12. Harper
Harper
The sun shines through the curtains of my room, and I feel Dawson in the bed beside me scrambling to get up before I can even open my eyes.
“Fuck, it’s so late,” Dawson says under his breath alongside a myriad of curses.
I sit upright and cover myself with a sheet so he can’t see me. I don’t know what good it’s going to do, he’s already seen all of me in a much more intimate way than this. Still, there’s something awkward about waking up in the morning next to him that makes me feel like I need to hide myself.
“What time is it?” I ask, yawning and reaching over to grab my phone from the nightstand.
“Too late for breakfast, that’s for damn sure,” Dawson groans as he jumps to his feet. “We’ve got to get a move on if we want to make it to the office on time. We should just shower together to save time.”
My heart races at the idea, and I find myself eagerly nodding. Last night was spectacular, and if I can get another taste of that this morning, I’m not opposed.
I have no idea what we are. Am I still just his assistant? Is this some game he’s playing just to fuck with my head? I can’t rule that out yet.
I follow him into the master bathroom, amazed at how much more lavish it is than the one I’ve been using.
The shower is huge, with dual showerheads specifically made for couples showering together in the morning.
There’s something intimate about him inviting me to shower here, like it’s an unspoken acknowledgment of a deeper relationship.
Dawson turns on one faucet and invites me to stand beside him. Water pours over both of our heads, and I look up at him, half expecting him to wrap his arms around me and hold me close to him. Of course, I should know by now that Dawson isn’t going to do anything I expect.
“Get moving, we don’t have all day,” Dawson says, encouraging me to start washing my body with the soap provided.
I turn away from him, trying to fight against the disappointment I feel growing in my chest. So, the shower is purely for saving time. Turns out he didn’t want any late-morning canoodling, as I might have suspected initially.
As soon as both of us are completely free of soap suds, Dawson turns off the shower and tosses me a towel, and sends me on my way to get dressed for work.
Maggie is in the kitchen with an unsurprised smile on her face waiting for breakfast orders, and I have to politely tell her there won’t be any today.
Dawson and I both get dressed and immediately rush down to the entrance of the building to climb into our limo.
He’s stressed out for the duration of the drive, worried about being late to work, even though he’s the CEO of the company.
Certainly, he’s allowed to be late every now and then. But I wouldn’t dare say that to Dawson.
We arrive at our office building only ten minutes late. That might as well be a full workday to Dawson, by the way he’s acting.
Lenora, the receptionist, stops me as I pass her desk with a wide smile on her face. “You have a surprise waiting for you in your office.”
“A surprise?” I shake my head, not understanding what it could be. I don’t have any friends, and by the way Dawson’s been acting this morning, he’s definitely not sending me any surprises. My mom sure as hell wouldn’t.
“Maybe you have a secret admirer,” Lenora says in a teasing voice before rushing around her desk to answer a call.
At the very least, Dawson seems intrigued by the information as he storms into my office before I have a chance to open the door myself.
I follow him inside to see an oversized, beautiful floral arrangement sitting right in the center of my desk.
Bright pink flowers mixed with violets and deep reds, all symbolic of deep love and passion.
My heart beats a little faster, and at first, I think this must be a mistake. The only guy who would potentially send me this is Dawson, and by the look on his face, it’s not from him. I don’t really have any other suitors.
“There’s a note,” Dawson says, grabbing it from the center of the arrangement and handing it to me. I take a tentative step forward and grab it from him, hesitating before opening the small envelope and seeing who it’s from.
My heart drops when I see the name, and I feel like the air has been siphoned from the room, and I’m going to suffocate. My throat is dry, and everything around me is fuzzy. This is probably the last person I wanted something like this from.
“Who the hell is this from?” Dawson asks, his tone more demanding.
I pause for a moment, folding the envelope and looking at Dawson with a heavy weight in my eyes. “It’s from Malik.”
I don’t know why he would send me a bouquet like this. I barely spoke to him yesterday, and I think I was clearly uncomfortable. Something like this is entirely unwarranted. Plus, Dawson swept me away from him quickly enough that he has almost no information about me.
I don’t know much about Malik, but if everything Dawson told me about him is true, he’s not the type of person I want knowing where I work.
I spend eight to twelve hours a day here, depending on Dawson’s moods, and I don’t want to be easily found by creepy old men.
This entire situation makes me incredibly uncomfortable.
Why did my mom have to choose Henry of all people to marry this time? None of this would have been happening if it weren’t for that. She sure doesn’t know how to pick them.
