Never Been Worse (Evergreen Park #3)

Chapter 36 – Harper

THIRTY-SIX

HARPER

The day of Project Ruin Jeremy Vaughn

I wake on my own the morning of the big day, the sun just barely creeping up in the sky. My body jolts with realization, turning to look at the body still wrapped around mine in the small bed of the cottage.

“Wes, honey,” I say, pushing at his shoulder. “It’s morning. You missed your alarm.”

His eyes open, squinting at me before he shakes his head, shifting into my neck and pressing his lips there. “No, I didn’t.”

“ Yes , you did. It’s almost seven.”

“Nope,” he grumbles, his unshaved jaw scratching at my skin and sending a shiver down my spine. “I didn’t set it.”

“What do you mean you didn’t set it?” I ask, suddenly panicking. He fully opens his eyes now, pulling his head back to see the anxiety written across my face. Then a smile creeps onto his lips. “Wes! Someone is going to see you sneaking out of here and know we aren’t broken up!”

“So?” he asks, and I shove at his shoulder, attempting to sit up. His firm arm on my waist holds me in place, pulling me back down until we’re chest to chest.

“ So , we can’t let Jeremy know this is all bullshit yet. If he finds out, he’s going to?—”

Wes presses his lips to mine, quieting my argument.

“Harper, calm down,” he says when he pulls back, and my nostrils flare with irritation. “Sorry, sorry, that’s not what I meant. You’re right and completely valid in being nervous, but we’ve got this handled, and we’re past the point of it even mattering if we get caught lying. Even if someone got a photo of me leaving here, what would it matter? In a few hours, everything is going to be out in the world. We’ve got a plan.”

“What if he has someone watching us? Watching me?”

Wes’s jaw goes tight as it always does when I bring this up. It’s not out of the realm of possibility. Especially not with the information the PI Wes hired found. If I were Jeremy, I’d do nearly anything to make sure his secret kickbacks don’t reach the light of day.

“For one, we’ll just add it to his file,” he says, speaking of the file the lawyer Wes has hired to gather the various forms of blackmail and harassment Jeremy has exhibited. I scrunch up my nose because it still doesn’t feel like a good idea, and he smiles. “And two, it doesn’t matter anymore. ”

“I just—” I start, and he shakes his head, cupping my jaw in his hands. He looks into my eyes with a soft expression that turns firm.

“Today is your day, Harper. The beginning of something amazing, something you deserve. You’ve barely slept in the two weeks of setting this up, finishing everything.”

“I feel like you also have some responsibility for my lack of sleep, Mr. Holden,” I accuse, and he smiles.

“Yeah, maybe. But am I so wrong for wanting to make sure you got the chance to sleep in just a little before your big reveal?”

I glare at him but don’t argue, instead changing the topic. “Why didn’t you tell me last night?” I ask.

“Because I knew it would stress you out, and I wanted you to get as much sleep as possible.” I hate that he’s right, that the mere idea of him not leaving in the morning would have worried me and made me unable to fall back asleep. “And I’m not sure how late you’re going to come home tonight since Willa will definitely have some kind of press after-party, so I wanted a few extra hours to spend with you.”

My brows furrow, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

He gives me a soft smile and then moves, rolling me to my back and hovering over my body. His hand shifts, brushing my hair back before confessing, “I’m not coming tonight.”

My face drops. “What? Why not? I need you?—”

He shakes his head, smiling at me. “No, you don’t, baby. You don’t need me there, not tonight.”

“Wes—” He silences me with a deep kiss that makes me forget whatever I was about to argue before he pulls back.

“Tonight is about you. Harper Abbott, an unbelievably talented fashion designer, not Harper Holden, wife of Wes Holden. Tonight, I want everyone to ask you about your dress, about your line, about your plans. Not about our honeymoon or our alleged separation or our marriage or whatever the press is going to be dying to know. I don’t want to take your shine away by being there.”

“You wouldn’t,” I argue.

He shrugs. “Probably not, because your work is so impressive, it would distract everyone. But I want this night to be about you and only you. If I’m there, people might think that’s how you got there, and I don’t want that to even be an argument. You earned this all on your own.”

“But I want you there,” I whisper.

“And next time, I’ll be there. But not tonight.”

I glare at him and try a different angle. “Does this mean when Atlas Oaks is up for a big award, I have to stay home and watch from the couch?” Even though I know I’m just being a brat and that would never be the case, it stings, even the insinuation of it. I’m still healing from years of distrust and feeling like I always come in last, and sometimes that pokes its ugly head.

He shakes his head vehemently. “Harper, no. No . I want you by my side at every moment. Fuck, if I could, I’d have you on stage with me while we played, I want you so close every day. Just this once. Just this one time, your premiere, your first time stepping out as you, I want it to be just you. Every other time, I’m velcro to your side.” He presses his lips to mine again. “Okay?”

