20. Harper
Harper
As soon as Ev walks into the room I know something is different.
It’s not just that it’s still light outside and he isn’t due back for several hours.
There’s something off about him. I can see it in his eyes, which are studying me a little too closely while somehow remaining aloof, and in the way his body is so tense it’s like he’s made of stone.
My heart sinks when he looks at me and says, “Sasha will be released tonight. All charges are being dropped, and they’re processing him out now.
” He drops his briefcase, letting it fall from his fingers and hit the floor as he pulls off his suit jacket and then starts to undo the buttons on his shirt so he can roll them up his forearms. It’s a motion I’ve seen him do many times by now, and it never fails to make my heart start racing at the sight.
Turning his back to me, he grabs a glass and pours himself a generous splash of vodka, drinking it in one swallow before pouring himself another.
“You might want to start taking notes, Harper.”
“What?” I ask, still trying to understand this turn of events. “How did you get him released?”
“My cousin was able to recover the video footage from the night. It shows Rosalie alive after Sasha left. Then one of DeMarco’s men enters her apartment and comes back out with blood on his gloves.
It’s possible the police buried the evidence.
They were so hell-bent on blaming this on Sasha, too obsessed with the idea of catching him to care about anything else. ”
He takes another drink while I grab the closest pad of paper and the pen I’d been using earlier.
I jot down several notes. My mind keeps wanting to focus on Ev and what this means for us, but the journalist part takes over, scribbling down the information I’ll need to write one hell of an article and get my name all over the city.
Ev gives me a few more details, and I can already feel the piece I’m about to write taking shape.
“That’s incredible,” I finally say when he’s done. “This is going to shock the entire country, Ev. Your name will be everywhere.”
“Yeah,” he says, that one word loaded with sarcasm. “I’m guessing the next article you write will overshadow this one.”
“Ev,” I start to say, but he shakes his head. “You need to hurry, Harper. Go to your office, write what you need to about my cousin, and be the first to break this wide open. Word’s going to spread fast, especially now that they’re starting to process him out.”
“We need to talk about this,” I try to tell him.
He ignores me and pours more vodka into his empty glass. Taking the seat near the French doors, he reaches out his hand to pet Watson’s head when he walks over, the movement automatic and welcomed by both.
“Ev,” I start to say again, but he lifts his eyes from Watson to turn them on me.
“Better hurry, Harper. It shouldn’t take you long to pack up. You’re going to miss the chance to be the first if you don’t leave now.”
I know he’s right. The police station is a rumor mill that could put any high school to shame. The police inside will have already alerted any sources they may have. Plus, they’re going to be pissed, and in my experience an angry cop is usually a loud one.
To prove my point, my phone buzzes a second later, and when I look at it and see Dev’s name pop up, I know he’s texting to let me know what he’s heard.
“I think he still cares about you,” Ev says, not bothering to ask who the message is from. “It might be platonic like you say, although I have my doubts about that, but he clearly still cares for you.”
“Ev,” I start to say, but he cuts me off.
“Go. You can’t keep staying here and write your tell-all story about me, Harper. Surely you can see that’s a conflict of interest.”
I scowl at him because he’s talking to me like I’m an idiot, like I didn’t already know that I can’t be living with the man whose life I’m about to ruin. The only problem is I’m not so sure I want to ruin it anymore.
“We need to talk,” I say again.
“So you can get quotes to print. I don’t think so.”
“That’s not what I meant.” I let out a frustrated groan because the clock is ticking, and whether or not I write the piece on Ev doesn’t change the fact that I need to get my ass moving so I can write about Sasha.
“I know what you’re doing,” I say, even as I start bustling around the room, grabbing the few possessions I’d brought out here.
“And what’s that?”
“You’re pushing me away.” I don’t wait for him to try and deny it.
I rush down the hall and start packing my bags.
I have to run up to his room, since most of my stuff is up there now, and I do it as quickly and unthinkingly as I can, because if I stop to think about all the moments we shared in this bed, I’ll never be able to leave.
When I’m done, I throw my bags over my shoulder and walk back out into the living room. Ev is still seated, but his glass is refilled and all of Watson’s things are in a neat pile at the end of the couch.