Dawson’s breathing is shallow as he looks at the vase. I see his eyes narrow as he picks it up and holds it in his hands. It’s a beautiful bouquet, aside from the fact that it’s from Malik, I might be interested in keeping it.
I don’t even have a chance to consider what to do before he throws it against the wall and shatters the vase all over my office.
I jump back from the sudden start of it all and hold my hand over my mouth.
I knew he didn’t like Malik, but I never expected him to make such a public display of his rage.
People outside of the office hear what’s going on, and they all stop what they’re doing to pay attention, careful not to be too nosy because of Dawson’s temper.
Why the hell does Dawson care so much about this? Is this about the stuff that he said last night?
Dawson thinks he has some sort of possession over me, and I don’t understand it. I’ve barely known him a week. Despite what he likes to think, he doesn’t actually own me. If someone wants to send me flowers, they’re well within their right to do so.
This is my problem. He told me to stay away from Malik, and I didn’t have a chance to because of his father’s interference. Dawson didn’t actually have a say in any of that conversation, which was frustrating enough to him.
But despite my problems with Dawson, I can see how distressed he is now, and I want to take it away.
This reaction, my relationship with Malik, these could have repercussions on his business, and if I’m going to be working here for a year, I need to make sure everything is okay. This is, after all, my entire job.
“What should I do?” I ask, drawing his attention away from the shattered vase and flowers on the floor. “You told me to stay away from him, and I didn’t. This is my fault, and I don’t want this to jeopardize the business relationship you guys have.”
Dawson looks at me, running his fingers through his previously pristine hair, and barks out a laugh. His entire face contorts, and I see a mixture of emotions written in his eyes. He doesn’t actually find any of this amusing. He looks like he’s going to have a nervous breakdown.
Me? I’m more confused than ever.
My phone rings in my pocket, and I pull it out to see it’s Henry calling. I show the phone to Dawson, knowing that this probably has something to do with the flowers. Dawson just shakes his head and shoves his hands in his pockets while gesturing for me to answer the call.
“Henry, hi,” I say, putting the phone on speaker so Dawson can hear.
“Harper, I’m just calling because you should have gotten a gift from our friend,” Henry says with an excited lilt to his voice. Dawson shakes his head and forces himself to bite his tongue, so he doesn’t say anything to his father.
“Malik? I just got to the office and saw them,” I say, shrugging at Dawson.
“I wanted to call to tell you how you can get in touch with him to thank him for his kind gesture,” Henry continues. He rattles off a phone number, and I scramble to write it down before he finishes. Dawson watches me with annoyance in his eyes the entire time.
“Can I ask how you knew he sent flowers? I wasn’t even expecting them. Our conversation was so brief,” I say, picking up a delicate lily from my desk and rubbing the petal between my fingers.
“Harper, you made such an incredible impression on him last night. Your mother and I are extremely proud of you,” Henry says with a genuine enough tone that my confusion somehow grows even more.
Something I would have thought impossible five minutes ago.
“He called me last night to ask permission to send you some flowers. He even asked Diana which ones were your favorite so he could really impress you.”
I look down at the scattered flowers on the ground and immediately recognize that none of them are my favorite.
There are roses, lilies, carnations, and some green filler plants.
My favorite flower is a zinnia, of which there are none in the bouquet.
I can’t say I’m surprised my mom didn’t know that.
She hasn’t asked me anything about myself since I was eight years old.
“We’re both really so proud of you,” Henry continues in his unabashed attempt to flatter me.
“You really have grown into such a lovely young woman. With everything you’re doing for work right now, you’re really learning how to carry yourself with so much dignity.
It’s all Malik could talk about last night after you left.
Your mother practically couldn’t shut up about it. ”
I don’t know what he’s getting at. If there’s one thing I know about my mother, it’s that she would never say she’s proud of me. She could be on her deathbed, and if the one cure to keep her alive would be to say something positive about me, she would die.
Henry doesn’t even know me. And all the time I’ve been living at his house with my mom, he and I must have had ten conversations, all of which were surface level and about the weather.
The only thing he does know about me is that I want to go to art school, and that’s entirely because my mom was shaming me for it.
There’s something weird going on, and once again, I’m in the dark.
“Thanks a lot for the call, Henry. I’ll make sure to reach out to Malik and thank him for the flowers,” I say moments before hanging up the phone. I can’t handle anymore of this incessant flattery that means absolutely nothing coming from them.
I’m about to turn to Dawson to ask him what I should do, but before I can even open my mouth, he’s marching out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. He’s angry with me about something I had absolutely no control over.
I just can’t win.