Chapter 5
Harper
Chase picks up groceries on the way back to the rental, including some herbal tea with mint and valerian root that he says will help me sleep. He even bought me a toothbrush. It was a sweet gesture.
Now I don’t know what to make of him.
At the start, he was incredibly rude—bordering on downright mean. For a hot minute, I was sure I’d signed myself up for three days with another Tony.
But then, at the store, something shifted.
There’s a gentleness in him under that tough exterior.
I haven’t seen another wide smile like the one he flashed at the gym, but I can see where it came from now.
And although I didn’t like some of the things he had to say to me earlier, I appreciate a person who speaks their mind.
I get the sense with Chase that you always know where you stand. That’s not the case with most of the people I interact with on a daily basis. In the music industry, you’re surrounded by so much greed it’s hard to know who’s being straight with you. Who you can trust.
So it’s refreshing.
It’s more than refreshing. It’s—attractive.
When we reach the house, Chase asks me to wait in the car while he checks the perimeter. I have no shame, so I let my eyes slide all over those broad shoulders as he walks the property, carefully inspecting every window and door on the ground floor.
Grump or not, the man is fine.
He finally leads me inside, then sets the alarm, and I wait in the main room while he checks the others. Everything seems well appointed. Plush and fancy. It’s clear the owners have an excellent eye for design. It makes me wonder about the people who live here and what they’re doing right now.
Chase calls down that everything’s secure, and I climb the stairs to the master bedroom. The bed is enormous—an Alaskan king—and I test the mattress with my hands. It’s cushy but firm. Just the way I like it.
I walk to the next bedroom to grab some extra blankets, then I step into the bathroom and remove everything—including my makeup—before putting on the new nightgown and heading downstairs to make tea.
Something smells yummy as I round the corner into the kitchen to see Chase standing over two mugs of tea.
I’m pretty sure making tea for clients is not in his job description.
“Wow. That’s very thoughtful. Thank you.”
He turns toward me, and his eyebrows bounce as though he’s shocked by my appearance, which makes sense: My hair’s a complete mess—pressed flat against my head.
“Sorry. I know I look terrible.”
“No. You, uhh—” He stops mid-sentence, like he’s flustered for some reason, then his eyes rake down over my nightgown.
Wait. Is he checking me out?
He clears his throat like he’s uncomfortable, then he turns away. “You look fine.”
But my nipples are tingling, and when I glance down I’m horrified to realize they’re forming stiff little points under the satin fabric. It’s frankly obscene—I’m not sure why I thought this thing was appropriate to wear downstairs, and now it’s dramatically less appropriate.
I cross one arm over my body to cover them, trying to make it look natural.
“I made you something quick to eat,” he says over his shoulder. “In case you’re hungry.”
“Wow. You did?” I’m touched. For a big, burly guy, he’s awfully considerate.
He holds out a small plate with a thick slice of avocado toast, and it looks mouthwatering. It’s decorated with tiny sprouts and bits of salt and pepper on top. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now.
“My gosh, this is amazing. Thank you.”
When I reach to take it, my fingers brush against his, and there’s a spark where we touch. His hand is strong and sure, and that calm, quiet energy of him spreads into my chest again. Like when he held my arm outside the department store. It’s making me feel fuzzy inside all over again.
I let my hand linger longer than I should before taking the plate from him, and when I look up to meet his eyes, they’re fixed on mine.
He’s tall, towering over me now that I’m out of my heels, and heat swirls low in my belly in response to his gaze.
I watch as his upper lip curls just a touch, like he’s aroused.
But then he turns away, breaking the spell and leaving my body flooded with a sudden rush of hormones.
He steps to the sink and starts washing the dishes as if nothing happened, but I know what I saw.
He is attracted to me.
Very much so. Even if he’s too professional—or, whatever he is—to admit it. And that feeling is mutual.
My heart pounds at the realization, but I move to take a seat at the kitchen island, sinking my teeth into a big bite to try to calm myself.
It’s delicious. The toast is crisp, and the avocado is creamy and tart, with extra lemony goodness. The sprouts on top add a little crunch and a zing.
“You made this yourself?” I’m so shocked I accidentally say it with my mouth full.
He waves a hand over his shoulder. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s incredible.” I wipe a bit of avocado from the corner of my mouth.
He brings my tea and a napkin over, but he doesn’t make eye contact this time. His jaw is set, and his expression is all business as he turns back to the sink. Sadly, whatever passed between us is apparently over.
“Thank you,” I say again, politely, then I turn to face the large picture window as I enjoy my snack. This place has an expansive porch looking out over the river, and the sun is beaming in through the glass. It’s beautiful, but the wide-open view makes me nervous.
“Are you sure I’ll be safe here?”
“In this house, you mean?”
“Yeah. With just you.” I take another bite.
He laughs, spinning to face me. “Just me, huh?”
I smirk, wiping the crumbs from my mouth. “You know what I mean. Only one person on security detail.”
He pulls up the stool across from me, then takes a sip from his mug. “You’re worried about this stalker?” His eyes are serious.
“Yeah. A little.” I dab at my mouth with the napkin.
“You’ve had specific threats? This person seems dangerous?”
“Mm-hmm. He’s left packages for me. They look like small gifts with little red ribbons tied around them, but inside are threatening notes.
