Chapter 2
Harper is in London.
The knowledge feels sharp, wedged beneath my skin like a splinter I can’t pull out and can’t stop returning to. My thoughts have been running over the fact again and again in the past two days.
Harper is now in London. And she’s no longer with Dean.
Dean had called me, clearly shocked, telling me I no longer needed to fly to New York for the wedding. She got cold feet. Spoke of some internship, about her dreams, and how she’d felt something was off for a long time but didn’t have the guts to tell me… It’s such bullshit.
I’d asked him why he thought she hadn’t been able to tell him before then, and what had happened to set this off, but he’d hissed that he didn’t fucking know. Maybe he’ll be more self-reflecting later on, but then again, I’d known the guy since college. He had many strengths, but that had never been one.
“The meeting with the Ridley team is in ten minutes,” my assistant says. She’s standing in the doorway to my office at Contron’s European HQ, a furrow between her brows. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Looks like you need another coffee.”
I shake my head. That’s the last thing I need. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
“All right,” Trish says in a tone of voice that makes it clear she doesn’t believe me. She’s never been shy about giving her opinion, and I’ve always liked that about her. Much better than my brother’s robot-like assistants.
“I won’t be back at the office afterward,” I tell her. “Field all emails and calls, and let whoever wants me know that I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”
Her eyebrows rise. “There’s nothing in your diary.”
“No,” I agree smoothly.
Trish nods again and smiles. “All right then, sir. I understand. Have fun.”
“Thanks,” I say.
But I’m not sure if fun is exactly the thing I’ll have. Not if Harper’s mood the other day is anything to go by. I’ll have to play my hand well, but that’s what I’ve been trained for. That’s what I do day in and day out here. Handling our European subsidiaries and liaising with the executives back in New York.
The Ridley meeting goes smoothly, and I leave the office a few minutes after it concludes. London is gray. Contrary to what most people believe, it’s not always gloomy, but right now it is. The historic buildings with their gray stone around my Regent Street office mirrors the overcast skies, turning everything into one color palette.
I make it to the gallery by Duke of Kent Square five minutes before it closes. It’s a beautiful structure from the Victorian period and includes columns and large windows. There’s a small square in front with a fountain that hasn’t been turned on, yet. It’s mid-April, and the space is already ringed by elaborately planted tulips and spring flowers.
I lean against the fountain and wait with my arms crossed over my chest.
Her coworker, the black-haired woman who loves to flirt, emerges first. I’ve always flirted back in the past. After all, game respects game. But now I look down at my shoes and run a hand over my face. She doesn’t notice me. Two men I don’t recognize follow. And, finally, ten minutes past the gallery’s official closing time, Harper exits.
Her blonde curls are pulled up into a ponytail today. It’s messy, with a few tendrils loose around her face. She’s in a pair of thigh-high boots and an oversized gray coat, a hint of a green turtleneck peeking out from beneath the collar.
She’s always looked so uniquely herself. Artistic and effortless, like she doesn’t have a care in the world for what others might think when they see her.
I take a step forward.
She stops in her tracks when she notices me. Her green eyes widen, and she blinks rapidly.
“Nate?”
“Hey,” I say. “We didn’t get to finish our discussion the other day.”
“No, but you purchased two art pieces,” she says curtly. She starts walking again, her heels making small clicking sounds against the cobblestones. I fall in step beside her. “What were you thinking, waiting for me outside of my work? What if someone saw you?”
“They didn’t.”
“But what if they did? This would look… look… so weird.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That you’re meeting with a client you have an established relationship with? I’d say that looks very diligent. As a boss, I appreciate employees who take initiative.”
She shoots me a glare. “Yes, but that would be giving a false impression.”
“Is it? Am I not a client of the gallery? Are you not in the business of selling art and maintaining client relations? Fake it till you make it, Harper.”
“You know what I mean,” she snipes. Her steps speed up, taking us in the direction of the King’s Road and the crosswalk. “Look, I really don’t want to be rude, and we’ve had fun in the past, but I don’t want to be in any kind of contact with Dean. I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to talk to you,and have it relayed to?—”
She steps out onto the street and straight into oncoming traffic. I react on instinct, grabbing the back of her coat and pulling her sharply toward me. The double-decker bus honks loudly. She stumbles into my arms, and I move us a few extra steps to the safety of the sidewalk.
“Are you okay?”
She sweeps a few strands of hair off her face and looks over her shoulder. “Oh my God, that was… he just came out of nowhere.”
“Yes,” I say, “he came from your right. They drive on the opposite side of the road here. Did you get hurt?”
Harper shakes her head. “No, no, but that was so close. Holy shit.”
“It takes getting used to. You have to look both ways. See that?” I lift a hand off her waist and point to the street, where look left is emblazoned with white letters on the asphalt. My voice comes out sharp. “Don’t do that again.”
