Chapter 16 Harper
The elevator glides upward in near silence, smooth enough that I should barely notice it, and yet I feel every second of the ascent because I’ve read Julian’s text too many times in the last twenty-four hours.
Dinner. Saturday. 8 PM.
No explanation, just an address on Central Park South and a time, delivered with the same certainty he seems to apply to everything.
By the time the doors slide open on the eighth floor, my pulse has picked up slightly, not enough to alarm me but enough that I’m aware of it, aware of myself in a way I usually try not to be.
I step out into a dimly lit space. It’s a grand room with large chandeliers, banquettes on the outskirts of the restaurant area, and large dining room tables spotting the rest of the room.
But what registers most is the absence of sound.
“Hello?” I call.
No one answers.
I take a few tentative steps forward, glancing toward what appears to be an unattended host stand, and for a moment I genuinely wonder if I’ve gotten this wrong—if I’ve arrived at the right place at the wrong time, or worse, the wrong place entirely.
I pull out my phone to triple-check the message, even though I already know what it says, the same address staring back at me.
“Hello?” I call again.
Still no answer.
“Okay,” I murmur under my breath, half amused but still unsure. “This isn’t unsettling at all.”
I turn slightly, debating whether I should text him or simply leave before this becomes an even more embarrassing scene—
“Ms. Hawthorne?”
The voice cuts cleanly through the silence, and I turn quickly, caught off guard.
A hostess now stands near the front, perfectly at ease, as if she’s been there all along and I simply failed to notice. “Yes,” I say, recovering as best I can. “Hi.”
She smiles, warm and welcoming. “We’ve been expecting you… If you’ll follow me.”
I fall into step behind her, the soft sound of my heels grounding me as we move through the large room.
I’m nervous and smooth the fabric of my wraparound dress, hoping I chose correctly.
It’s not overly sexy but the neckline plunges slightly and the fabric definitely hugs my curves.
I’ve been told the deep plum suits my complexion best, but really…
what does one wear on a date with their boss?
It soon becomes clear that the room is intentionally sparse, which, given its massive size, makes sense. Tables are set far apart, each one its own private island of light.
We reach the far side of the room, and she gestures ahead.
The entire wall is glass and beyond it, Central Park stretches out beneath the night, its winding paths traced in soft gold, the trees forming dark, sweeping shapes against the glow of the city rising beyond it.
It’s a view I’ve never seen from above in such magnificent splendor.
“Your table,” she says gently, drawing me back.
“Wow,” I breathe, a quiet laugh slipping out as I shake my head. “Sorry—it’s just… wow.”
“It tends to have that effect,” she replies with a knowing smile.
I lower myself into the chair she pulls out for me, my attention drifting back to the window, to the view that seems surreal, like I’ve stepped into someone else’s fantasy.
“Mr. Langley will join you shortly.”
“Thank you.”
She inclines her head and disappears as quietly as she arrived, leaving me alone with my hands resting lightly against the tabletop as I try to ground myself.
Dinner, I tell myself. Just dinner.
But as I sit there, the city stretching out beyond the glass in some sort of private dining room that I’m guessing is only accessed by people like Julian Langley, I know that isn’t entirely true—and I have no idea what happens next.
I’m still caught in admiring the view, my eyes tracing the soft ribbons of light winding through Central Park, when I hear him behind me.
“Harper.”
The way he says my name pulls me out of the moment, and when I turn, he’s there, standing at the table like he’s always belonged in a place like this.
“Julian,” I say, rising slightly out of instinct before he gestures for me to sit, but I don’t miss the way his gaze slides over me in appreciation.
He takes the seat adjacent. There’s a subtle softness to him tonight that wasn’t there before. “I trust you found it without any trouble.”
“I did,” I reply, though my attention returns to the window almost immediately, drawn to it like I might miss something if I look away too long. “Central Park from up here… it’s… really nice.”
The understatement sounds ridiculous the second it leaves my mouth, but he follows my gaze anyway, as though he’s willing to see it through my perspective instead of his own.
“It has its moments,” he says. “But I don’t think it compares to you tonight. That dress is lovely. It’s more than lovely—it’s stunning, and so are you.”
I think I blush from head to toe. It’s not that I haven’t been complimented before by men, but this man has me feeling like a schoolgirl.
