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The look in his eyes almost forced the words out of my lips—almost— but I could handle my own business.
“Why have you come to New York?”
He pressed his lips into a thin line. “To see you isn’t a valid reason?”
“No,” I pressed my lips into a thin line.
He scoffed in amusement, trailing eyes over my face. “Is that a white hair in your beard I see?”
He even lowered his head to check my chin.
“Cut the bullshit,” I deadpanned. “I don't have white hair.”
I hadn’t shaved in a while so I had a stubble, but a while wasn’t enough to grow white beards. Was it?
“Whatever floats your bubbles.”
We engaged in a stare-down after his words. His eyes held mine in an intruding stare. The silence slowly became thick.
Fuck. Henry had his way of getting things out of me.
“James and I had a fight,” I muttered.
He raised a brow. “Why?”
I hesitated. I didn't know what he’d think about fucking a twenty-two-year-old.
“It was because of his daughter, Sophie’s nanny.”
“What about her?” He relaxed in the chair.
“I—”
“You fucked her.” He didn't let me complete my statement. I was grateful.
Running a hand through my hair, I sighed. “I did.”
“Have you tried to talk to him?”
“He's still mad.”
He adjusted in his seat. “I'd be mad too if my forty-two-year-old friend fucked my twenty-something-year-old daughter,” he deadpanned.
That was the harsh truth.
“I know.” I clenched my jaw.
“Do you have feelings for her?” he asked.
I held my breath. “No.”
It was nothing beyond lust. My heart skipped a beat at the lie. But it wasn’t a lie, right? It’s what should be.
“So, what's stopping you from getting rid of her?”
I hesitated. “She's my daughter’s nanny.”
“And?”
