Colton
Making a grown man cry wasn’t on my list of tasks for the day.
Hell, when Marcus started asking too many questions about what happened to Ben, I was the one who volunteered to tell him.
Well, not everything that happened, just that he was taking some personal time off and Harper was getting him the help he needed.
I made the executive decision to leave out the part about him being used as bait to kidnap and torture his dealer. Didn’t think Marcus needed all the specifics.
If I had any indicators that the most stoic, calm person at Cirque would crumble under the news, I would have let Wade take the task.
I can’t fault Marcus for the reaction he had, especially since he blames himself for not getting Ben the help he needed sooner.
When I told him that Ben was taking some personal time off, he immediately started asking questions about rehab and programs he might need.
Up until this conversation, it had just been a suspicion of mine that he knew Ben was on something, now it was confirmed.
While Ben’s drug use wasn’t news to Marcus, the fact that it had become such a problem was.
The despair over Ben’s condition seemed to clear ever so slightly when I told him that I wouldn’t tell Harper that he was already aware Ben was using.
Based on the look of relief he wore when I said I wouldn’t tell Harper, his admission had been a slip of the tongue, and one he was happy to keep between us.
Lucky for him, Harper doesn’t need another person leaving their station, especially someone with such a big role in the nightly shows and the coordination of the club’s flow.
Just someone to keep an eye on.
I left Marcus backstage, pulling himself together so I could go talk to Tessa and check on what we needed for the VIP arrival.
“Hey Tessa. Want me to go get those bottles from the back for you? The VIP should be here any minute?” I ask her as I approach the bar.
“Thanks, hun, but I got it covered.” She lifts one of the expensive sparkling water bottles tucked away below the counter for emphasis. One less task for me to do since that run-down with Marcus took a lot longer than I expected it to.
“Okay perfect. I’ll go get Harper and let her know he will be here any minute so she can greet him when he arrives.”
Tessa’s smile cracks at the edges, her brows pulling together slightly. Confusion as she looks from me to the center of the audience floor.
“I don’t think she needs you too much tonight, Colton,” she points to where her eyes keep darting, waiting for me to turn to add, “she looks like she greeted him just fine on her own.” I don’t like the inflection in her tone, the undercurrent of sarcasm I don’t usually associate with Tessa.
Harper is sitting dead center amongst the rest of the audience, wearing a black satin halter dress with a single slit up the side that flows over her curves like water.
Her dark hair pulled back from her face, twisted up and fastened with two custom pins detailed to look like crossed daggers.
The dress is held up at the base of her neck in a small bow.
One small tug and it would slither down her sinful body.
She’s across the room and I wonder if she can hear the way my heartbeat kicks up whenever I see her.
Her strength displayed in the way she holds herself, tall despite being short in stature, able to look down her nose at men twice her height.
She’s more relaxed right now, one of her legs slung over the other, making the slit in her dress more pronounced, a hand on the coup glass I know is filled with some flavor of seltzer water.
Probably the expensive stuff she ordered for this mystery VIP guest.
Her face doesn’t carry the worry it had earlier today, when the flowers and note were discovered.
She throws her head back and laughs, loud and unrestrained.
When she turns her head to the side, I see her smile.
It’s one I know well, only coming out when we watch her trash tv shows and she gives me all the details I missed in previous seasons of who hates who, or when I talk like the Swedish chef while I prepare dinner.
Then her small hand reaches out and touches a forearm. A well-defined forearm.
My head ping-pongs between her smile and her hand resting casually on this stupid manly forearm.
Who the fuck is getting my smile. That’s my smile, I’ve only ever seen it when she’s with me. Alone.
My. Smile.
Who has forearms that big, anyway? You know who has stupid, veiny forearms? Porn stars. Why the fuck is she touching a porn star?
“Oh wow, are you okay? You look like you might be sick,” Tessa asks, concern laced through her question.
Correct, Tessa. I can feel the bile rising in my throat as I peel my eyes away from her hand touching the rippling forearm to see who the dead man attached to it is.
