—”

  “Oh, I’m not bolting with it, relax,” she bit out. “I want to see his lying face personally when he—”

  The elevator door opened silently and there he was. Standing there in the same clothes he’d just left her in. The same clothes she’d peeled from his body last night. Looking tousled and rougher than when he’d left.

  Her arms came up and around herself automatically as he walked toward her. Defensive. Protective. She backed up two steps and glared through hot tears at the man who wouldn’t blink. The man she thought she—

  Thrusting out the wallet as if it burned, she turned away from the eyes that looked as raw as hers felt. It was easier to look around at the building. The deception. The lie. This was the world that the boy she’d loved came from. This was why he bailed. She’d been a plaything.

  She wasn’t enough.

  “Don’t talk to me,” she said. “Don’t say my name.”

  “Please, let me—”

  “Take your damn wallet!” she forced out as the tears spilled hot tracks down her face.

  He took it from her fingers and she was free. She was done. She could leave. So why were her legs paralyzed?

  “Adam 12 over there will want you to check the contents,” she said.

  The guard focused on his screen as if it suddenly sprouted celebrity porn.

  “Take a break,” Jake said to him.

  The guard sputtered. “Sir.”

  “Take. A. Break,” he repeated.

  The guard looked around uncertainly, and then palmed a pack of cigarettes and headed through a side door.

  “Well, aren’t you just the voice of God?” Harper hissed. “Gonna order me to do something next?”

  “Harper.” He squeezed his thumb and forefinger over his eyes. “I’m sorry. I never meant—”

  “Never meant?” she spat. “Twice, Jake. Jake Jericho. Twice you fooled me. You played me. You got me,” she choked, tears pouring down her cheeks. Shoving her fist into her chest, she pushed the words past her clogged throat. “You had me, you motherfucker. All of me.”

  His face reacted with every word as if each one were a blow.

  “It wasn’t like that,” he said.

  “It wasn’t like that?” She stepped so close she could see he’d been crying, too. It didn’t matter. He could cry for the next hundred years. “It wasn’t a lie?”

  “Not the first time,” he said. “Not on purpose. I liked being with you. I liked working at the kitchen, and I couldn’t do that as me. When things got heavy, I knew I’d messed up.” He stepped forward, his mouth working. “That it was something real.”

  “Fuck you,” she cried.

  “You are the only woman I’ve ever—”

  He stopped and she smirked. “Trouble with the words?” she said, her voice a whisper. “And this time, you were no gullible boy. You knew everything you were doing.”

  “And I couldn’t stop.” He raised his voice. “That’s what you do to me. That’s why I left,” he said, stepping forward as she stepped back. “Before my world or my father could strip the good from it.”

  Harper gasped as he grabbed her hand and she tried to pull away, but he held fast.

  “Feel that?” He pressed her hand to his chest. She felt heat. She felt his heartbeat racing. She felt too much. “That’s me, Harper. That’s my heart going ninety miles an hour just because you’re standing in front of me. I’m still me, regardless of what my name is.”

  He let go of her hand and she kept it there on his chest, unable to break the contact. Wanting all this to not be true.

  “I didn’t know about the sale, Harper.” He held a finger to her lips when she pulled away and started to protest and stilled her. “I swear on everything. On my mother’s soul, my life, and that song I played for you. I knew nothing. Ask Frankie. He’s the one who told me.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she pulled her hand back as another betrayal socked her in the stomach. “Frankie knew, too? He did this to—”

  “Frankie is my driver, Harper. I put him in a bad spot. Don’t be mad. He’s very protective of you. He even threatened to quit on me,” Jake said. “He did everything short of kicking my ass, and I’m still not sure that’s off the table.”

  “So you want me to believe that your driver had to tell you what your company is doing?” she said, laughing bitterly. “I may be a moronic sap for letting you dupe me, Jake, but even I’m not that stupid.”

  “Harper, stop,” he said softly, looking pained. “Don’t berate yourself. I did this, and I’m sorry. As for We Are New York, that’s my father’s baby, and when I say that, I mean it’s much more his child than I am. And I—I haven’t been very involved with the company.” He rubbed his jaw, looking exhausted. “I will be, now. The plan I told you about will happen.”

  “You’re going to stand against your father?” Harper asked, feeling drained. She wiped at her face.

  “Yes.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Not because of me.” There wasn’t a her. There wasn’t a them. Not anymore.

  “I’m not,” he said. “Not entirely. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing. And my father is too big of an ass to see it.”

  She nodded. And there was nothing else to say.

  It was time. Time to go, time to cut their losses, time for her to go back to her world and get out of this limelight, especially here in this glaring lobby. She needed to be miserable in her own cone of solitude.

  “Well, good luck with that,” she said, turning away.

  “Harper,” he said, a hand on her arm.

  “Please let me go,” she said.

  “Just—come upstairs for a little while,” he said. “Please. We can talk.”

  Sh
e looked back, into his eyes, and recognized the rawness in them. He looked distraught enough. But could she ever know anything for sure?

  He may still be him, but they were from different worlds. One that made him lie to her about everything. Twice.

  She shook her head and pulled out of his grasp. “Good-bye, Jake.”

  Chapter Nine

  Jake strode through the executive floor with a purpose, none of his usual swagger coloring his path.

  “Morning, Mr. Jericho,” came his direction in surprised tones several times, but unless he stared into the person’s eyes who’d said it, he didn’t respond. He wasn’t there to flirt or score tickets to a game. He was there because it was a Monday. Because it was the quarterly board meeting. And because if he had to pay the price of being a Jericho, then by God he was going to be a fucking Jericho.

  He rounded the corner through the glass doors and turned a sharp right instead of heading to his father’s area. To his own office. A place where he didn’t spend a lot of time. A sparse place of windows, glass and pictures of ancient buildings. One gorgeous natural oak double bookshelf filled up one corner, only used for celebrity snapshots and classic record albums.

  He’d bring more. Because things were about to change.

  Marco was on the couch, tapping into his laptop, his feet crossed on a thick glass coffee table.

  “Coffee’s made,” he said without looking up. “And I’m so getting a raise after this.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” Jake said. “Since we’ll probably be fired.”

  “He won’t fire you.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “Nah,” Marco said. “He cares too much about his image.”

  Nina appeared around the door. “I thought I saw you.”

  “And what she thinks,” Marco continued.

  “What about what I think?” she asked.

  “I was saying, your—boss won’t fire Jake and me because you’d kick his ass,” Marco said, still typing away.

  “Well, Jake maybe,” she said with a wink. “But stepping up for you will cost you.” She perched in a soft leather chair. “Is there some reason I’m going ninja that I don’t know about?” She gave Jake a once-over. “Besides the scruff?”