Page 44 of Beg For Me (Morally Gray #3)

SOPHIA

W e spend two hours in bed talking until I have to go home to make sure my mother hasn’t burned down the house or invited some card shark friends over for supper. When I arrive, the house is still standing, but suspiciously quiet.

Even more suspicious is the smell of something delicious cooking.

I wander into the kitchen. Spying the cast iron pot on the stove, I take a look inside, half expecting to find a bubbling brew of bat wings and toadstools. Instead, a beautiful saffron-infused broth of chicken and sausage simmers with bell peppers, tomatoes, rice, and peas.

Someone is making paella in my kitchen.

Unless my daughter suddenly gained an interest in cooking, this is Carmelina’s doing, and it’s got ulterior motives written all over it.

I go upstairs and find Harlow sitting up in bed, reading a book. “Hi, honey.”

She doesn’t look up. “Hi.”

“You good?”

“Yep.”

I gaze at her for a moment, debating whether I should tell her what’s happening with her father, but decide I’ll let it wait for later when I have something more concrete than a convoluted conversation with his fiancée.

If or when the lawsuits drop, there will be time to explain. But right now, I need to know if Carter being in my life is going to be a problem for us.

I sit on the edge of her bed and take the book from her hands. “I want to ask your opinion about something.”

Looking interested, she folds her long legs underneath her and sits up straighter. “Okay. What is it?”

“It’s about Carter.”

I struggle for a moment to find the right words, but can’t find exactly what I’m looking for. Staring down at the book in my hands, I say softly, “I like him, honey. I really like him. We get along great, and he makes me laugh like nobody ever has.”

I take a breath and meet her eyes. “But it’s been just me and you for the past few years, and I’m worried about how me being in a relationship will affect you.”

She smiles. “Are you asking my permission to keep dating him?”

“Would you mind if I did?”

She pushes her hair off her face and leans over to prop her elbows on her legs. “I mean, look, I want you to be happy. You weren’t happy with Dad. And you deserve to be. And it’s not like I think you’re going to suddenly start ignoring me because you’re in love.”

I blink, startled at her use of those words.

“In love.” Is that what I am? Does she see something I don’t?

“But…” she picks at the blanket under her legs, then glances up at me. “How old is he?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“Oh.”

“You look surprised.”

“I thought he was younger than that.”

“Does it change your opinion?”

She shakes her head, then stops and thinks about it. “I mean, maybe. It’s probably better that he’s not like twenty-five years younger than you.”

“Why do you say that?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Because if you stay together, when you’re an old lady, he’ll still be young.”

I sigh heavily. “You sound just like your grandmother.”

“Does it bother you that he’s younger?”

I look around her room as I consider the question. “In some ways, yes. Mainly because people don’t seem to care about an age gap when a man is older, but when it’s the woman who’s older, they lose their minds. Your father said people will think I’m a pervert.”

She laughs at that. “Bro, please . You’re not a pervert.”

I’d scold her for calling me bro, but we’re having a nice conversation. I don’t want to ruin it.

“It’s 2025, Mom. You can date whoever you want. You can date a younger guy, an older guy, another girl, a mix of all of them, whatever. It’s not about any of that stuff. It’s about who makes you happy.”

“You’d be okay if I dated another woman?”

She looks at me as if I’m the dumbest person to ever walk the face of the planet.

“Mom. Don’t be lame. Love is love.”

I try to picture her grandmother’s face if I told her I was dating a woman. She’d probably have a stroke on the spot.

I’ll keep that in my back pocket if I need it.

“So, look. Here’s the only stuff you should be worried about with anybody you date, right?

Forget about how old he is and ask yourself, do you get along?

Is he respectful? Do you have stuff in common?

Is he as smart as you? Because you’re really smart, and if the jokes are going over his head, it’s not worth dating him no matter how cute you think he is. ”

I smile, thinking of his handsome face. “He is pretty cute, isn’t he?”

She retches. But she’s grinning, so I know she’s only playing.

“Back up a second. How do you know so much about dating? You’re not allowed to date until you’re sixteen.”

Her eye roll is extravagant. “Common sense, bro. Catch up.”

I stare at my daughter with overwhelming love for her, my sweet little girl who’s growing up right in front of my eyes. How did I get so lucky?

One of Ev’s kids just got caught throwing firecrackers into the school toilet.

