Chapter 41
Caroline
We boarded Harrison’s private jet the next morning, waited in line as all the other celebrity jets taxied on the runway before it was our turn. Eventually, we were at our cruising altitude with a light breakfast being served by the flight attendant.
I smiled at Harrison in the seat across from me. So much had changed in the past day. I couldn’t believe that exactly twenty-four hours ago, I was planning to break off our friendship and insist we keep things professional. We had gone in the exact opposite direction.
It was crazy how small decisions could have such a large impact on your life. Like me agreeing to take part in the auction months ago. Eddie almost let me off the hook and gave the auction assignment to a junior journalist. What would my life look like if that had happened? Where would I be?
Definitely not flying home from Taylor Freaking Swift’s wedding, that’s for sure.
I checked my emails, then glanced at my texts.
I’d posted a single image to Instagram last night, a stealth selfie of me getting a drink at the bar while the bride and groom had their first dance in the background.
In the twelve hours since I had posted it, every single person I knew—or had ever known—had reached out to demand to know how I had ended up at the biggest wedding of this century.
After responding to a few of them, I noticed that Lucien had also texted me. Not about the wedding, but about his biography. I had ignored those at the time, but there was a new one from this morning that made me blink.
Lucien: How was the wedding? I was heartbroken that Harrison did not invite me as his plus-one.
Me: Wow, stalker.
Lucien: It is my business to know things. I have spies everywhere.
Lucien: I am making a joke, of course. I saw your social media post.
Me: I didn’t realize you followed me.
Lucien: Of course. I have been following you since I decided I must have you write my biography.
Me: You’re not dispelling my stalker accusations.
Lucien: Perhaps not. Now, when can we meet to discuss the biography? You could have dinner with me in Paris. Say the word and I will send my plane to retrieve you.
Me: Tempting, but I have to pass. Sorry.
Lucien: You are toying with me.
Me: I am bluntly telling you I can’t work on your book. Not right now.
Lucien: You wound me, Caroline.
Me: Then it’s a self-inflicted wound.
I was afraid he would bring up that we had slept together. Holding it over me in some way. Fortunately, he didn’t.
“Should we discuss things?” Harrison suddenly asked.
I put my phone down. “I have a feeling you’re not talking about the interest rate cut that’s rumored to be coming next week.”
“I do want to discuss that,” he said with a smirk. “But I meant should we discuss us?”
I had been waiting for this. “Sure. Let’s discuss. You can go first.”
Rafael had been on the phone, pacing up and down the aisle. Now he sat down next to me, giving us his full attention. I guess us included him, too.
“Do you think this is a conflict of interest?” Harrison asked.
“Straight to the point. Okay.” I tapped my foot out of nervousness. “It’s some sort of conflict of interest, yes. I haven’t decided just how much.”
“That’s fair,” Rafael said.
“We are all adults here,” Harrison explained. “We all have a high level of emotional intelligence.”
“Speak for yourself,” I joked. “After seeing Taylor Swift get married last night, I feel like a fourteen-year-old girl again.”
Rafael’s face remained blank. Harrison smiled, but didn’t laugh.
“We discussed this a little bit last night,” I said. “I’m good at compartmentalizing. I won’t allow this to affect my work on your book.”
“I know you won’t,” he said with a nod. “If I thought you would let this affect things, then I wouldn’t have slept with you.”
Rafael snorted. “Not sure you would’ve been able to stop yourself.”
Harrison’s eyes cut over to his head of security. “You don’t know that. You weren’t there.”
“I wasn’t,” he agreed. “But I know you, and I know the way you’ve been looking at our Caroline here for the past couple of weeks.”
Our Caroline. In spite of myself, I kind of liked the possessive way they were talking about me.
“Regardless,” Harrison continued, “we’re all adults here. Let’s try to maintain some level of self-awareness. If anyone thinks this is becoming a problem, then we should say so. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Rafael said.
“I was asking her,” Harrison said. “You and I have done this before.”
“True.”
They both turned to me. This was my chance to change my mind, to tell them I didn’t want to do this. And after spending so much time with both of them, I knew that they would respect whatever I decided. They wouldn’t hold it against me or become bitter about the whole thing.
“I’m in,” I said. “Should we celebrate by having sex on your plane?”
Rafael’s poker face disappeared and he snorted with laughter.
“We’ve done that before, too,” Harrison said with a sexy smile. “But unfortunately, I have a conference call in five minutes. With people too important to cancel on. The two of you can have as much fun as you want, though.”
Rafael narrowed his eyes. “Now it sounds like you’re giving us permission.”
“Permission to use the bedroom at the back of the plane,” Harrison clarified, “not permission to have a sexual relationship. It doesn’t need to be said, but you two can do whatever you want, whenever you want.”
“Oh, we know,” Rafael said, glancing sideways at me. “We have been.”
Harrison narrowed his eyes. “Sounds like I need to play catch-up. Maybe I should revoke bedroom privileges.”
Both of us laughed, and then Rafael stood. “I’ve got some work to do. It’s going to be a busy week with all the other investors visiting the city. Another time?”
That last part was for me. “As long as another time turns into several more times.”
He leaned down and brushed his lips across mine. “Oh, you better believe it.”
The rest of the flight home was productive for everyone; while Harrison and Rafael took care of their work, I pulled out my laptop and banged away on a chapter that had been forming in my head since I woke up this morning.
Contrasting Harrison’s professional life with his personal one, a guest at the biggest wedding in the world and smoothly shaking hands with all the other celebrities there.
The mixture of American culture with American business.
It would make a good article in The Journal, too.
Then we landed at Teterboro, took cars into the city, and parted ways. Both men cupped my cheek and kissed me goodbye. Not quite a grand romantic gesture, but more than what two friends would do.
We were in this strange middle place, but I wasn’t confused. I was relishing it.
The next few days passed without much fanfare. Harrison and Rafael were busy with visitors, so I had the evenings to myself for the first time in a while. But then Harrison invited me over to his place on Friday, and we picked up right where we had left off.
That weekend was spent with just Harrison. But the following week, when I went over to Harrison’s place on Wednesday, Rafael was waiting with a drink in hand and a smile on his face.
The sight of him made me smile, too.
They shared me that night, passing me back and forth like I was their own private toy.
And despite all my instincts, despite the feminism ingrained in me, I loved every sweaty second of it.
There was something so wonderful about turning off your brain and letting your body take over, and allowing two men you trusted to do whatever they wanted with you.
Rafael wasn’t there every time. Harrison and I had plenty of nights alone.
On those evenings, we had sex first. Sometimes the moment I stepped off the elevator into his penthouse, and other times after sharing a drink or a meal.
But the sex was always the first item on the agenda, before we worked on his biography.
And then, when we were done with that business, we cuddled on the couch and watched late-night TV.
Harrison was opening up a lot more, now.
He offered little details that he might have kept to himself previously, but that he felt comfortable enough to reveal to a woman he was having sex with.
That realization made me laugh on the way home one evening.
I had been afraid that sleeping with Harrison would negatively affect our professional relationship.
Not only was that not the case, but it was actually improving my ability to write his biography.
It went both ways, too. He was opening up to me, and I stopped seeing him as a billionaire playboy asshole.
Harrison Blackstone was now just a person like any other.
A man who had climbed the ranks in society fast, maybe too fast, and now had to juggle a million balls in the air just to maintain his power and relevance.
I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. How his view of Caroline Fairfax the journalist had changed since he won the auction all those months ago.
Because when he looked at me, now?
I saw something new in his eyes.
Something that excited me.