“Thanks,” I mutter, grabbing his stuff and then lugging it all downstairs and into the back of my car. I return to get Watson, stopping in front of the chair Ev is still sitting in. “We still need to talk,” I try to say again. “About us.”
“Us?” he asks. “There can’t be an us, Harper. I live a lie and it’s your job to try and expose it. How does that become an us?”
“I don’t know, but we still need to talk.”
“There’s nothing left to say. I’ve given you all I can.
” Lifting his glass he points at the expensive watch on his other wrist. “Tick-tock. Those other journalists are already starting to write. I think I can hear the frantic clicking of their keyboards from here. You don’t want to be outdone on this one. ”
“You’re infuriating,” I tell him, while I hook Watson’s leash to his collar and then nudge his slender bottom to get him moving.
He’s just as reluctant to go as I am, but he eventually starts moving, even if it is at a slow, leisurely pace.
It ruins any idea I had to storm off in a huff, and my getaway after over a month of being forced to stay here is more like a stroll than the sprint I initially thought I’d use when he first told me I couldn’t leave.
When I get to the stairs, I take one last look back at him, but he’s already morphed into the high-powered attorney I first knew him as. This Ev is unreadable, unemotional, and cold as ice. He’s no longer my Ev, and with that knowledge, I turn and walk down the stairs.
I bawl like a baby the entire drive back to my apartment while Watson side-eyes me, concern and confusion written all over his cute face.
The place I live now feels way too small, outdated, and not nearly good enough.
Watson gives a pained sigh as he climbs up onto our much smaller, and not nearly as comfortable couch, and when I turn on the TV for him, I swear he gives a soft whimper at having to endure the much smaller screen after having experienced Scooby-Doo in all its glory on Ev’s giant TV.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, “but it was good enough for you a month ago. You’ll get used to it again in no time.”
I’m not sure if I’m talking to him or me, but it doesn’t matter.
We both need to get our shit together and accept the fact that this is our life now.
Aside from the unusual month we’ve just spent, this is how it’s always been, and it’s obviously how it will always be. The sooner I accept that, the better.
I kiss his head and grab my bag with my laptop inside. “I’ve got to get to the office, but I love you, and I promise we’re going to be okay.”
The look he gives me makes it abundantly clear he pities me and my delusions, but I don’t have time to break down just yet, so I shut and lock the door and run down to my car. Ev was right about one thing—this story is not going to wait, and I want to be the one who gets it out first.
Running into the office, I fly past the other employees who are either typing on their keyboards or talking on the phone. I race to Arthur’s office and open the door without bothering to knock. His surprised face would have me laughing in any other scenario.
“Sasha’s being released,” I tell him. “All charges dropped. New evidence points to one of DeMarco’s men.”
“Holy shit,” he says, all irritation at me barging in gone in a flash as the journalist inside him sparks to life and takes over. He frantically waves his hand at me to get out while he yells, “Go! Write!”
I do as he says and race back to my desk.
Jace isn’t in today, so there’s nothing to distract me as I turn on my computer and start writing.
All of our articles are short and sweet, which I’ve often thought is a lot harder to pull off.
Every word has to count, but it also needs to be engaging and informative.
Usually the easier the article looks, the harder it was to write.
Being concise is not effortless. I’m in the zone, though, and my brain is desperate to latch onto anything that doesn’t involve Ev or the look in his eyes when he’d watched me leave.
Work is what I know, and I throw myself into it headfirst until the article is done and I’m sending it to Arthur. Relieved, I let out the breath I’ve been holding and lean back in my chair so I can stretch my arms over my head and roll the kinks out of my neck.
I give him a few minutes to read what I sent before pushing my chair back and going to his office. The door is open this time, so I walk in and take my usual seat. The smile on his face is the kind he usually gets when he’s just spotted the last cherry danish and realizes it’s all his.
“This article is going to make us the most popular site in America. You’ve put us on the map, kid. This is amazing.” He laughs and claps his hands, too excited to remain still. “I don’t know who the hell your source is, but I want to kiss them. Whatever you do, don’t let them go.”