“Are you still . . .” She paused and thought for a second before attempting to reframe the question. “Does he still think . . .”
“Does he still think I’m Clara’s father?” Harris completed the question for her, and she grimaced.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know,” Harris admitted, his voice soft yet brittle at the same time. “We haven’t spoken about it again. We don’t really speak about anything much these days. I don’t think he believes his own accusations anymore. But who knows what the fuck is going on in his screwed-up head?”
They were silent for a moment, each wrapped up in his or her own thoughts.
“It’s been a long day. I have to get some sleep,” Tina said, breaking the increasingly strained silence.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, his voice taking on a gruff note. “About the relaunch.”
“It was fine. We had a good turnout.”
“That’s fantastic, Tina.” The gruffness in his voice increased. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks. I have to go.”
“Of course. Good night.” He stepped aside, allowing her access to her well-lit porch.
“Night,” she muttered as she fumbled in her bag for her house keys. Thankfully they were in a side pocket, and she didn’t have to search for too long. She let herself into the house, shutting the door without looking back.
The thought of Harris living next door, separated from her by nothing but a thin wall, was disturbing, to say the least. She hoped he kept a low profile, but somehow she doubted he would. He didn’t do low profile.
She groaned before dropping her large bag on the floor and leaning back against the front door, wrapping her arms around her torso in an attempt to calm herself and stave off panic. This was going to be a nightmare. She only hoped Libby and Greyson sorted out their shit sooner rather than later.
God! Libby.
She stooped to pick up her bag again and grabbed her phone from the outside pocket. She hoped her friend was okay. If Tina had reacted like this to Harris’s arrival, then who knew what Libby’s response would be to finding Greyson on her doorstep.
She tapped the call button and lifted the phone to her ear.
“Hello?”
Crap. Libby sounded subdued—not a good sign. “Be warned,” she said urgently, even though she knew the warning came too late. “The Twisted Twins are in town! Harris just showed up at my door.”
Harris valiantly refrained from slamming the front door behind him. He didn’t want Tina to know exactly how disturbed he had been by her cold reception. Although, seriously, what had he expected? Of course she wouldn’t be thrilled to see him. She never was. He glared at the shabby furniture in the place for a long moment, not sure what his next move should be. He needed to get to bed, but then he would have to change the linens. Everything was dusty and looked like it hadn’t really been cleaned since the last occupant had left.
There were dishes in the sink, for God’s sake. He seriously doubted that this place had passed any rental agency’s basic health and safety regulations. Which probably explained why the owner was handling all the negotiations himself. He wondered if Tina’s place had been this bad. And for some reason the thought of her living in such squalor made him want to break something.
He swallowed back his anger and started going through cupboards and cabinets, hoping to find reasonably clean bedsheets. He was going to have to purchase some stuff at the closest home store in the morning. He finally found some yellowed sheets that looked cleaner than the rest but smelled musty.
“Shit,” he muttered beneath his breath as he proceeded to strip the bed in the master bedroom. “What the fuck are you even doing here, Harris?”
He knew Greyson resented his interference. He hadn’t been too thrilled to find Harris already seated on the company chopper when he had boarded. And he had glowered at Harris during the entire short flight over. Then—while they were picking up their waiting rental cars—Harris had attempted to warn his brother to proceed with caution. And Greyson had ignored him.
Harris wasn’t sure Libby would feel any more charitable toward him than Greyson did. And he already knew where the hell he stood with Tina. He should just cut his losses and get back to his life. But no, here he was, interfering where he wasn’t welcome.
Once he’d covered the bed, he stood back and surveyed his work.
Housekeeping—more specifically bed making—was definitely not his forte. The sheets weren’t fitted, and he had done a sloppy job of tucking them beneath the mattress. He ran his hands over the mattress and sheet in an attempt to smooth out the wrinkles, but it didn’t seem to help. He was standing and glaring down at the bed, hands on hips, when his phone vibrated in his back pocket.