Page 8 of Breaking Point

Olivia shrugs, visibly steeling herself for whatever comes next: “You weren’t mugged on the train, were you?”

Strike number two.

Harvey has a habit of lying to the people closest to him.

He gives a solemn shake of his head. “No.”

“Then what’s going on?”

“The past few years have been good for our family. I’ve taken some prominent cases, but trying criminals doesn’t come without risk. There are people who want to hurt me- or hurt you to get to me.”

“So Warden would be my bodyguard then,” Olivia says.

“Will be, yes. Once-“

“I haven’t agreed yet,” her voice is sharp, but it quickly softens. “I need the weekend. I have a wedding and then…” She sighs. “I’ll let you know.” Gathering her things, she heads for the door but freezes when she sees me. She says over her shoulder, “See you later. I love you.”

I’m caught between going after her or staying and confronting the man who pays me. I decide on the latter.

The driver will get her back safely.

The door shuts, and I cross my arms over my chest as Harvey sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“That went well, I think,” he quips, but I don’t find myself laughing.

“You lied to me, Mr. Hughes.”

He chuckles uneasily, rubbing his neck. “Look, I wouldn’t call it that.”

“With all due respect, Sir, call it whatever you want. But we had an agreement.”

Harvey nods, gripping the arms of his seat with a swallow. “I understand. My daughter- she… Well, she’s never accepted my help without a fight.”

It’s an excuse. One I understand, but my gut is telling me he’s still hiding something. “Is there anything else I should know, Mr. Hughes?”

“No. There’s nothing else.” Harvey clears his throat. “It won’t happen again. My daughter will come around. She’s reasonable when she’s had more sleep. Building her business and such.”

It’s pride that I hear in his voice.

I nod again knowing that if there’s one thing I can count on, it’s that Harvey cares deeply about his daughter.

Whatever he’s hiding, I’ll figure it out sooner or later.

Chapter Five

Olivia

DAD: Have you given any more thought to my proposal?

In the dark of my room, the text flashes across my screen. It’s been two days since he asked me to move in.

I should reply. I should tell him I’ll take him up on it.

But there’s a striking difference between what I should do and what I can feasibly force myself to get done.

Forcing myself to move back in?It’s not an option.

I shut off my phone, letting the last few moments of quiet settle over me before the day begins. Almost as if on cue, I feel the familiar tug of the blankets at my feet.

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