Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
ETHAN
MEETING THE BEST FRIENDS
T wo weeks after our first real-world date, Harper sits across from me at my dining table, her laptop open as she makes final edits to her paper. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, a pencil stuck through it, and she’s wearing one of my old Columbia Business School t-shirts over her underwear. It’s a Saturday morning, sunlight streaming through my apartment windows, she is gorgeous.
“You’re staring again,” she says without looking up from her screen.
“I’m admiring,” I correct, sipping my coffee. “There’s a difference.”
She glances up, a smile playing at her lips. “Is there?”
“Staring is rude. Admiring is admiring.” I set my mug down. “And you’re admirable in my shirt with the serious scientist expression.”
A light blush colors her cheeks, but she rolls her eyes. “Smooth talker.”
“Just honest.” I slide a plate of fresh fruit toward her. “Eat something. You’ve been editing since before the sun came up.”
“I’m almost done.” She takes a strawberry, attention already back on her work. “My publisher’s final review is Monday, and then it goes live Wednesday.”
I try to ignore the tension in my shoulders at the reminder. Harper’s findings will be published in three days, laying out both Cole Tech’s environmental successes and shortcomings for public consumption. While I’ve seen earlier drafts and know it’s fair—brutally honest and balanced—the public response remains unpredictable.
“Nervous?” she asks, proving once again her uncanny ability to read my mind.
“Cautiously optimistic,” I reply. “You are thorough and fair. The board has already approved the improvements you recommended.”
“But?”
“But public perception rarely follows logic.” I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “There will be those who focus only on the wrong things.”
Harper closes her laptop, giving me her full attention. “People determined to see Cole Tech as the bad guy will find evidence to support that view, regardless of what I wrote. Just as those invested in seeing you as saviors will dismiss the negative.”
“Very philosophical for an empirical scientist,” I tease, though her pragmatism is reassuring.
“I’ve learned that humans are objective, even scientists.” She steals a piece of melon from my plate. “Speaking of perception, Zoe wants to meet you.”
The abrupt change of subject catches me off guard. “Your journalist best friend? The one who thinks I’ve compromised your professional integrity?”
“She’s coming around.” Harper grins. “She’s suggested dinner tonight. Her and Lucas, you and me.”
“Lucas being...?”
“Her boyfriend. He’s a sous chef at Terroir, the restaurant in Brooklyn.” She watches my reaction carefully. “It would be our first public outing as a couple. Well, semi-public. Among trusted friends.”
The significance isn’t lost on me. We’ve spent the past two weeks hiding in a private bubble, alternating between my apartment and hers, deliberately keeping our relationship secret. Meeting her best friend represents allowing the outside world in.
“I’d like that,” I say. “Though I’m prepared for a grilling from Zoe.”
“Oh, there will be a full-blown interrogation,” Harper confirms. “She’s already compiled a list of questions.”
“Should I bring my legal team? Alex might need to vet the questions.”
“Just your charm and honesty.” She laughs, coming around the table to perch on my lap, arms looping around my neck. “She’s important to me, Ethan. Her opinion matters.”
“Then I’ll do my best to win her over.” I marvel yet again at how naturally this intimacy has grown between us. “What time is dinner?”
“Seven, at their place in Park Slope.” She presses a kiss to my jaw. “Casual, but nice. Lucas is cooking.”
“Should I bring wine?”
“Definitely. Something impressive, but not flashy enough to suggest you’re trying to buy her approval.”
I laugh at her specific parameters. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“I want it to go well,” she admits, a hint of vulnerability in her expression. “My best friend and my...” She hesitates, searching for the right word.
“Boyfriend?” I suggest, testing the label. “Partner? Formerly antagonistic CEO turned personal project?”
Her laughter is worth the self-deprecation. “All of the above, I think.”
“Then bring on the interrogation,” I say, pulling her closer for a proper kiss. “I’ve faced hostile takeover attempts and board rebellions. How bad could one journalist be?”
Her answering smile contains equal parts amusement and warning. “Don’t underestimate Zoe. She once made a senator cry during an interview.”
“Noted.” I slide my hands under my borrowed t-shirt, finding warm skin beneath. “Now, since you’ve finished your editing, and we have hours before dinner...”
“Are you suggesting a more recreational use of our time, Mr. Cole?” Her breath hitches as my fingers trace higher.
“I’m suggesting,” I murmur against her neck, “that we have some fun.”
“Mmm, interesting argument.” She shifts to straddle me, the position bringing our bodies into perfect alignment.
“Are you saying you are done working?” I ask, hands settling on her hips.
