Harris stormed into David's office, his jaw clenched in anger. The sweet scent of lilies from the vase on the side table did nothing to quell his fury. David looked up from the paperwork scattered across his desk, concern etched on his face.
"Did you know Mallory is working at one of your hotels?" Harris demanded, his blue eyes blazing.
David hesitated for a moment, guilt flickering in his eyes. "Yes, I found out a few days ago."
"Then why the hell didn't you tell me?" Harris slammed his fist on the edge of the desk, making the papers flutter like frightened birds.
"Look, Harris, I'm sorry," David stammered, running a hand through his dark hair. "Things have been hectic here lately, and it slipped my mind. Besides, I didn't think you'd still be so hung up on poor Mallory after all these years."
"Watch your damn mouth!" Harris snapped, his anger flaring at the mention of Mallory being referred to as 'poor.' "She isn't some pity case. She means something to me, and you should've told me as soon as you knew!"
"Alright, alright," David raised his hands defensively. "I apologize. What do you want to do about it?"
"I'm going to see her," Harris said decisively, turning on his heel and striding toward the door.
"Good luck," David called out after him, sincere despite his previous lapse in judgment.
The hotel lobby gleamed with polished marble floors and crystal chandeliers, the air filled with hushed conversation and the faint sound of piano music. Harris's heart raced as he scanned the room, searching for Mallory. He spotted her behind the front desk, her delicate fingers tapping away at the computer keyboard. His chest tightened as he watched her, memories of their time together flooding his mind.
As Mallory's shift ended, Harris discreetly followed her out of the hotel, keeping a safe distance. The sun began to set, casting a warm golden light on the bustling city streets. He trailed her to a small house, his heart pounding as he watched her enter with a little girl welcoming her with a hug.
Harris couldn't believe his eyes – the child was the spitting image of him, from her wavy blonde hair to the stubborn tilt of her chin, and she got his blue eyes.
That night, Harris was sitting on his balcony with a whiskey in his hand, viewing the incredible city at night, debating whether to call Mallory but ultimately giving in. His breath caught in his throat as he pulled out his phone and dialed Mallory's number, hands trembling slightly.
"Hello?" Mallory's voice came through the line. Both familiar and foreign, after all the years apart.
"Mally, it's me, Harris," he said, forcing himself to sound calm. "We need to talk."
"Wh-what? How did you...?" Mallory stammered, her surprise evident in her shaking voice. "Why?"
"Please, just meet me anywhere and anytime you want," Harris pleaded, swallowing hard. "There's so much I need to ask you."
Mallory huffed, squeezing her eyes shut for a second before she opened them again. Her voice lowered, almost shaking with emotions. "Harris, we have nothing to talk about. We barely know each other, and most of all, we are worlds apart."
"Then get to know me. I wanna get to know you too. Baby, all these years, I've been waiting for you. I still love you, Mallory. Let me show you how much."
Mallory paused to process what she had heard, then placed the phone back in its cradle while holding her tears. Mallory spoke louder as she shook her head. "Bullsh*t, Harris, that won't work anymore. You are wasting your time with me. You should find yourself a supermodel you can play with. I am not one of your toys, Harris."
"Baby, let me explain."
"You don't have to, Harris. I know who you are, and there is nothing you have to explain. I understand, I really do," Mallory's voice broke, but she tried to pull herself up.
After a moment of silence, Harris drew a heavy breath. "You don't know how much I held myself to stop calling out your name this afternoon when I saw you. I never did because I knew it wasn't the right time. Baby..."
"You saw me? Where?"
"When I learned you work in one of my best friend's hotels, I went to see him confirm and then told him I wanted to meet you. Baby..."
"Stop calling me baby or Mally, and don't call me again. Goodbye, Harris."
"Okay. Mallory, I begged you. I will never bother you again if you agree to meet me tomorrow."
But there was no answer on the other line as Mallory hung up. He heaved a sigh of frustration while putting his phone on the table.
The following day the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across Harris's study as he sat in his leather armchair, lost in thought. The photograph of Mallory and Harriet on his desk called out a siren song that pulled him back to the past. His heart ached for all the unsaid things between them; the unanswered questions still haunted him.
"Damn it," Harris murmured, running a hand through his hair. He couldn't shake the memories of Mallory – her infectious laugh, her eyes shone with mischief, and her fierce love for him. Even after all these years, the pain of her leaving him was a wound that refused to heal.
Harris and Mallory used to take quick breaks from their hotel job to spend time together. She always went out of her way to bring him food, a gesture he cherished. Taking lunch together was Harris' favorite part of the day—the warmth of Mallory's cheeks as she blushed when they shared the same meal, her sincere concern for his well being after a long day's work.
Harris felt genuinely valued for the first time—not like a possession to be owned but a human being to be cared for.
"Is this my second chance?" he wondered, his thoughts circling around the possibility that he could be Harriet's father. It was exciting and terrifying, reigniting feelings for Mallory he had tried so hard to bury. He knew that pursuing the truth would mean confronting the woman who had broken his heart.
"Alright," Harris said aloud, determination setting in. "Let's do this."
He picked up his phone and scrolled through the contacts until he found the investigator's number. As he tapped it, his pulse quickened, the prospect of talking to Mallory again stirring a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.
"Hello?" the investigator answered, his voice steady and professional.
"Hey, Jane, it's Harris Thompson," he replied, trying to match the investigator's tone. "I need your help with something."
"Of course, Mr. Thompson. What can I assist you with?"
"I want you to arrange a meeting between me and Mallory Phillips," Harris said, his resolve unwavering. "And I want to find out if I'm the father of her daughter, Harriet."
A brief pause was on the other end of the line before the investigator responded. "Understood, sir. I'll do my best to make it happen."
"Thank you," Harris said before hanging up.
As he set down his phone, his heart raced with fear and exhilaration. He knew he was taking a risk – that reopening old wounds could lead to more pain. But he also understood that the truth was essential for them all, no matter how difficult.
"Whatever it takes," he whispered, staring at the photograph one last time. "For Mallory, for Harriet, and for me."
Harris stood up, squared his shoulders, and strode out of the room. It was time to face his past, to seek the answers that had eluded him for so long. And if the fates allowed it, he would win back the woman he had never stopped loving – Mallory Phillips.