Silence Reveals Hidden Answers’ by Michael Anderson novel Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Harvey Prescott.

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With a heavy, pumped chest, I leave the gym shirtless, passing by where Baxter is getting his hair done. He whistles. I chug some water and he turns his chair to face me as I stand outside the open door, catching my breath for a minute to see what he wants.

“I saw you leave with Jennifer last night. Where does she live?” Baxter asks with the same interest he gives the models he follows on Instagram. He’s already holding his phone, ready to Google anything I give him.

“You’re engaged. It’s not your concern.”

I hear him jump off the chair. The hair stylist backs away with the scissors. Now he’s following me as I walk to my room.

“Cut the crap, Harvey. She’s hot.”

“You’re talking about a person, not a cup of tea.”

“Your best friend, Jennifer, is a total knockout. If I knew she was gonna be built like a goddess, I would have kept communications.”

Baxter follows me into my room. Before he can follow me into the bathroom, I stop and look at him.

“I’m interested in her, so I need you to back off.”

Baxter chuckles. He doesn’t believe it. Me, interested. I’m the rebel, and rebels don’t have time for this. But then he sees I’m not laughing, and his face sobers.

“Don’t tell me you’re doing this to get in Dad’s good books, too?” he scoffs. “I’m only getting engaged so he sees me as responsible, so he hands over a better position in the company. But you… you’re the professional black sheep. You went to the army just to get away

I look him dead in throm the family. Don’t tell me you’re chasing Jennifer for Dad or Grandma’s approval now?”

eye. “If it doesn’t sound like me, then it’s probably not me.”

“So why are you going after her? You wanna smash? Her ass looks soft…”

“Say one more word about her and I’ll leak your little arrangement with Nisha to Dad myself.”

Baxter knows I’m not bluffing. I have the means and the lack of concern to do it.

“Fine.” He scoffs. “You probably see a thousand girls like her in your casinos anyway. I don’t get why you’re gatekeeping Jennifer.”

Bro, I already told him I’m interested in her but like Jennifer. He doesn’t believe me. He says it like it’s impossible for me to have genuine feelings for anyone. But that’s what they all believe in this family. That I’m hard–hearted. Cold. The son who’d rather run off to the army than be a normal son.

I smile as I remember the stunned, wide–eyed look on Jennifer’s face when I told her I was mafia.

“What’s so funny?” Baxter demands.

I don’t answer. I just strip off my gym shorts and step into the bathroom.

“You know it’s your fault we’re retaking this family photo, right?” he yells after me. “And you’re not even ready?”

The shower blasts on, drowning out most of his whining. I catch only fragments through the roar of the water.

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Chapter 3

“…have you seen what’s online… you and…”

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The water hits my skin and I start to think of a better name for what I do other than Mafia. Something that won’t make Jennifer bolt for the hills.

The Prescott empire is large. My grandfather built our generational wealth on lithium batteries for electric cars. Now, it’s malls, factories… and casinos. That’s my domain. When I got back from the army, Dad handed me the casino division. He said I had the skin for it. It’s the heart of the business that brings in over half our revenue and requires dealing with politicians, dangerous organizations, and governments who think they can outsmart us.

The casinos are where I meet our wealthiest clients to sell them our most powerful batteries.

Our TV ads and advertisement don’t come close. The real money that pays every salary at our headquarters and factories comes from the deals I close at the casinos. A year spent dealing with politicians and dangerous men in the shadows of this city has earned me the “Mafia” nickname.

Apparently, I look like one of them with the tattoos. My stepmother, Emily, never misses a chance to remind me I look like a

gangster.

I walk out of the bathroom in just a towel to find a room full of designers. The lead stylist from De Claire drops her glasses when she sees me. I specifically booked their whole team, including Marie, for this family photoshoot. And my stylist is nowhere to be found.

“I am so sorry, Mr. Prescott.” the lead stylist stammers. “Miss Marie is already in your home, I swear. She’s never usually this late, I don’t know what-”

She stops mid–sentence as the butler leads Jennifer into the space.

“Please excuse me.” the head stylist says, rushing past me to confront her. “You are late!”

Jennifer is late, but I’ll forgive her for how cute she looks. Her hair is in a state of wild curls everywhere. She straightened it for the party, probably to fit in, but clearly didn’t have time today. It’s obvious she rushed here, dressed in a white tee, a short denim skirt, and long boots.

“This is Mr. Prescott-”

“Har…Harvey!?” Jennifer exclaims.

الله

The head stylist looks back and forth between us. “So…you know him? Sir, you know her?”

“Yeah. I’ll take it from here.”

The head stylist scurries away.

“You’re late and my fitting room is that way.” I point.

“Are you insane?” she whispers, terrified the team might hear. “You’re the one who booked us? For two weeks? In Italy? Harvey, what sort of game are you playing?”

“Is this how you normally speak to clients?”

Her gaze drops and lands on the planes of my pecs and the water still shining on my skin. She just stares for a solid second like her brain is suffering, then blinks hard, like she can’t quite process what she’s seeing.

I can’t say I’m not proud of the reaction.

“I paid a very significant sum for your expertise. You’re late, and your first instinct is to call me insane?”

“No, you know exactly what you’re doing!” she hisses. “I can’t believe this…. when I took this job because I had no idea it was

15:03 Tue, Feb 3 MW.

Chapter 3

you!”

It’s genuinely adorable to see her so outraged.

“Breaking the contract incurs a triple penalty fee. You can’t afford that, and we both know it.”

“Hary-”

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I don’t let her finish. I turn and walk into the dressing room. Baxter is getting married in Italy, and the entire family is going for two weeks of pre–wedding festivities. We need stylists on hand. I needed a reason to get Jennifer close, and two weeks in the Italy she’s always dreamed of visiting seemed like the perfect motivation.

She follows, dragging the clothing rack into the room with an angry screech of wheels.

“Too much noise.” I comment, not looking at her.

“Maybe I should bash your head against the wall. Would that be too much noise, Mr Prescott?”

This time, I do let out a soft chuckle, though she’s too busy fuming to notice.

“So, Baxter’s wedding, huh…” she shuffles the clothes on the rack and I look over. I take in the line of her back, the inches of her waist, her thighs, her ass-

The moment she glances back at me, I immediately look away.

“Put this on.” She shoves a shirt against my chest, and I take it

Then, she proceeds to look at my hair which is all over my forehead after being roughed in the shower. She grabs a scissors from the cart.

“Sit.”

I grab a chair and sit, still in nothing but my towel. When I sit, I man spread my powerful legs a little. Bad habit. Her throat works. And I know Jennifer, anytime she does that it’s a nervous play. Interesting thing, the only time I ever saw her throat get tight like that was when she was looking at Baxter.

“You have tattoos everywhere.” She clears her throat, pretending to look at the ink on my arms rather than the V–cut at my lower abs that points like a damn arrow to what is beneath the towel.

“I do.”

She makes a small snip with her scissors, and her fingers accidentally graze my nose as she adjusts a strand of hair.

“Are you upset because it’s me or are you upset because it’s for Baxter’s wedding?”

Jennifer rolls her eyes.

“I’m upset because you’re playing with me.”

“I’m wooing you, not playing with you. You like Italy. I’m paying for a trip to take you there, and making sure you have a job while you enjoy it. Most women would be impressed.”

“Except you’re Harvey-”

I stand

up and catch her hand before she can retreat to the cart. “Is it so hard to put it in your head that I want you?” I say it roughly. “Why is it so hard for you to accept that? Granted, you need time to process that I’ve always wanted you, but I need to know… do I not stand before you as a man who’s got a dick?”

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