This isn’t a rare, once-in-a-lifetime experience for him. This is simply his world. This is one of those occasions he can create without thinking twice, and somehow, he’s chosen to share it with me. All his power and wealth harnessed… toward me.
And I’m completely out of my depth.
Before I can linger there too long, a server appears, professional and unobtrusive, placing menus in front of us before disappearing. The interruption provides relief, a tangible to focus on.
This is where I’m expecting to scan the menu, desperate to decipher things I can’t pronounce, calculate what I can justify ordering, and land on a safe option.
I pick up the menu, bracing myself slightly as I open it.
And then I stop.
My eyes move across the page once. There’s no list of unpronounceable dishes, no exotic ingredients or artfully described preparations. There’s just… one thing.
I tilt my head, trying to make sense of it, before looking up at him. “Julian…”
There’s a flicker of amusement in his expression.
I glance back down at the menu, my brow furrowing as I read it again.
“Hot dogs?” I say, the disbelief slipping into my voice before I can stop it. Not just any hot dogs, either. Authentic hot dogs from the Metropolitan Museum of Art vendor reads the one bold-faced item on the menu.
I look back up at him. “You’re serious?”
“I am,” he says simply.
I let out a small laugh, shaking my head as I glance around the room again, at the view, at the sophistication of everything around us. “You brought a hot dog cart into… this?”
“I arranged for it,” he corrects, clearly satisfied, as he should be.
“That’s insane,” I say, but there’s no criticism in it, only disbelief and relief.
“Is that a problem?”
“No,” I say quickly, still smiling as I look back down at the menu, then up at him again. “It’s just… I was fully prepared to pretend I knew what I was ordering tonight.”
“I can appreciate how you might feel that way, but one thing you need to know…” He leans slightly across the table. “You don’t ever need to pretend with me.”
The tension that followed me up the elevator finally eases. “I appreciate you saying that. I’m a little overwhelmed.”
“No need to be,” he assures. “It’s just two adults getting to know each other.”
“You’re making it easy,” I admit, nodding down at the menu. “You gave me the one thing in this city that not only feels authentic to it but also to me, and where I came from.”
His gaze holds mine. “I gave you a meal you like. It’s a date, after all. That’s how these work in my experience.”
I smile, glance down at the menu again, then out at the park, New York City sprawled beyond. Then a realization dawns. Tonight isn’t about the view or the exclusivity or even the fact that he can bend a space to his will.
It’s that he didn’t. He didn’t try to impress me with some foreign dish or extravagant menu options. He thought about what I would recognize, what I would enjoy, and built the entire experience around that instead.
And somehow, sitting here with the most stunning view I’ve ever seen in my life, it’s not the skyline or the setting that stays with me.
It’s his thoughtfulness. Because underneath the power and wealth, Julian’s a man who listens.
I’m still holding the menu, amused by the absurdity of it, when I snap myself back to the present.
“I appreciate how thoughtful you were with the menu option. And of course, the setting is… I mean, this place is… unreal,” I say. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the city like this.”
Julian watches me before answering. “You know, I own the building. Did I already tell you that?”
There’s no arrogance to it, just the simple acknowledgment that this is his normal.
“No, you didn’t. It’s a lot,” I admit, glancing back out at the view before returning to him.
“Not in a bad way. Just… a lot. This is all very different from a small, rent-controlled apartment in the Lower East Side.”
I consider the chasm between our lives and sweep my hand out indicating the room, the ability to command hot dogs and the city view. “How did you get all this?”
He leans back slightly in his chair. “It didn’t start this way.”
“Darn,” I say, snapping my fingers. “I was hoping I could get in on the action.”
Julian tips his head back and laughs. “If only it were that easy, right?” His chuckles wind down. “My father built most of it. Hotels, real estate, infrastructure. I inherited the framework… but not the influence. That part had to be earned.”
“How?” I ask, crossing my arms on the table and leaning forward.
“By proving I wasn’t just his son,” he says simply. “I took over smaller divisions first. Operations. Then acquisitions. I made decisions that worked… and a few that didn’t. But over time, people stopped seeing the name and started seeing the results.”
“Why hockey and the Vipers?” I ask. “What got your family into this business? You seem to have a special love for the Vipers over anything,” I point out.
“Well, it was the only thing my father and I ever shared,” he says. “And I knew I could build a team and organization better than most who had done it in the past, including my father.”