“I don’t intend to.” She blinks up at me, and that’s when I realize that my right palm is still pressed to the small of her back… with my arm wrapped around her middle.
She’s closer than she’s ever been before. Looking up at me with her wide eyes, a few freckles sprinkled over her nose, and I could look at her forever. I’ve always been able to do that. Look at her without needing to breathe, all to see the nuances of her expressions and the depth of her gaze.
But she’s never been mine to look at.
I retract my arm and take a step back. “Sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. Thanks for reacting so quickly.”
“Been in the city for a while,” I say. There’s strain in her eyes, and it makes me frown. “Let’s sit down. Get something to drink.”
She slowly shakes her head. “I really shouldn’t.”
“Yes, you really should.” I put a light hand on her shoulder and turn so we face the little café at the corner of the street. My hand is only resting on the wool fabric of her coat, but I feel keenly aware of the touch regardless.
This attraction has always been inconvenient. Stupid. Annoying.
Inescapable. I’ve tried, but I can’t make it stop.
She looks at the café and then up at me. There’s a clear conflict in her eyes. “You’re Dean’s best friend,” she says. But she’s smiling, just a bit.
I run a hand along my jaw and make my voice surprised. “Aw, so that’s why you’ve been acting strange around me?”
She gives a tiny chuckle. “Nate.”
My name from her lips shouldn’t sound that good. It really shouldn’t. “Well, how about this,” I say. “Let’s take that fact and put it in a box, and we’ll put that box away. For now, I’m just your friend… and the only person you know in London. Let me buy you a coffee or a glass of wine and hear how you’re settling in.”
A small smile curves her lips, and her dimples make a quick appearance. “In a box, huh?”
“A very tightly shut box.”
“As long as it’s stuffed deep in a closet, and the closet door is locked… okay. And you won’t tell Dean about this?”
“I won’t say a word.” And I mean it, too. He’s my friend, and he had asked me to keep an eye on her. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be reporting to him.
Harper walks ahead of me to the café. I follow, leisurely. It’s hard to wrap my head around seeing her here, in the city I’ve lived in for the past two years.
Pausing by the entrance, she glances at me. “You coming?”
I step past her to pull the door open. “Of course. Ladies first.”
“I’ll never get over your chivalry,” Harper says. Her voice has warmed from when she first saw me, but there’s a guardedness to her that hadn’t been there before. Not when I’d been Dean’s friend, not during the dinners or parties we’d occasionally attended together.
But I understand.
I’d been a friend, too… and now I’m a potential foe. I’ll have to prove her wrong on that count.
We grab a table by the windows, overlooking the square, with its flowers and the fountain. In the distance, the gallery is visible. Harper orders a large limonata, and I ask for a black coffee.
She takes a deep breath. Her green eyes are curious on mine, and a bit cautious.
“Will you tell me now?” I ask. “Where do you live? How have you been settling in?”
She looks down at her hands that are resting on the table. “It’s okay. I found temporary housing, about twenty-five minutes away.”
“By Tube? Or walking?”
“Tube,” she says.
I frown. “Okay. Looking for something more permanent?”
“Yes,” she says. “I haven’t been here for long. And I hadn’t exactly planned out my trip here, either.”
“Right.”
“I mean, I did, because I applied for the internship and the visa… but I never thought I’d actually end up going.” She smiles crookedly and shrugs. “Sorry. I know that belongs in the box.”
“You’re in control of the box,” I tell her.
“Okay. Thanks. And thanks for saving my life back there. That was way too close for comfort, and, to be honest, it’s not even the first time it happened.”
Fuck. “It isn’t?”
“No. I really have to brand it into my head to switch directions when I check to cross the road.” She shakes her head, smiling ruefully. “A lot of adjustments. But I like the city. There’s nice energy here. It’s almost like New York, but… calmer, somehow. I don’t know how to define it. Not yet.”
I nod, still hung up on the admission about her nearly dying several times since she’s arrived. “Yeah. Different areas have unique feels, too, more so than in Manhattan. You’ll explore it all, I’m sure.”
“I’ll try to,” she says. The waitress brings our drinks, and Harper grips her lemonade with both hands, looking out the window.
I don’t like the silence. Not with her, not when it’s a contrast to the lively discussions we’ve had in the past. The discussions where her personality came out, when I got her perspective on things. I’ve never met anyone with quite the same opinions as Harper. She surprised me constantly.
Why’d you leave Dean?
The question burns and has since I found out the news. But I can’t ask it. It belongs in the box, and as far as I’m concerned, that box serves us both just fine.
“What’s your plan while you’re in London?” I ask instead. “See all the sights? Go to every gallery and museum?”
Her face lights up. “Yes. I have a long list of the things I want to see.”
“Give me your top picks.”
She does, running through everything from the Tower and the Buckingham Palace to obscure museums and galleries I’ve never heard of.
