Chapter 21
Harrison
I paced across my living room. Pacing helped me think.
“We can squeeze it into the afternoon, if need be,” Rafael said from the couch. He was tapping on his iPad. “I can have the driver ready, but if there’s traffic…”
“The afternoon, sure,” I said absently.
Rafael paused and looked up from his iPad. “We can do this later if you’re preoccupied.”
“I’m fine. Why would you think I’m preoccupied?”
He stared at me.
Of course I couldn’t hide anything from Rafael. He knew me better than anyone else on this planet.
I dropped down onto the couch next to him. “He’s getting his hooks into her.”
The corner of his lip moved a millimeter, which was basically the equivalent of a shit-eating grin from Rafael. “She’s smarter than that.”
“Maybe so, but everyone has their blind spots. You’re not afraid?”
“Afraid of what?”
“That a charming, billionaire Frenchman who looks like a male supermodel is currently eating dinner with Caroline?”
There was a flash of indecision on Rafael’s face. “I’ve shared women before. I am not the jealous or possessive type.”
“You’ve shared women with me,” I pointed out. “Someone you know and trust. That makes all the difference, at least it does for me. But someone like Lucien?”
Rafael barely nodded. “You seem awfully concerned about her.”
“I’m concerned about Lucien. He has a way of throwing sticks of dynamite into my business life. The last thing I want is for him to start throwing them into my personal life, too.”
“Your personal life,” Rafael repeated deadpan.
“Because she’s my biographer,” I argued. “Not because of any other reason.”
Spoken out loud, the words sounded hollow. Because they weren’t true. There was absolutely another reason I was worried about Caroline spending time with Lucien.
Fortunately, Rafael didn’t call me out on it. He returned to his iPad and said, “The afternoon meeting. I can make it work. But you can’t allow your previous meeting to go long.”
“Understood.” I stood up and began pacing again. “Is it really only physical between the two of you?”
Rafael idly tapped on his tablet. “It’s barely even that. We’ve slept together twice.”
“That’s a deft way of avoiding the question.”
“It’s physical,” he said, meeting my gaze. “It doesn’t need to become more than that.”
“You’re still not directly answering the question.”
His dark eyebrows narrowed. I wondered if I had pushed him too far.
Before he could answer, his phone lit up on the couch. He grabbed it and smiled. “You can stop pacing.”
“Is that Caroline?”
My phone vibrated in my pocket a heartbeat later. It was a group text from Caroline to both of us.
Caroline: Lucien lays the charm on really thick. It probably works on most women.
Rafael: It usually does.
Me: What’d he say?
Caroline: He offered me a boatload of money to break my contract with you. Fortunately for you I’m a woman with integrity.
Me: That’s why I hired you ;-)
Caroline: I thought it was because you wanted to win me over to your side so I would stop writing pieces critical of you in The Journal.
Rafael: It was definitely that, too.
“Hey!” I said.
Rafael shrugged at me. “Just telling her the truth.”
Caroline: You have nothing to worry about. I held my ground. See you at your office later this week.
Me: See you then.
Rafael: See you then.
Rafael and I looked at each other.
“Sorry,” he said. “She was talking to you, clearly.”
“She was probably talking to both of us, actually,” I replied. “No apology needed.”
I went to bed that night relieved. And, if I was being totally honest with myself, it had nothing to do with the status of my biography.
I did my best to push Caroline out of my mind during the week.
That was easy for a man like me, with around-the-clock meetings and an investment empire to run.
She visited my office on Tuesday, and again on Thursday.
We didn’t discuss Lucien at all; it was strictly professional, going over the first section of my biography and all the details she wanted to include.
It was fascinating listening to Caroline explain her thought process for the book. Like having Michaelangelo explain how he planned to paint the Sistine Chapel, it was a window to her mind. A sharp, intelligent mind. Choosing her to write my biography was a decision I wouldn’t regret any time soon.
Even if my reasons for choosing her at the auction were more… personal.
Caroline began lowering her guard around me, too.
When she first started writing my biography, she was cautious and professional.
Slowly, she was lowering her guard. Asking me how my week was going, making jokes.
Acting like I was an actual human, rather than a billionaire strawman she was used to beating up in the press.
And I grew more fond of her with every meeting.
She was a straightforward woman, something I appreciated in a person—whether a work colleague, or a personal friend.
When I answered one of her questions half-heartedly, she immediately called me on it.
She treated me like an equal, rather than just a man with a net worth that had too many zeroes on the end.
Sometimes she even acted like she was more important than me.
It was refreshing, in a strange way. I didn’t have a lot of interactions like that.
“Lucien keeps inviting me down to St. Maartin,” she said one afternoon while our meeting was winding down. “He’s quite persistent.”
“A man with his kind of money isn’t used to hearing someone say no,” I said.
Her eyebrow rose, which I knew meant she was about to make a joke. “Spoken like a man who’s in the same position.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Exactly. He only wants you because you’re already working for me.”
“Wants me… do you mean for his biography, or to sleep with me?”
There it was. That straightforward attitude I liked so much.
“Whichever reason will convince you to avoid him,” I replied.
“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
I knew she could. She was more capable than any woman I had ever met—and I’d met a lot of powerful women in my life.
But after we said our goodbyes and she left my office, she lingered in my mind. It was undeniable at this point: I was increasingly preoccupied with the woman.
And it was getting worse every time I saw her.