34. Harper
HARPER
Ineed to give Wade a raise. He stood guard outside my office all fucking day.
And on the rare occasion he wasn’t standing there, it was because I either wasn’t in my office or he made sure someone else was in the office with me.
First it was Tessa and Marcus, then it was Cirque’s executive chef.
The one time Colton attempted to come into the office, it was Sadie keeping company, who launched a shoe at him so quickly, he barely had time to close the door again before he got knocked out by a Jimmy Choo.
So here I am, four o’clock in the morning, staring down at a curled-up Colton on a mat-covered treadmill that he turned into a makeshift bed for the night. Not sure you can still call it a bed when you have to curl into a tiny ball so your feet don’t hang over the end.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my mind to settle long enough for me to decide what to do.
Stay or go. Stay or go.
He looks so peaceful in sleep, a tendril of blond hair falling forward to tickle the end of his nose.
How can something so beautiful do so much damage?
How can he sleep so soundly when my nights are plagued with nightmares and terror.
Anxiety and shame he caused, this man peacefully dozing at my feet.
I grab a slender foam roller leaning against a nearby machine and jab him in the ass, not hard, but enough to see his eyes snap open, yanked out of his cotton candy dreams. How dare he not be haunted by the memory of us.
He jolts upright at the contact, only to be reminded where he is as his forehead connects with the top bar of the treadmill, curses flowing from his lips as the thud ricochets off the walls.
I feel the long absent tug at the corner of my mouth, my lips trying to remember how to smile.
He's still rubbing the already forming bump to his forehead when I let out an amused huff above him.
“What the fuck are you doing? And how did you get in here?” I ask, already regretting waking him up instead of turning around and walking out the moment I saw him.
“Good morning Sunshine, how’d you sleep?” he replies, unfurling his cramped legs and stepping off the treadmill. I step backwards as Colton steps forward, my arm lifting between us, wielding the foam roller I used to nudge him awake.
“Don’t make me ask again,” I say, tone clipped but calm.
“I never left. Came down here when everyone else left for the night so I could be here for our morning workout, sorry I missed the last few days, but my keycard seems to be malfunctioning,” he grins at me, taking another step forward as I parry back.
“Not a mistake,” I respond, lifting the foam roller a little higher in warning. Not the most menacing weapon, but I didn’t have a lot to work with.
He wraps one hand around the end of the roller and tugs, pulling me into his arms effectively eliminating the space I was desperate to keep.
“Much better,” he murmurs as I lift a hand to steady myself against his wrinkled dress shirt.
I think I’ve finally found my footing when I lean back to look at him, and it’s like being knocked on my ass all over again.
The playful grin is gone as he looks into my eyes, searching for any hint of warmth he isn’t going to find.
I move to step out of his arms, but he gives a gentle squeeze against my waist, and the feel of being back in his arms pausing my escape. The same arms that once felt like the safest place in the world, now a reminder of how easily I was lured into a lie.
“Please, Harper…”
“Don’t,” I cut him off, closing my eyes for a moment, regaining my composure before I cover his hands with my own, gently moving them off my body to hang like dead weight at his sides.
“You don’t understand, I needed—” he starts, but I can’t hear his excuses. The pretty lies he tells himself to justify the way he violated my home, the way he used me.
“I do understand,” I keep my tone empty and neutral, the effort of holding in a scream causing my eye to twitch. “You had—I’m sorry, have—a job to do. You keep drugs off the streets, and that keeps people safe.”
“You understand…” he repeats, skepticism coating each word.
“Yes. I understand,” I tell him, my face giving away nothing.
It’s like every insufferable monologue from a man has trained me to keep my face blank and my opinion to myself.
But this time it’s for my benefit, not his.
He has already taken too much from me. I will not let him see the damage he has caused, the devastation left in the wake of his empty words.
“But you won’t forgive me.” It’s not a question.
He already knows it’s the truth. I step closer to him, my hand slithering up his chest until it rests against his cheek.
His breathing becomes more labored as I stroke my thumb across the apple of his cheek.
From fear or nerves, I can’t tell. I don’t care.
“I let you into my home. Into my bed. I trusted you with my secrets and my life.” I lean into him, and the venom I tried to hold back seeps into my words.
His hands remain at his sides, tense and rigid as my words bite into flesh.
“I believed you were worthy of that trust, of me. I made a mistake, many in fact. So, I will smile and play nice while you deceive my staff and my patrons, while they fall for this character you’ve created.
” I step back letting my fingers fall away slowly, knowing this is the last time he will feel a soft touch at my hand.
“And when this is over, you will never set foot in Cirque again. The memory of you will fade, your name will be forgotten. There is nothing to forgive, because there is nothing left.”
“Sunshine…”
“Have a good work out, Mr. Graves.” I turn around and start to walk away before he finds the courage to speak.
“You promised.”
Tell me you know I love you. That you know this is real.
“Then you’ve made liars of us both.”