Chapter 6 – Harper
SIX
HARPER
The next night, I go on a ten thousand dollar date.
Ten thousand dollars I could’ve spent on literally anything: something for my business, part of a down payment on a house so I can move out of Jules’s backyard, or an expensive attorney to see if I have any other options.
Literally anything .
But instead, I spent ten thousand dollars on a pity date with a friend.
Okay, maybe friend is being generous. A friend of a friend? An acquaintance?
And, okay, to say I spent money on a date is a bit of a lie too, considering I spent the money as a bit of petty revenge on my dumbass ex and his new girlfriend. At the time, it felt like the best option, a great idea, even. Now, with butterflies fluttering and my pulse pounding as I walk beside him in utter uncomfortable silence, it feels a bit silly.
We walk from where we parked to the Swift Building, paparazzi screaming at us, asking me about the vandalism and Wes if he knows I’m still in love with my ex.
See? I should have stayed home.
Our dinner is apparently at the top of the Swift Building, and once we’re away from the paparazzi, we endure a silent elevator ride before we arrive at the top of the open-air building. Nearly an hour later, we are pushing a way-too-fancy dinner around on our plates and attempting the most uncomfortable small talk known to man.
I thought it would be an okay evening considering I’ve spent my fair share of time with Wes Holden over the years at parties and whatnot, but I was wrong. So fucking wrong. I’m sitting here being bombarded with the reality of what a moron I am, and Wes looks like he would rather be anywhere but here.
I grab my champagne glass and throw it back, the waiter, who is watching our every move, making this only more uncomfortable, running over to refill it. I shouldn’t accept, considering I’ve eaten nothing today from the nerves, but still, I smile and lift the glass, taking another sip.
“So, how much did this date go for?” Wes asks, a hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
“Too much,” I grumble, and his eyes go wide. “Fuck. Sorry, I didn’t mean that, I just mean…more than I should have paid, considering I’m living in Jules’s cottage for the time being, and...you know, everything else.”
He stares at me for a moment, contemplating his next words, then shakes his head as if throwing caution to the wind before he speaks again. “Can I ask, why did you?”
I’m not sure how to answer this, but it can’t get much worse, so I go with the truth.
“Because men are the absolute worst.” He lets out a small laugh, and I smile, emboldened by his lack of offense to my statement. “It was just a petty little fuck you to my ex.”
“A fuck you?” He leans forward now, intrigued, and even though I’d rather talk about anything but myself, I’m happy we’re actually talking instead of just staring blankly at one another.
“My ex dumped me—” I start, but he gently cuts me off,
“The one whose lawn you glittered?”
I almost forgot he was there that night, and I give him a tight smile and nod.
“Yeah, that one. Atlas Oaks is his favorite band, and I heard his new girlfriend talking about bidding on this date because they’re just so in love and it would be such a good gift.” I shrug, feeling a bit childish admitting this, but proceed all the same. “I decided I didn’t want him to have anything good. They’re out there ruining my reputation right now, acting like I’m some crazy ex…I don’t know. Him getting to have a night with you tipped the scale. I didn’t want him to have it. Or maybe I didn’t want her to give it to him. Either way, I kind of snapped, and I bid too much.”
“You know, I would be more than happy to repay?—”
I shake my head quickly. “It’s fine, the money was just sitting there anyway. It was my wedding fund,” I mumble, twirling the liquid in my glass. I don’t drink often, mostly because when I do, my tight grip on common sense slackens, and I make dumb decisions, like bidding ten grand on a date with a guitarist or rambling about things I should shut up about to said guitarist.
“Your wedding fund? Were you guys engaged?” His eyes move to my hand, and his body shifts unconsciously, moving away like he’s trying to be respectful.
I shake my head. “No, no. The wedding I thought I’d be having.” I let out a humorless laugh. “God, I’m an idiot.”
His eyes go soft, and he shakes his head. “I highly doubt that,” he says so low, I almost don’t hear it over the loud wind.
“I dated the same man for four years, even though I didn’t have any all-consuming, soul-crushing feelings for him. That’s pretty idiotic.”
Wes tips his head from left to right like he’s weighing his answer. “Then why’d you stay?”