I absorb that for a second, then let out a quiet breath. “You sound very… confident.”
“That’s the key to success, Harper. It’s all about confidence.”
I nod slowly, then glance down at my hands before looking back up at him. “My life’s been a little less… structured.”
“I gathered as much,” he says. “Tell me more about Dylan. Why is he with you?”
“I guess I’ve been taking care of him most of his life. My mom and stepdad are what you would call free spirits. Let’s just say I was the responsible one in the family but given our age difference, it worked out.”
Julian’s expression turns curious. “And where are your parents now?”
“Our mom’s… not exactly reliable, and my stepdad lives in his own world most of the time. They moved to a small mountain town in North Carolina a few years ago, chasing dreams of being artists, although honestly, they’re not very good at it. But Dylan wasn’t doing well with them,
getting in a lot of trouble at school, so when things started going sideways for him, I brought him back to New York to live with me. It wasn’t really a discussion. It was just… what needed to happen.”
“And you’ve been managing that on your own?” he asks.
I lift a shoulder. “Work, school, bills, making sure he stays on track. It’s not glamorous, but it works.”
He smiles. “You stepped in where someone else didn’t. That’s not something people do lightly.”
I look away for a second, suddenly unsure how to respond. “He’s my brother. It wasn’t really a choice.”
“It was,” he says, just as calmly. “You made it.”
I’m overcome by a rush of pride. It’s nice to be acknowledged every now and then.
“So,” he says after a beat. “What’s your plan for Christmas? Do you two have any Christmas traditions?”
“Dylan’s actually going to North Carolina to spend it with our mom and his dad. It’s good down there for him… in doses.”
“How about you?” he asks.
“I’ll stay here,” I say with a small shrug. “Maybe order takeout, watch Elf a few times, and probably check out the windows by Rock Center. Take our dog Beau for lots of walks. I’m good with a low-key holiday.”
“No other family here?” he presses gently.
“No. It’s usually just me and Dylan.”
Julian watches me, considering as he smiles. “That seems… insufficient.”
I laugh softly. “It’s just Christmas.” The subject unsettles me slightly, so I do my best to redirect. I shake my head as I stare out the vast windows. “I have to admit… I’m not sure I fit here. This is all such an overwhelming experience to be here… with you.”
“You fit exactly where I want you to,” he says.
I shake my head. “That’s not really how the world works.”
“It is for me,” he replies. “And it can be for you too…”
I look at him now.
“You are really quite beautiful, Harper,” he says finally. “Not just your looks, but as a person, what you’ve sacrificed for your brother, for your family. I’ve never met someone like you.”
I am both embarrassed and flattered, unsure of what to say. Luckily, he continues so I don’t have to respond.
“If two people want something,” he says, leaning forward enough that his focus holds mine completely, “they don’t stand around overthinking it until it passes them by. They don’t let fear or circumstances make the decision for them.”
I brush a lock of hair out of my face.
“They go for it,” he says simply. “I spent a long time doing the opposite, convincing myself that if something was complicated, it wasn’t worth the risk. That stepping back was the smart choice.”
He pauses, gaze unwavering. “But life doesn’t wait for you to figure it out. It keeps moving. And if you don’t act, you miss it.”
There’s nothing dramatic in how he says it. He’s speaking what he believes is the truth.
“I don’t intend to miss it,” he says.
Sweat forms at my brow.
“I want this,” he adds, no hesitation in it.
“I’m not sure what to say,” I manage. “I mean, you’re incredible, it’s just, this is so…” I trail off.
“The question, Harper, is do you want this too?”
I look at him, knowing this is where I either step back… or don’t.
And then I smile, small at first, then it takes over my whole face and maybe even my body, because that’s the only answer I can give.
“Juli—” I start, though I don’t even know what I’m about to say.
He doesn’t wait. He moves close and kisses me.
Not tentative but immediate and sure, like he’s already decided this matters and there’s no reason to pretend otherwise.
The world outside the glass disappears, the city, the room, all of it fading until there’s only him and the way everything inside me shifts to meet it.
My hand finds his jacket without thinking, gripping lightly as the kiss deepens, pulling out a side out of me that I’d held back.
When he finally pulls away, it’s like he’s leaving just enough space between us for me to catch my breath, which comes a little uneven.
I look at him, knowing—without needing to say it—that everything just changed.