Her smile turns wicked as she rolls her hips against mine, drawing a groan from deep in my chest. “I’m saying we might need to relax before dinner.”
Hours later, having “relaxed” (including on my kitchen counter and in the shower), we’re dressed and en route to Brooklyn in the back of my car, a bottle of reasonably priced wine in hand.
Harper looks stunning in simple jeans and a green top that brings out her eyes, her hair loose around her shoulders. She’s been quiet since we left the apartment, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on her knee.
“Having second thoughts?” I ask, covering her restless hand with mine.
“No,” she says, then sighs. “Maybe a little nervous. Zoe’s opinion is important to me, and this is... a big deal.”
“The first person from your real life to meet me as your partner, not your nemesis.”
She nods, looking relieved that I understand. “Exactly. It makes this more real somehow.”
“It’s already real to me,” I tell her, bringing her hand to my lips. “Has been since that night on the beach.”
The smile she gives me makes my heart race.
“Me too,” she admits. “Though I tried very hard to deny it at first.”
“You? Stubborn? I’m shocked.”
She laughs. “Says the man who rearranged an entire cruise ship schedule to get under my skin.”
“One of my better decisions, in retrospect.”
“Really even if I threw champagne in your face, landed on you in an obstacle course?”
“Really,” I say. “Your feisty attitude, lack of coordination, and good aim got to me.”
“You have odd turn-ons, Cole.”
“So, I’ve been told, Bennett.”
The car pulls up outside a charming brownstone in Park Slope. As we get to the door, Harper takes a steadying breath, then laces her fingers with mine.
“Ready?” she asks.
“Absolutely.”
A petite woman with dark hair and sharp eyes opens the door before we can knock. She looks as I’d imagined from Harper’s chats about her—already sizing me up like only the media can.
“So, it’s true,” she says. “Harper Bennett is willingly touching a corporate executive. I thought the photos might be doctored.”
“Hello to you too, Zoe,” Harper replies. “Yes, I’m well, thank you for asking.”
Zoe grins, unrepentant, then extends her hand to me. “Zoe. I’ve written three articles criticizing your company and have another ten lined up, no hard feelings.”
“Ethan Cole,” I reply, accepting her handshake. “I’ve read them all. Your lashing of our Caribbean shipping routes was top-notch journalism.”
She blinks, not expecting this response. “You read my articles?”
“I make a point of staying on top of any media scandal,” I explain. “It’s more useful than flattery sometimes.”
Her eyes narrow, reassessing me. “Interesting tactic.”
“Zoe, maybe let them come inside before beginning the inquisition?” A tall man appears behind her, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. “I’m Lucas. Welcome to our home. Please ignore my girlfriend’s lack of basic hospitality skills.”
“I’m making sure there is no stranger danger,” Zoe protests, but steps aside to let us enter.
Lucas shakes my hand, then kisses Harper’s cheek. “It’s good to meet the man who’s got our Harper breaking her ‘no dating corporate villains’ rule.”
“Lucas!” Harper looks mortified.
“What? It’s literally a framed rule in your apartment. Rule three, right after ‘no supporting fast fashion’ and ‘always know where your food comes from.’”
I laugh, amused by this insight into Harper’s life. “I’m glad to be the exception.”
“You’re not an exception,” Harper corrects. “I’m dating you because I like you, the corporate stuff is still up in the air.”
“That distinction is very important to her,” Zoe stage-whispers to me. “She’s repeated it at least twelve times.”
Their home is cozy and eclectic, filled with books, plants, and what appears to be Zoe’s collection of press credentials from magazines, and newspapers. Delicious aromas drift from the open kitchen, where Lucas returns to his cooking.
“Wine?” I offer, handing the bottle to Zoe.
She examines the label. “Well played, Cole.”
Harper shoots me an “I told you so” look while Zoe uncorks the bottle.
“So,” Zoe begins as she pours four glasses, “how did we get from ‘Harper throws champagne in your face’ to ‘Harper spends multiple nights per week at your apartment’? The journalistic timeline seems... compressed.”
“We bonded over turtle conservation and waste management systems,” Harper replies with a straight face.
“Sexy,” Lucas calls from the kitchen.
“You’d be surprised,” I murmur, earning a sharp elbow from Harper and a raised eyebrow from Zoe.
“The environmental assessment required close collaboration,” Harper explains more seriously. “I also fell on top of him in a race, did tantric yoga and gave him a massage.”
“I saw the sexual tension was off the charts,” Zoe adds helpfully. “It was obvious even from the social media clips.”
“Was not,” Harper protests.
“Was too,” Lucas and Zoe say in unison.
“The point,” Harper continues, cheeks flushed, “is that things developed naturally.”
