Page 106 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

37

RHETT

Simone told me Clem had texted and let her know she wasn’t going to be in for the rehearsal run tonight. I didn’t have to guess why. I left Conroy in charge because I had to try and fix this disaster.

After pulling a few strings, I was pretty sure I had the solution to at least some of our problems. I was never going to be the guy that made grand gestures or was ever called a romantic, but I had a few tricks up my sleeve.

I stood on the front steps of the Hartley home, adjusting my bow tie for the third time in as many minutes. The tuxedo felt foreign after weeks of chef’s coats and polyester pants, but if I was going to make a statement tonight, I needed to look the part.

It was as close to a grand gesture as I was going to get.

In my hands was a garment bag containing a dress that had cost an eyewatering amount. It was a midnight blue silk that I knew would look good on her.

Along with the dress, I had a box with new diamond earrings. The earrings were an afterthought. I knew it was probably overkill, but I happened to walk past the jewelry department at Bloomingdales when I picked up the dress.

And buying a dress was one hell of an adventure. It took me an hour to pick the right one. Every saleswoman in the department had an opinion. And after I described Clem’s measurements, they assured me the dress would fit.

I explained she was about shoulder-high, handful in the breast area, and my hand fully splayed could cover her stomach. They thought it was funny and such a guy way to measure a woman.

I wished I could be more accurate, but it wasn’t like I checked the tags on her pajamas when they’d been lying on my hotel room floor.

When the door opened, it wasn’t Clementine who answered. A tall kid with her same hazel eyes looked me up and down with obvious curiosity.

“You must be Henry,” I said.

“And you must be the guy who’s all over the internet with my sister,” he replied, but there wasn’t hostility in his voice, just frank assessment.

I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling like an awkward teenager myself despite being thirty-four years old. “Look, I know this situation isn’t ideal, but I wanted to⁠—”

“You wanted to what?” Henry interrupted, that grin getting wider. “Explain why you’re messing around with my sister? Apologize for the media circus? Or are you here to ask my dad’s permission like this is 1950?”

Shit, this kid was sharp. “All of the above?” I said, realizing how ridiculous I sounded.

Henry laughed—actually laughed—and leaned against the doorframe. “Dude, relax. You look like you’re about to pass out. I thought you were a tough guy.”

“So did I,” I said, shaking my head.

He looked me up and down again, taking in the tuxedo, the garment bag, the jewelry box. “Nice touch with the formal wear. But you forgot something.”

“I did?”

“Flowers.”

“Flowers?”

“Chocolate.”

“Chocolate?”

He grinned. “Nah, no chocolate. She doesn’t like that stuff. She’s all about gourmet stuff. But all of this is pretty extra.”

“Is it working?”

“On me? Yeah, it’s pretty impressive. On my dad?” Henry shrugged. “He’s been pacing around the house like a caged tiger all afternoon. Mom had to physically remove his phone because he kept refreshing the news articles.”

My stomach dropped. “How bad is it?”

“Bad enough that he’s stress-cooking.”