He’s even managed to get them into places that are supposed to be secure, like outside my dressing room before a show.
Once I found one on my pillow at the hotel we were staying at.
The team had to pack up and move that night. ”
His eyes narrow. “What do the messages say?”
“Different things, but they’re always tied to my song titles. Stuff like, ‘I’ll strike you when you least expect it.’ You know, like a twist on my hit, ‘Strike When It’s Hot’?”
“Mmm.” He shrugs. “I don’t know your music.”
“Oh, sorry. Of course.” Sometimes I forget not everyone in the world follows my career. I need to remember not to be presumptuous. I’m sure it makes me sound like a real tool.
“Have you considered it could be an inside job?”
“You mean someone on my team?”
He nods.
“Impossible. Tony does detailed background checks on everyone—even the dancers. The man is obsessed with security. He’s got everything locked down tight.” I blow across the surface of my tea to cool it.
But Chase’s expression is serious. “Hmm.”
“What is it?”
He waves a palm to dismiss it. “Nothing. I don’t know the details, obviously. Just curious.”
But for the first time since I met him, I sense that the man who has no trouble speaking his mind is holding something back.
“Tell me.”
Those dark eyes meet mine and linger there for a moment. Just being under this man’s gaze has me hot all over.
Then he squints a little, leaning in toward me. “All right. To get that close, it would have to be someone you trust. Someone his team’s not watching. Or even…”
“Even what?”
He pauses, then he shakes his head, leaning back. “Like I said, I don’t know the details. I’d have to be there. Get a sense of it.”
I nod slowly. That’s fair. I shouldn’t be pressing him to speculate on things he knows nothing about.
He steps away from the kitchen, and I finish my tea in solitude.
The hot drink and the beautiful view are surprisingly relaxing, and the valerian root hasn’t even had a chance to kick in yet.
Eventually I move to the living room to do my yoga meditation before heading upstairs.
I close the shades in my room and crawl into bed.
I wrap myself up with a few extra blankets, then put on all my new sleep gear. Everything feels cozy and warm, and it’s cutting out all the sound from the house, which is good. Even ambient noise from electrical appliances can be enough to keep me awake since the stalker started leaving notes.
But now, wrapped in the quiet, my mind is racing.
Chase was sweet—making the tea and a snack for me—but I’m still thinking about something he said earlier when he was still prickly with me.
About how I live in a “fairy-tale fantasyland.” He said the words with such disdain, and I could tell he was disgusted with me when I admitted I didn’t know how to find a house.
I’m aware that nothing in my life works the way it does for other people. A lot of things are easier for me because of my money and fame. But he didn’t have to be so harsh. He could have gone easier on me since I clearly don’t know the first thing about being out on my own.
Then again, maybe he was just being honest. Telling me like it is.
It’s true that I hate how everyone’s always ordering me around and telling me what to do, but now I wonder… What if I encourage it by being helpless? What if I’m making it easier for others to bend me to their will? Control me?
Use me?
I turn on my side, pulling the blankets up tight around my body.
I have complete confidence in my music. I know exactly which chord comes next when I’m writing a new song. What rhythm will make the emotion pop. But in everything else, I am helpless. At least, I have been. But I don’t want to be helpless anymore.
Tomorrow it’s going to be different. I’m going to be different. This is my chance to be out on my own, and I want to prove to myself I can do it.
I turn again, lying still for a long time to try to quiet the chatter in my head, but my nerves are still on edge. I can’t get my body to calm down.
Suddenly, there’s a thump, and I sit up straight.
“Chase!” I call out, my heart racing as I tug my sleep mask off and scramble to pull off my headphones and take out the earplugs.
“Yeah?” He pops his head around the corner. His expression is calm, and my body floods with relief. “What is it?”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing. I—I thought I heard something, that’s all.”
“One of the floorboards made a loud pop when I stepped on it.”
I nod. “OK.” I search for my earplugs, scattered amid the blankets, trying to slow my heart rate with a few calming breaths. I notice he’s still standing in the doorway, watching me.
“Hey, Harper?”
“Mmm?” I look to him, and his eyes are gentle.
“Do you need me to stay with you? Just until you fall asleep?”
My chest squeezes hard, and my eyes are suddenly wet. The offer’s so thoughtful, but I don’t want to be a big baby anymore.
I shake my head. “That’s not necessary.”
“Hey.” His voice is as gentle as his eyes. “It’s all right. This is my job. You’ve been through a lot, and I don’t mind if you think it would help.”
It would help. Make me feel safer, so I could finally relax and get some sleep. My body needs sleep, and something in Chase’s expression makes me feel like it would be OK. That it’s a reasonable ask.
That he doesn’t mind.
I nod slowly. “Actually, yeah. I’d like that.”
He grabs a book, then takes a seat in the chair across the room, but I notice him watching me as I locate my earplugs and put myself back together.
I know this isn’t something he has to do, and the fact he even offered speaks volumes about the man he is under that gruff exterior.
“Thank you, Chase.” Before pulling on my mask, I see a slow smile tug at the corner of his mouth. There’s warmth in it, a teasing almost, and I wonder if he might be more than a little sweet on me.
But for now, I wrap myself up in the blankets, feeling thankful he’s here to protect me.