Hardwired (The Hardwired Series 1)(59)

Blake buried his face in my neck. “You’re mine,” he whispered.

I squeezed my eyes shut and held him close. He had no idea how true that was.

We lay, breathless and sated, on the bed, side by side. I admired Blake’s amazing body stretched out before me. I trailed my fingers lightly over the raised flesh on his back where I’d dug into him harder than I meant to.

“I got you,” I whispered.

“If you keep touching me like that, I’m going to get you.”

I giggled and rolled to my back, mesmerized by the moment and unable to take my eyes off the beautiful man in my bed. He propped himself up and stared at me.

“That was incredible, by the way,” he said. He tucked my hair behind my ear, tracing my curves, as if he were committing them to memory.

“Why is that you can trust me with your body, after everything you’ve been through? And while I’ve built and sold dozens of businesses, you won’t trust me with yours?”

I groaned and closed my eyes. He wasn’t going to let a little f*cking get in his way. In fact, he’d likely use it to his advantage.

“The business is everything to me.” I cringed as the words left me, but in some ways, it was true. “That’s not what I meant. The business, it represents years of effort. Not just the time I spent building it, but the years I spent putting myself through school and becoming who I am.”

“Yes, and…”

“When we’re together it means something to both of us. I do trust you, more than I’ve ever trusted anyone. But what about when something happens between us, or you get tired of my little business venture? What if it becomes a drain on you, or fails?”

“The amount of money you’re asking for is inconsequential to me,” he said. “It’s unlikely, if not impossible, that it could ever become a drain. Plus, I wouldn’t let a business I was involved with fail.”

“Then why didn’t you just invest when you had the chance? What’s the difference now, other than you flying into a rage every time I get within five feet of another man?”

“I was more interested in figuring you out than writing you a check. I knew if I passed, Max would pick it up. I was right. Now...things are different. I care about you, and I want to care about the things that matter to you.”

The proclamation settled over me, and a little part of me even wanted to give in. I’d spent weeks harboring doubts about the business because he’d passed so easily. To know that he’d seen value from the start was reassuring, but this didn’t change the fact that mixing business with pleasure, at least to this degree, was a terrible idea.

“I appreciate that, but it’s not a good reason to invest. It’s bad enough that you and Max have issues, but I can’t put the business at risk if you and I have tension. It’s just too much.”

He was silent, but I sensed that the conversation was far from over. He drew me closer and tucked me against his chest where I fell asleep, warm and safe.





* * *

I checked my email in the morning, still worn out from the previous night. Blake had woken me more than once, possibly attempting to screw me into surrender on the investment issue. I didn’t argue, but I didn’t surrender, at least when it came to the business.

I fished through the junk mail until I hit a message from Sid titled “Results.” My stomach dropped.





Erica,

Wasn’t as hard as I thought. Daniel Fitzgerald, Class of 1992, Economics major. Google “Daniel Fitzgerald Boston.”

Sid.





I opened a new tab and typed in the search. The first result showed attorney biographies at a law firm where his name was listed first as a partner. The second result was an official website for Daniel Fitzgerald’s run for governor of Massachusetts, featuring a stylish red, white, and blue logo and a catchy campaign slogan. Beneath was a photo of an aged version of the man in the photo. Oh God. I scrambled for my phone and called Marie.

“Hey, baby girl,” she answered happily.

“Daniel Fitzgerald,” I said.

“What?”

“That’s the man in the photo.”

“Oh.” She sounded more resigned than surprised.

“I know Mom didn’t tell me for a reason, but I need to know.”

“Erica, I—”

“Marie, I have a right to know. You were her best friend. If anyone would know who my father is, it’s you.”

She was silent for a long stretch before speaking. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“He’s your father.”

“Oh, God.” My face dropped into my palm, my head suddenly spinning. I’d had my suspicions, of course, but I half expected her to say no. To lie or to tell me I was crazy thinking up something so far-fetched. Now, faced with the truth, I didn’t know what to feel.

I’d spent my whole life accepting the shadow of his absence, ignorant to the other half of my origins. But had I ever truly accepted it? By the time I was old enough to really demand the truth, my mother had been gone. Knowing that no one could ever hope to fill that place in my heart, I never bothered to seriously wonder who he could be.

Now, I had a thousand questions and no answers. Did he even know I existed? Did he love my mother? What was he like?