I think of my realization at the police station, how my friends are moving forward with their lives and I’m back at square one, how I think I knew that was the future I’d be facing if I broke up with Jeremy. Still, I decide that’s not something I want to share with my best friends, much less Wes, and give him a safer answer.
“Jeremy was…or, I thought he was…good enough. A safe bet to check my boxes.”
“Your boxes?”
“Yeah, you know: you date, you get married, you have two point five kids. You find a career you can endure, and you do well at it, and you buy a house with a white picket fence.” I take another sip of my drink and then continue, watching Wes’s lips tip up, entertained by me. “Then you wait until the kids all move out, and when you’re old enough to retire, you travel the world, probably on one of those seniors' cruises that go all over the world. Which is crazy because I don’t even want kids, and I hate cruises, and I want to travel now , not when I’m sixty-five or whatever and have to worry about affording that and paying some ungrateful kid’s college tuition.”
He opens his mouth to add something, but I’m on a roll now, fueled by alcohol, bad decisions, and anger.
“But I thought that was what I was supposed to do, so I stayed with Jeremy because he was safe. He had a good job in the same industry as me, and we both worked hard, so he wouldn’t complain about my doing it. We had the same goals, and I could see that future. A boring, safe future. Except he wasn’t safe, he was an asshole who I convinced myself I liked.” I’m rambling now, and I know it, but I can’t stop. Something about the way Wes is looking at me makes me feel like I want—no, need —to get this all off my chest or I might explode. “And then he dumped me and made me look like an idiot after he cheated on me.”
I take in a deep breath and sit back, waiting for the embarrassment to wash over me from my little outburst, but it doesn’t come. Instead, I watch as his small smile spreads into a wide grin. Watch his arms cross over his chest and take note, without meaning to, how broad his shoulders are and how he has a tiny indent in his cheek when he smiles.
“Sounds like he’s the idiot for fumbling you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m the one who helped build his career without knowing it,” I say then instantly wish I could take it back. It reveals too much of the truth I can’t share.
“How’d you do that?” he says, not accusing or disbelieving, just with interest.
I quickly try to decide what to tell him, how much to reveal, but settle on saying what Ava and Jules already know.
“I helped him with designs he brought home from work. He always told me he was putting in a good word for me with his boss and he was building up my reputation, but it seems that never happened. He just handed them off to his new girlfriend so she could impress her father. Now he and his little girlfriend are going on a rampage, making me look like some crazy scorned ex in case I try and say something.”
His face looks confused now, like there’s some obvious answer I’m missing.
“Why not tell someone? Why not get on one of those talk shows or something to tell your side of things?”.
“Because I am…” I run through my mind trying to figure out what to say, how to say I signed everything away to save my friends before I land on sticking as close to the truth as possible. “I am nothing. I am no one. I design pageant gowns, and Astor Fashion house is…everything. They know everyone. They’re tied to everything. They could crush me. They are crushing me,” I explain.
“Don’t say that,” he says with a shake of his hand, reaching over the small table and grabbing mine. It’s warm and calloused and sends a jolt of electricity through me, which I force myself to bury. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”
“It’s not self-deprecating. It’s the truth. The lawyers they have, the press pull, the clout—they are the industry, and I’m just some girl who designs pageant gowns.”
“I have pull with the press. Ava does, the band does, we could?—”
I shake my head, panic jolting me to pull my hand away and sit up straight. “No, no. No. That can’t happen. I can’t…”
“Harper—” he starts, reaching for my hand again, but I cut him off.
“You don’t get it. He could shift his focus to Ava, to try and fuck with her. And Jules. And Jaime. And Nate. If he wanted to, was given the motivation to, Jeremy could easily destroy all of their reputations and all of their businesses, and I cannot have that on my conscience.”
It’s the closest I’ve come to the truth since everything happened, and it feels surprisingly good.
“Harper, really. We could—” he starts to say.
“I can do this on my own,” I say, forcing a smile onto my lips and slipping back behind my safe, confident, aloof mask. “I won’t let some idiot get to me. I’m just, you know, having a bit of a pity party. This?” I say, waving my hand between us. “This was enough. A good fuck you to my ex, showing him that I can and will get better than he ever was. It’s good. It’s great even.” I’m selling it, and I know it.
I’m so good, I’m almost convincing myself, and when Wes crosses his arms on his chest, leaning back with a smile on his face, I know I’ve convinced him too.