Novels by Lena Hartwell

Rosalie stands at the edge of the kitchen and watches him.She meant to praise him.She meant to say that Adrian was amazing, that he had already learned to cook for himself.Her mouth opens, but tears come first.One slips down her cheek. Then another. Soon she cannot stop them.Adrian hears her trying to smother a sob and looks up.The moment he sees her, he drops the butter knife and rushes around the island.“Why are you crying?”He pulls tissues from the counter and carefully wipes her face.Rosalie cannot answer. The tears keep coming faster than he can catch them.“Please stop.” He bends until they are eye to eye. “I’m begging you, Rosie. I’ll make you something to eat, okay?”She only cries harder.Adrian looks lost.He has just buried his mother, yet Rosalie is standing in his kitchen weeping as though the grief belongs to her.&l

“Where are you hurt?”“I don’t know.” Rosalie cries harder. “My stomach hurts too.”Her classmate finally understands.“Rosie, I think you got your period.”Rosalie lifts her tear-streaked face, completely lost.“It happens to every girl,” her classmate explains gently. She searches her bag while giving Rosalie a hurried explanation. “I don’t have a pad. I can ask someone else.”Adrian visibly relaxes.He catches the only part that matters: Rosalie needs a pad.Judging by her expression, she would rather disappear than let more people know.“I’ll buy them.”The final bell at their Manhattan private school rang only minutes ago.Students are still crowding the halls on their way to practice and club meetings when Adrian shoulders his backpack and runs from the building.A pharmacy sits across the stre

The private elevator carries them from Angel Lounge to the underground garage.When the doors open, Adrian walks straight to the waiting Rolls-Royce with Rosalie still in his arms.“I can walk.”“You had your chance.”The chauffeur opens the rear door. Adrian settles her into the back seat and slides in beside her.“Where are we going?”“Home.”Rosalie assumes he means the Aster Hotel.Only when the car stops outside Adrian’s six-story limestone mansion just off Fifth Avenue does she realize otherwise.Adrian steps out and lifts her from the car again.“Put me down.”He ignores her and carries her up the front steps.“When did you become so shameless?”“I’m shameless.” He accepts the charge easily. “Don’t pretend you don’t want this.”His pace quickens inside the house

“Adrian, get up.”Rosalie walks over and pushes his shoulder.He doesn’t react.“Come on. You’re going home.”She grabs his arm and pulls. Adrian looks lean in a suit, but moving him is like trying to drag a stone wall. After several attempts, he remains sunk in the sofa, eyes closed.Her patience snaps. She kicks his shoe.“If you don’t get up, I’m leaving.”Lucas starts to greet her, thinks better of it, and closes his mouth. Evan quietly moves farther down the sofa. Neither man wants her anger turned on him.Adrian still doesn’t move.Rosalie turns toward the door.“Rosie.”A hand closes around her wrist.His grip is remarkably strong for a man who is supposedly drunk.Rosalie takes a slow breath before facing him. “Get up. Your driver is waiting downstairs. The sooner you leave, the sooner everyone can go h

“Holy shit, Adrian! You can’t get it up?”Lucas’s shout explodes across the private room.Evan startles so badly that whiskey nearly spills from his glass. A cold stare lands between his shoulder blades.He turns and finds Adrian watching him from across the room as if deciding where to bury the knife.“I didn’t say it,” Evan says quickly. “Mr. Grant guessed.”He shifts the blame without hesitation.“Leave him alone,” Lucas says, still oblivious to the danger. “I know you. With that face and that bank account, no woman is turning you down. There’s no shame in getting help.”He leans closer.“I know an old Chinese medicine doctor in Flushing. Very discreet. A few packets of herbs and you’ll be back in action. Two kids in three years. Guaranteed.”Adrian lets him finish. “How do you know so much?”Lucas&

Evan regrets coming back.He cannot hear the caller, but Adrian’s expression grows darker with every second.First he cancels an appointment. Then he states, with chilling emphasis, that he is not sick.Pretending deafness seems safest.They are still standing near the jet bridge exit, however, and the silence soon becomes painful. Evan raises his tablet.“The manufacturing center will submit the schedule for JS-01’s first commercial batches tomorrow. Several production slots still need your approval.”Adrian gives a curt nod. The launch is close enough that every delay now costs money, but even a production crisis feels easier to discuss than that appointment.“Fine.”He starts walking again as though the phone call never happened.A few steps later, he says, “Evan.”“Yes, Mr. Mercer?”“Do you think I need a men’s health specialist?&rd