Page 3 of Bridge to Home

Harlow believed it was because of her upbringing. David and Gwendolyn “Ginger” Wynn had raised their only child in a firm, yet fun, environment. It was a wonderful childhood. Even after graduating from high school, when her career took off, Harlow remained close to her parents…until that heart-wrenching night.

Don’t go there.Harlow plucked a pair of socks from the drawer and headed downstairs. It was time to work in the garden, one of her favorite pastimes. Tinkering with her flowers. Bees, butterflies and even hummingbirds favored her petunias, a lush carpet of flowers meandering along the side of the house, in vivid shades of red, pink and purple.

She grabbed her garden boots and trekked through the kitchen. Robert sat at the bar, cell phone in hand. He looked up, watching her as she passed by. “Are you still pouting?”

Harlow clenched her jaw and bit back a sharp reply. “I’m going to my flower garden.”

He slid a small stack of papers across the counter. “Here’s the purchase agreement for the London apartment. I told the agent we would return the executed copy along with the earnest money deposit over by tomorrow morning.”

She cast the papers a disinterested glance. Harlow didn’t want another property. They could barely handle the three they had and now Robert had decided they needed a fourth, a home base in Europe. One more asset to spend money on. One more expense to keep her on the hamster wheel, forcing her to deal with the Daniel Orlanes of the world.

“I’m having second thoughts.”

Robert made a choking sound. “Second thoughts about what?”

“About buying a property we don’t need.”

“Are you kidding?” Furious, he let out a string of cuss words. “I’ve been working for months to find us the perfect place, and now you’re not sure?”

“We hardly have enough time to care for the properties we already own, let alone enjoy them,” Harlow argued.

“This is ridiculous.” Robert sprang from his chair and began pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Harlow braced for what was coming next. The guilt trip. Berating her about how selfish she was. Only thinking about what she wanted. Not considering her husband’s needs. He made it sound as if he was almost being forced to stand on a street corner and beg for food.

Which was far from the truth. Robert had the best of everything. Maserati MC20 with all the bells and whistles, to the tune of $300k plus. Rolex watches, as in more than one. Designer clothes. A personal fitness trainer. And the list went on.

Ting.Robert’s cell phone chimed. “I need to take this call.”

He turned his back and tapped the screen. “Hey. Hang on a sec.”

Harlow watched her husband step onto the rear patio and close the slider door behind him. He lowered his head and shoved his hand in his pocket, occasionally glancing in her direction. He consulted his watch and nodded. Moments later, the conversation ended. He returned inside.

“Who was that?”

“Jillian. I need to run by my office and grab some papers.”

“Papers for what?”

“Just papers.”

“Can’t she email them to you?”

“No.” Robert tapped the top of the pile. “Speaking of papers, you need to sign these so I canget a copy over before they sell the prime property to someone else.”

“I’m not signing. I need more time to think about it. If the seller accepts another offer, it wasn’t meant to be.” Harlow returned to the previous topic, the call from Jillian. Robert’s “personal assistant,” a voluptuous brunette who was barely out of high school, often gave Harlow an “off” vibe. “What sort of papers?”

“Good grief. You are one paranoid woman,” Robert sneered. “Jillian has been scouting out potential new projects and has some leads. She’s helping me—unlike someone else I know,” he pointedly added.

“You know how I feel about her.” Harlow rattled off the list of skills his “assistant” should be proficient in, or at least semi capable of, but wasn’t. “She can barely spell. Her notes are hardly legible. Half the time, she screws stuff up and writes down the wrong information.”

“You sound jealous.”

“Not jealous, but I am wondering what we’re paying for,” Harlow said. “I think you need to find a new assistant.”

Robert crossed his arms, a defiant expression on his face. “Jillian stays.”

Harlow met his gaze with equal resolve. “She’s on her way out.”

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