I have to remind myself Harlow’s currently grounded for sneaking out of a hotel room in Mexico and drinking beer with a bunch of strangers. She’s not exactly an angel.

Then again, neither am I.

As if reading my mind, Harlow says, “Was Grams telling the truth about you losing your virginity at my age?”

I make a face. “Your grandmother is full of malarkey.”

She’s not buying my explanation. “Uh-huh. Nice way to dodge the question.”

“Not that my sordid past is anybody’s business, but no.

I was not having sex at your age. But I will say this: I didn’t lose my virginity.

It’s not a misplaced dry cleaning ticket.

The first time I had sex, it was consensual and with someone I cared for very much who felt the same way about me, which is exactly what I want for you. ”

We look at each other silently for a moment, until I say, “Do you want to ask me any particular questions about sex?”

She wrinkles her nose. “We already had this talk.”

“A few years ago, before you’d even started your period.”

“Okay, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but us talking about sex in the same conversation you asked me if you should be dating the pool boy is way ick.”

“He isn’t a pool boy!”

She grins at my scowl. “Just checking to make sure you do really like him.”

I say drily, “Ah. You’ve got a bit of your grandmother in you, I see.”

“She’s not that bad.”

That makes me laugh. “Live with her for a week and see how you feel. Which reminds me, where is she?”

“Last I saw, she was in the laundry room folding towels.”

First dinner, now laundry. Next, she’ll be up on a ladder outside, painting the eaves.

That she’s trying to con me into letting her stay longer than a few weeks is obvious, but two can play that game. She can do all the housework she wants, but I’m not budging on that timeline.

My sanity can only withstand so much.

I rise, kiss Harlow on the forehead, and tell her I love her. She waves me off, pulls her book from my hand, and returns to reading. I watch her for a moment, a smile tugging at my lips and pride swelling in my chest. My daughter—so strong, so independent, so damn smart .

She’s the best thing I’ve ever done.

And if Nick dares to show up here drunk again, my mother won’t be the only one threatening him with a cleaver.

Over supper, the three of us sit at the kitchen table like a normal family and make small talk. The paella is delicious. Even Harlow, a notoriously picky eater, cleans her plate. There’s no mention of Nick, Carter, or any other sensitive topics, and everyone goes to bed that night in a good mood.

My good mood lasts until I walk into the office Monday morning and see the way people look at me.

The subtle smirk from the receptionist when I walk in.

The unmistakable snicker from an account executive in the coffee room.

The hushed whispers that trail behind me as I head through the cubicle field on my way to the weekly staff meeting.

The meeting ends without anything unusual happening, but the underlying tension in the air is obvious.

The cause of that tension becomes clear when my assistant brings me the weekly reports she prepares for my inspection. She sets them down on my desk, then folds her arms over her chest and gazes at me in silence with what appears to be deep concern.

“Is there something you’d like to say, Alex?”

“I was just wondering if you’re okay.”

“Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She hesitates a moment. “I assume you’ve seen the photos? The tabloid stories about you and Carter McCord?”

Sighing, I sit back in my chair and nod. “I take it everyone else has too.”

“It’s only the talk of the entire company.”

Curious despite myself, I look at her. “What’s the general consensus?”

“That you’re having a midlife crisis and Carter McCord is using you. The guys down in accounting started a betting pool on how long it will last. Odds are fifty to one that he dumps you by the end of the month.”

So now I’m an infamous, middle-aged cradle robber with my very own scandal-themed office lottery. I’d pour myself a drink if it wasn’t so early in the morning.

Perching on the edge of my desk, Alex leans toward me, lowering her voice. “You didn’t hear this from me, but word is that Hartman’s already looking for your replacement.”

My heart slams against my ribcage. I’m breathless for a moment, stunned, until anger unglues my tongue. “That’s not true. He can’t fire me for dating a competitor.”

Leaning back, she shrugs. “All I know is that he asked his admin to contact an executive headhunting firm. Said he wanted to set up some meetings.”

My mind is racing. Can this be real or is it just a rumor? “How do you know that?”

“His admin asked one of the girls in HR if she had a recommendation for a firm, then it got out from there.”

A cold knot tightens my stomach. If this is true and Hartman is already laying the groundwork to replace me, I’ve got bigger problems than I thought.

If I’m fired and I can’t find another position right away, Nick could use my unemployment against me. He could go to court to request full custody of Harlow, citing my inability to support her.