Slowly, I nod, even if I don’t like it. And even more, a part of me knows I’ll be thankful for this one day, so I’ll never be able to second guess if my success is my own or just a benefit of the man I married.

“This is the first day toward the rest of your life, Harper. The first day where you can step out of the shadow that asshole cast on you and be you . And the world is going to love what you made, baby.”

I smile then, unable to hide my excitement. “It is really good,” I whisper, pride in the words.

“It really is. Now come on. You’ve gotta get to Willa’s, and I’ve got to get home. I have calls to make, and I’m sure Leo is panicking that I’m not home.” He smiles and rolls out of bed, putting a hand out to me. “But first, we’re showering together.” I take his hand, and he tugs me up, out of bed and into his arms.

Right then I know even if this plan of ours doesn’t work, even if it fails miserably and takes my career with it, at the very least, I know this entire mess brought me the best thing I could ever ask for.

The dress I’m wearing is inspired by Princess Diana’s iconic revenge dress circa 1994, and I’ve never felt more powerful in my life. Both dresses are inspired by the princess herself, mine and Willa Stone’s.

Yes, international pop star Willa Stone is heading into the National Music Awards wearing a dress I created, helping to announce my very first fashion line before she probably wins a dozen awards and announces her newest upcoming album.

The last two weeks have been an absolute whirlwind of emotions.

Just days after I attempted to break up with Wes, I was in a meeting with Willa and her entire team, telling them about my idea for mid-price pieces inspired by pieces their favorite celebrities have worn. She was all in on the idea and we started fitting her for it almost immediately. I’m also working on a full proposal for outfits for her next tour.

The day after that, Wes and I met with the private investigator he hired as well as two of the band’s lawyers. The PI brought all of the information we needed about kickbacks Jeremy was receiving as well as a few instances he found of Astor Fashion designs that had been leaked to other fashion houses.

Turns out, Jeremy was the source of those leaks and was handsomely paid for his work. That information has been shared with Astor, and from what I understand, he’s going to be getting some really bad news today, probably around the time I step foot onto the red carpet with Willa.

“Are you ready for this?” Willa asks, her smile wild as she turns to me.

She’s stunning, as always, her blonde hair pulled away from her face and tucked behind her ears before tumbling down her back. The couture gown I made for her is glinting in the backstage lights just as I hoped, catching and reflecting every ray. I know when she steps out in front of a dozen cameras, flashes going crazy, it will look absolutely radiant .

It’s completely bedazzled and glittering, a deep emerald green with a snakeskin pattern across her hips and stomach with a long train blooming out behind her, the tips of it red, the color associated with her most recent album.

It’s like a snake shedding its skin, a rebirth, she called it, the end of her previous album’s era and stepping into a new one. She always does it effortlessly and beautifully, and each time her fans eat it up.

And at this award show, she’s going to do it again, this time wearing my design as a part of that announcement.

My hands shake, my fingers moving to the straps of my own dress, the off-the-shoulders sleeves and sweetheart bustline the same as on hers, but it’s more low-key and is missing the train.

I don’t know how we pulled it off. There were a lot of calls and even more talks with lawyers and professionals to make sure that doing this wouldn’t result in a worst-case scenario, but I learned a lot in the past two weeks.

For example, most of the threats Jeremy was holding over me would probably never come to fruition, like his reopening the case and charging Ava and Jules. He was hoping my fear and my previous hesitance to tiptoe into something scary would stop me from acting, from speaking my truth.

But mostly, that I am strong, I am talented, and I have a killer fucking support system.

My fingers move to my neck, making sure the golden W is centered. I smile at the comfort of having a piece of Wes here with me when I need to calm myself just a bit.

I finally turn my attention to Willa and nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say before looking across the room to where her publicist stands.

Leo is actually my publicist now, too, since he agreed to take on me and my fashion business when I asked him, telling me it took me long enough to finally ask him. He winks at me, or maybe it’s at Willa, as he hits post on my phone, my final part in the two-week-long strategy we’ve been working on since the night I broke up with Wes—or at least, tried to.

Yesterday, Leo helped me take photos of sketches and my process and even a few glimpses at finished designs for the Revenge Line, the first of many Harper Holden clothing drops.

Despite the legal battle we’ll be fighting behind closed doors, I decided my plan would be to promote my brand and create a name for myself without ever mentioning Clarissa, Jeremy, or their theft of my previous designs, as per the contract I signed at the police station. But by including the focal piece that Jeremy never got, the piece that so clearly ties together the stolen collection, the piece Willa is wearing right now, I’m quietly reclaiming what is rightfully mine.

Leo hands me back my phone, which is buzzing with messages already, but it’s his words that have me smiling.

“Your husband,” Leo says.

I expect to see a call when I glance at my screen, but it’s simply a message.

Love you. You deserve this moment.

I smile again and move to type, but then my name is called, and I’m being moved along to the spotlight, and once again, my universe tilts.

But this time, I’ve never felt better about where my life is headed.