“Well,” I say. “I think you might need more than six months.”
“Maybe. I’m not thinking too far ahead right now. All I want is… to explore a new place. To discover a new me.” But then she shakes her head like she shouldn’t have said that.
“I think that makes perfect sense.”
Her eyes widen. “You do?”
“Of course. You think I didn’t do the same when I first came here?”
Now her smile is curled with interest. “No, I don’t. You’ve always seemed… What did you change? I can’t imagine you wanting to change a thing about your life.”
That makes me chuckle. I use the pause to reach for my coffee and take a sip. The main reason I lobbied my brother for the London position isn’t one I can share. Not with her… since she was the main reason.
“What does that mean? You think my life is perfect?” I ask. It’s easy to play this role with her. To lean back in my chair and give her a lazy smile.
Harper rolls her eyes. “I mean, kinda? You’re a jet-setting bachelor. You work in this hugely successful company that I never understood. You’re handsome, rich, and you buy art on a regular basis… I’ve heard a ton of things, Nate, and I bet it’s a pretty nice life.”
I grin at her. She thinks I’m handsome? “Well, I think that might be one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me.”
“Did you just trick me into giving you a compliment, just to win a point?”
“Maybe I did,” I say. She’s halfway through her lemonade, and I don’t want to leave without… something. Without knowing I’ll get to see her again. I shouldn’t try to. Shouldn’t ask. But there’s no self-control, not when she’s here in front of me. When she just laughed because of me.
“Do you know anyone else in London?”
“Not a single person,” she says. But then she smiles. “Just you.”
I reach into the inner pocket of my suit jacket and find my phone. “I have a suggestion for you.”
“A suggestion?”
“Yes. Two, in fact, and I want you to consider them before giving an answer.”
Her eyebrows knit together, but she’s intrigued. I can tell. “All right, this sounds… interesting. It has nothing to do with the box?”
“Nothing at all. I will never open that box, it will have to be you,” I say. “Trust me on that.”
She nods, a bit hesitantly. “Okay. I appreciate that. So, what are these suggestions?”
“There’s an exhibition at the London Modern tomorrow night.” I click open the email and flip my phone to display the invitation to her. “A new group of artists is being showcased.”
Her eyes grow wide as saucers as she reads the invite. “And you were invited to this?”
“Yes.”
Her gaze shifts to mine. “How?”
I shrug. Invitations like this regularly end up in my inbox or are filtered through my assistant, and most of them, I decline. I have no doubt this one came courtesy of her boss at the Sterling Gallery. I’d become a big art buyer, and big art buyers are always welcome at events like this.
“Like you said, I’m very handsome.”
She giggles, a bit breathlessly. “Right, of course. Well, you have to go, of course. Are you asking if these artists are someones you should look into? To make a purchase?” She furrows her brow and looks back at my phone, and I see her eyes reading. “I know two of them… the third I’ll have to investigate. Off the cuff, I think you should consider acquiring a piece or two by the first one. She’s starting to get quite a lot of traction, so her works won’t be bargain finds, but I still think it’s a wise investment.”
“Mm-hmm. And how do you feel about advising me on the night?”
“Like… in person?”
“Yes. This invitation includes a plus-one.”
Her eyes, already large, spark with excitement. “Really?”
“I joke about many things, Harper, but never about art.”
“Oh my God. And the entire museum would be closed to the public?”
“Yes. I think… scroll down a bit. They have private tours going on during the event.”
“I would love to. Oh my God, this is…” But then conflict blooms in her gaze. “But I’m not sure it would be appropriate.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You—the art adviser. Me—the art buyer. This is already an established pattern.”
“You can’t keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Twisting the truth.”
“I’m not,” I say. “It is the truth.”
She looks back at the invitation, and I see the war waging in her eyes. She wants to go. I knew she would. My assistant had called London Modern earlier today and asked if my RSVP could be changed from not attending to confirmed at the last minute.
And, originally, it didn’t include a plus-one. Trish had asked to rectify that, as well.
“Harper,” I say, and her eyes flicker back to mine. They look greener than usual under the interior lighting. “I’m the only person in London you know, and I’ve got connections. Use me. It’s okay.”
She blinks. “Really?”
“Yes. You and I were on good terms before there was a box, and I hope we can still be so. Besides,” I say and give her a crooked smile, “I could really use some company. Most of those art exhibitions bore me to death.”
Harper laughs, and the sound sends a rush of heat down my spine. I’m going to get addicted to that sound. To hearing her make it again.
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll go. Thank you very much.”
I’m playing with fire here. Always have been when I’m with her. But I know this fire can only burn me. Because despite the use of the word “handsome” earlier, I’ve never been a choice for her. It was always Dean.
Pining for this woman has been the bane of my existence these past four years. But I can’t seem to make myself stop, either… and now, I’m getting ready to pine up close.