Page 44 of Wade’s Wrath

“For what?” he asked.

“For just existing,” she said. Wade laughed, and Harlow tried not to smile, but failed. That had been happening far too often around him, which was dangerous. Not because Wade had done anything to make her afraid of him—quite the opposite, and that was what worried her. She was getting comfortable—too comfortable around him. Less than two days ago, she'd been preparing to marry Frank. She should've been devastated, heartbroken even, but she wasn't. She felt relieved—free. Sure, she was terrified of what came next, but she wasn’t heartbroken. There was nothing to mourn about losing Frank. The life she'd had before him—maybe.

The more distance Harlow put between herself and that life, the more she questioned whether it had ever truly belonged to her. She lived in her father's house, drove her father's car, and spent her father's money. Even her future husband had been her father's choice.

Harlow looked around Wade's tiny office. It wasn't impressive. There was one battered desk, two unused filing cabinets, a computer that looked to be at least five years old, and a dented mini-fridge that sat in the corner of the room. Yet sitting there surrounded by Wade's disastrous receipts, she felt more like herself than she had inside her father's mansion. Maybe because nobody had told her she had to be there—she'd chosen it.

“You disappeared on me,” he said.

Wade's voice pulled her back. “What?”

“You were somewhere else,” he said.

“Just thinking,” she breathed.

“That’s dangerous,” he teased.

She rolled her eyes. “Don't you have something to do?”

“Watching you work is something to do,” he insisted.

“That's creepy,” she mumbled to herself.

“I’m supervising,” he said.

“Still creepy,” she insisted.

He pushed away from the doorway. “You know how to do inventory?” he asked.

“I have a business degree, Wade. Of course, I know how to do inventory.”

He tossed a clipboard onto the desk. “Come on then, college girl.”

Harlow narrowed her eyes. “Don't call me that.”

“Better than runaway bride?” he asked.

“Marginally,” she griped. He grinned, and she followed him into the stockroom.

Harlow quickly discovered that inventory with Wade was less about counting bottles and more about arguing. “You're missing four cases of beer,” she said, after counting them three times.

“No, I'm not,” he insisted.

“The sheet says forty-two,” he said, pointing to the clipboard.

“Right, and there are thirty-eight, which means that you are missing four cases,” she said. “That means your inventory records are wrong.”

Wade leaned against a stack of cases. “You're getting really worked up about this.”

“Because numbers are supposed to match,” she insisted.

“Why?” he asked.

She stared at him. “Why?”

“Yeah, why?” he asked again.

“Because that's how numbers work!” His mouth twitched. “You're doing this on purpose.”