“And your work has stayed objective?” Zoe asks. “Even with this... close collaboration?”
“Completely,” I answer before Harper can. “In fact, she’s been harder on Cole Tech because of our personal connection.”
“It’s true,” Harper confirms. “My publisher wanted more scandal, I have not gone easy on them.”
“And when it publishes next week? When people go a little nut, make accusations? Then what, are you two just going to breakup, ignore it, cause a media frenzy? If you do, I want the first interview. Best friend privilege.”
“We’ll deal with it if it happens,” I say. “I doubt we will just beak up. That is ridiculous.”
“Guys have broken up with me for less,” Harper says.
“Not billionaire playboys though,” Zoe points out.
“Technically, but I am nervous about it,” Harper replies.
“I like him,” Lucas announces, bringing a platter of appetizers to the coffee table. “He’s not afraid of you two lunatics.”
Dinner progresses from our tense beginning to being more relaxed as Lucas serves course after incredible course of seafood and local vegetables. By the time we get to dessert—a remarkable chocolate creation with sea salt—Zoe’s interrogation has evolved into actual conversation.
I learn about her journalism background, her fiery dedication to exposing the bad guys, and how she and Harper became friends during a protest at a chemical plant in their college years. I share stories of Cole Tech’s evolution, my grandfather’s contradictory legacy, and my own efforts to redirect the company toward a different future.
“You care,” Zoe observes over after-dinner drinks, sounding surprised. “About the environment, not just the PR advantages of looking like you care.”
“I do,” I confirm. “Though I can understand your skepticism. Most corporate environmental initiatives are more for show than substance.”
“What made you change the way you do things?” Lucas asks. “Most CEOs see environmental regulations as obstacles, not opportunities.”
“Partially my grandfather’s influence—he loved the ocean despite building ships that killed it. A bit of my background in marine biology before business school. And honestly, critics like Harper and you, Zoe, who’ve pushed people like me to do better.”
“Critics you dismissed,” Harper reminds me.
“Until one threw champagne at me and forced me to pay attention,” I smile.
“God, you two are adorable together. It’s horrifying.”
“Told you,” Lucas says, collecting empty dessert plates. “The enemies-to-lovers thing always works.”
“This isn’t a romance novel, Lucas,” Harper protests.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he replies. “CEO and environmental scientist, forced proximity on luxury cruise, heated arguments transforming into passion... it writes itself.”
“Please stop,” Harper groans, but she’s smiling.
As the evening winds down, I am enjoying the company of Harper’s friends. Lucas’s unpretentious warmth and Zoe’s sharp wit complement each other, just the way I like to think Harper’s passion and my calmness do.
“Walk with me to get more wine?” Zoe asks me as Lucas prepares coffee. Harper gives me a panicked look but nods.
I follow Zoe into the small hallway that leads to their wine rack, aware that I’m about to receive the best friend’s warning.
“She’s happy,” Zoe says without preamble, her back to me as she selects a bottle. “Happier than I’ve ever seen her.”
“That’s... good?” I reply, uncertain where this is heading.
She turns, fixing me with a penetrating stare. “It’s unexpected. Harper doesn’t compromise her principles for anyone. The fact that she’s reconciled her beliefs with dating you...” She shakes her head slightly. “It means she sees something in you, beyond the billionaire playboy, sexy-pants, hot-guy.”
“I promise you, my feelings for her are real.”
“I believe you,” she says, surprising me. “Which is why I’m only going to say this once: If you hurt her, or if this turns out to be some elaborate PR strategy or if your corporate bullshit eventually make you do something she cannot stand by, I will ensure that every environmental journalist and advocacy group in the country knows where you live.”
The protective fierceness in her voice is reassuring—Harper has people who care about her.
“I understand,” I say. “And I doubt you’ll need to dox me.”
“Good.” She hands me the wine bottle. “For what it’s worth, I think you might be good enough for her. But the jury’s still out for now.”
“Fair enough.”
When we return to the living room, Harper gives me a questioning look. I smile reassuringly, and the tension leaves her shoulders.
“Everything okay?” she asks as Zoe joins Lucas in the kitchen.
“Your friend loves you,” I tell her, brushing a kiss against her temple. “As she should.”
Later, in the car heading back to Manhattan, Harper leans against my shoulder, a smile playing at her lips.
“That went well,” she says. “Zoe only threatened you once, from what I could tell.”
“You were counting?”
“I know my best friend.” She looks up at me. “What did she say, exactly?”
“That she’ll dox me if I hurt you,” I summarize.
Harper laughs softly. “You don’t seem concerned.”
