I hit my assistant’s line. “Debbie, I need you to block my calendar for the rest of the day to 'do not disturb'.”
“Yes sir,” she replied promptly.
Unfortunately, there was no one who could set the do not disturb button in my own head. Harper had taken up permanent residence in my mind and there was no shaking it off. Having her in my bed, spending the day with her without a care in the world.
In the grand scheme of things, I could deal with her in my head. As long as she didn’t end up living in my heart. Hell, as long as I didn’t end up in hers.
I had to do something about this. And soon.
How the hell I was going to tell her who I was without her slapping me in the face? Not that I couldn’t take a hit, I’d taken plenty for my useless twin over the last two weeks, but this one would hurt.
Giving up on working, I stood and grabbed my duffle bag. I needed a workout to relieve the tension.
An hour of weightlifting and pushups did nothing. I was back in my office still dwelling over what I was doing with Harper—convinced it was far worse than what my brother had done to her years ago.
He was simply inconsiderate, selfish and careless. My deceit was deliberate and calculating.
My betrayal couldn’t be attributed to stupidity. It was intentional and there was no way I should have taken her bed.
Debbie rang and I ignored it. Any other day, I’d have answered just to tell her off. But today, I was too angry and spared her my wrath, hoping it was an oversight and she wouldn’t call again.
The damn phone rang again.
I answered before I could stop myself. “Debb,” I seethed. But it wasn’t her name I was saying in my head. It was Troy’s, Eddie’s—hell even Harpers’—all the people responsible for me being out of my mind with stress.
“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Hartman, I have your mother on line one again.”
“Again?”
“I told her you weren’t taking calls earlier and she called back.”
I sighed. “Put her through.”
Usually Debb would say something like ‘sure thing’ or ‘putting her through now’ but when my mother’s voice came on a second later, I knew I’d pushed it too far with my assistant today.
“Working hard?”
“Always mom,” I said dryly.
“Okay well you got to tell me what you want next weekend.”
“Next weekend?”
“Didn’t you talk to Troy? You boys are coming over next weekend. Your dad and I are going to the game next Friday, after his suspension of course, and then you all can come spend the weekend.”
Mom hadn’t done too well with empty nest syndrome when we moved out and insisted on occasional weekends at their house on the beach in Staten Island. It wasn’t far, but between the two bridges and traffic at all hours of the day, it took forever to get to and there was nothing pleasant about those beaches—except for maybe the sunsets.
“Mom, it’s not a good week for me, could we maybe do…I don’t know, Christmas?” I chuckled, only half kidding.
She sighed. “I won’t take that personally, I know how important your job is.”
But not as important as Troy’s, I wanted to say. Since they often seemed to arrange these family weekends as it fithisschedule.
“But it’s going to be too cold at the beach house after Thanksgiving and…”
“Mom?” It wasn’t like her to trail off and it was already starting to get cold at the beach house. This was too sudden.
“Your father wants you both here. He said he wasn’t taking no for an answer.”