He’s older than us, a little silver peppering his temples and trimmed beard, which does nothing to hide his sharp jaw line and high cheekbones.
He’s dressed casually, but impeccably, in a black henley t-shirt with the top button undone, a silver watch on one wrist and the other draped over the back of his chair as he turns to face Harper more fully, ignoring the performance in front of him entirely.
Rude fuck.
Harper usually greets VIP members when they arrive, maybe checking in on them during the evening, but never sitting down to chat. She hates chit chat. She hates having to pretend to smile and nod along with whatever boring drivel they spout at her, but she doesn’t look like she hates this VIP.
He leans forward, his fingers moving the few strands of hair that escaped behind her ear so he can get unnecessarily close to whisper against her cheek.
My feet are moving before I can contemplate a plan, the only thing I know is that he’s touching what’s mine.
I don’t need a plan. I need a weapon. Harper lifts her hand to cover her perfectly painted lips to stifle a laugh at whatever Mr. tall, dark and dead said to her, leaning back into his seat as I come up to stand behind their chairs.
“Oh good! Colton, I wanted to introduce you to an old friend, Grant Darling. Grant this is Colton.” Harper says, once she’s stopped giggling long enough to notice I’m here.
She says it so calmly, like what is happening is completely normal, like she isn’t stabbing a knife into my chest as she puts a hand on his shoulder.
She’s so comfortable with him, a calmness to her that I’ve only ever heard when she talks with Sadie, but there is something more, an admiration in the way she looks at him. It’s warm and affectionate. It’s loving.
She doesn’t look at me like that. She looks at me with lust and desire, she comes to me for safety and laughter, but she doesn’t look at me like I hang the moon.
He holds his hand out to me, “So you’re the famous Colton, I’ve heard so much about you, pleasure to finally meet you.”
I stare at his hand, the same hand that brushed along her cheek a moment ago, the same hand I see in my head touching her and holding her, blurring reality and nightmare.
“Colton?” Harper asks from next to me, but I keep staring at his hand, contemplating all the ways I could remove it from his body.
I’ve gotten to seven different possibilities, when he pulls his hand back, “Not a handshake guy, no problem.”
“You aren’t allowed to have your phone on the floor.
” I gesture to the cell phone placed on the table before him.
“It should have been taken from you when you entered. My apologies for the oversight, Ms. Mathers,” I say to Harper, my eyes connecting with Grant’s for the first time.
My apology is for her, but the acknowledgement that he isn’t respecting the rules is for him.
Thinking he’s above them because of whatever his relationship is with Harper. Not today.
He wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb as a smirk forms. “I like you, Colton, I really do. Unfortunately, I think right now I might be the only one who does.” He nods to Harper, who is glaring at me. He’s ignoring her rules and talking through performances, but I’m getting a death glare?
“Colton—” Harper starts, but she doesn’t get far before Grant reaches over and squeezes her hand on the table.
“It’s fine, Harper. I have to get going, anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” he asks with a raised brow, my vision going red.
“She’s busy,” I answer at the same time Harper says, “Absolutely.”
She smiles at him, giving his hand a quick pulse back before she stands from the table, her attention finally falling on me, her shift in demeanor evident as her smile drops in the blink of an eye. “Colton, a word, please. Now.”
She moves through the floor, but not leading me to her office, instead choosing to go towards the hallway where the private rooms sit. She opens the door to the “Hall of Mirrors” room and gestures for me to enter.
I’ve been in this room a handful of times, the basics of all the rooms are the same, but this one is my favorite. The large leather couch in this room sits in the dead center, encompassed by walls of angled mirrors, making sure your vision is constantly surrounded by the object of your desire.
I don’t need mirrors to constantly see Harper. She has invaded every corner of my mind until everything else has become background noise. Now, it feels like too much, unable to hide from the jealousy coursing through me as my insecurity is reflected back at me.
“Why are we in here?” I ask.