“Because I have no intention of hurting you,” I say. “Your friends are important to you, and now I know why. They’re good people, Harper.”
“They liked you,” she says, sounding amazed. “Zoe said you were ‘surprisingly nice for a corporate type’ when you were helping Lucas with the dishes.”
“Nice, huh?”
“From Zoe, nice is more than just nice.” She shifts closer. “This feels good, doesn’t it? You meeting my friends, them approving...”
“It is good,” I agree. “Next milestone. You meeting Alex without professional pretenses.”
“Your terrifying PR director? The one who arranged our fake relationship?” She looks alarmed.
“She’s excited to meet the woman who’s ‘humanized’ me,” I assure her. “Her words, not mine.”
“I’ve done no such thing,” Harper protests. “You were already human. Just... romantically stunted.”
“Stunted,” I repeat with a laugh. “A condition you’ve cured.”
“Hmmm.” She smiles up at me, and the simple happiness in her expression makes my chest tighten.
Back at my apartment, Harper is hanging her jacket in the closet, kicking off her shoes by the door, helping herself to water from the kitchen. Watching her, I’m struck by how quickly she’s become comfortable in my space, with my routine, and my life.
“What?” she asks, catching me watching her.
“Just thinking about how good this feels,” I admit. “You, here. Us.”
Her expression softens. “It does, doesn’t it?”
“Very good,” I suggest, stepping closer.
“I like being here with you,” she teases, and slides her arms around my waist.
“Maybe you should be here more then,” I murmur, brushing my lips against hers. “Since it feels so good.”
“You know I can’t move in yet,” she agrees, pressing closer. “We just met Cole, and we are not supposed to be public about us yet.”
“I know.” I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her toward the bedroom. “I just like having you here. Don’t you want to be here?”
Her laughter against my lips is all the answer I need.
Hours later, we need a shower before we settle down next to one another to try get some sleet—we’ve tried three times already.
“Your article publishes on Wednesday,” I say into the comfortable silence.
“Mmm. Are you nervous?”
“Not about the content.” I’ve seen drafts, know it’s fair—critically honest but also acknowledging my genuine efforts. “More about what happens afterward. When people realize we’re...”
“Together?” she replies when I hesitate.
“Together,” I confirm, liking the simple clarity of the word. “There will be questions, assumptions of impropriety, or conflicts of interest. The media can be horrible to deal with.”
“We knew that going into this,” she points out. “Are you having second thoughts?”
“About us? Not at all,” I assure her immediately. “About the timing of going public, maybe. I don’t want your professional credibility wrecked because of me.”
She props herself up on one elbow. “My work has always stood on its own merit. The data and evidence are there. Anyone who dismisses my findings because of our relationship isn’t smart enough to make an educated judgement, anyway.”
“Still, maybe we should wait a few more weeks after the publication before being seen together,” I suggest. “Give things time, let your readers make their assumptions without this. We can see how things go, once it blows over and the press has another CEO to hound, we can go public.”
“Or,” she counters, “we could acknowledge it now. Complete transparency. Yes, we have a personal relationship. Yes, it started while I was working on this paper. No, it did not compromise the integrity of the findings. The data speaks for itself.”
She has no idea how much the press hates men like me, how any woman in my life will be ripped to pieces, or just how ugly this will get.
“You’re suggesting we just... announce it?”
“Not with a big press release,” she clarifies, rolling her eyes. “But I don’t want us hiding it either. If we’re asked, we answer honestly. The article publishes this Wednesday. If we’re seen having dinner together Thursday, so be it.”
“That’s... refreshingly direct. But also, not how the media, and press, and haters work.”
“I find it hard to lie, it is against everything I stand for,” she says with a small smile. “It feels wrong to keep this secret.”
“Maybe.” I pull her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re sure this is what you want? The backlash could be intense, especially in environmental circles where I’m still viewed as a close cousin to the devil.”
“I’m sure about us,” she says. “The rest is just noise.”
I hadn’t acknowledged even to myself that our relationship might remain hidden, a complication rather than a partnership to be open about.
“Then I will speak to Alex, and we can go public,” I decide. “And I will be here however it unfolds.”
“I am sure people have other things to gossip over,” she says, settling back against my chest. “Me falling for the enemy is not newsworthy.”
“Tell that to Zoe.” I smile against her hair. “Actually, that might not be a bad way to do this.”
“Are you kidding?” she asks, amusement in her voice.
“She’s our friend,” I say to her. “she’ll be gentle about it.”
She laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Oh, you underestimate her. Zoe is not gentle.”
“Okay, but it won’t hurt to have a friend in the media, who can tell our side if things get ugly.”