Chapter 15 #2
The morning after, Claire practically vibrates with excitement. She’s corralled the team for an impromptu breakfast, twitching from her newfound secret.
I told her last night I wanted to come clean, and she’s taken it upon herself to orchestrate it. Judging by the sparkle in her eye, she’s seconds from bursting.
I wonder how long she would last keeping it to herself if I suddenly decided to change my mind. Odds are she’d leak it before the end of the day.
“What was so urgent?” Daniel asks.
“Only the biggest scoop of the century,” Claire says, like a tabloid headline.
I roll my eyes. “It’s not a scoop. I wanted to apologize. I know I’ve been a bit of a… no-show lately. I wanted to explain why.”
All eyes swing toward me.
“I’m seeing someone.”
“Someone you all know,” Claire adds with a wink.
“It’s Phil from accounting, isn’t it?” Oliver declares, with the utmost conviction. “I knew it. Every time you go for lunch, he leaves right after. I’ve tracked it.”
Lucy snorts. “I didn’t think he would be your type. He seems a little too dorky for you, but to each their own.”
I try to speak, but Daniel beats me to it. “Does this mean we have to invite him to our group lunches from now on?”
“I don’t even know Phil from accounting,” I say, helplessly. “I haven’t met him. You could point him out in a crowd, and I wouldn’t know.”
Everyone frowns.
Claire, clearly unable to hold back, chimes in. “Julia means TV-know. Like internationally known.”
“Reality TV?” Henry perks up. That’s all he ever watches. “Is he the dude from Hot Property? He flips houses shirtless, or so I’ve heard.”
We could play this guessing game all morning, and they still wouldn’t get there. That’s how surreal this is.
“It’s Joshua Harrison,” I say, plain and simple.
Silence. Then—laughter.
Claire looks just as confused as I do.
“What’s so funny?”
James chuckles, wiping his mouth. “You mean a full-on Hollywood actor? Come on. Who is it? Is it someone higher up? Andrew from HR?”
“I literally don’t know anyone outside of this room.” I pull my phone out, scroll to the tourist-day album, and tap on a photo.
It’s him—sunglasses, ball cap, arm casually draped around me while we stood in front of an old bookstore. One of my favorites. I caught the reflection in the window just right to blend us with the old leather spines.
Lucy gasps. “No bloody way!” Her eyes are as wide as her oversized glasses. “If he was in my bed, I’d ditch this lot too.”
“It’s not like that,” I say quickly, flushing. “We’re… taking things slow.”
“Have you seen his––”
“Oh nope,” Oliver interrupts, covering his ears. “That’s our cue to leave, boys.”
“Ask me anything,” Harrison says, moving around his kitchen like a man on a mission. He’s gathering the ingredients for what he claims is his ‘famous’ creamy lemon chicken bake.
“Anything?” I say, skeptical.
“Anything,” he confirms. “As long as you answer anything I ask you. Also—no lying.”
“What are you planning on asking me that I’ll have to lie about?” I laugh.
He shrugs. “Truth or dare, without the dares,” he winks. “We’ll save those for later.”
I roll my eyes, pretending my insides aren’t turning into Jell-O.
I take a few seconds to think.
What red flags can I cross off the list? Cheating. Emotional availability. Respect for women. Lying... Basically everything that Noah was.
“When was the last time you lied to someone?” I ask, aiming for the core of it all: honesty.
“Strong start,” he says, slicing into a lemon. “A little over a year ago.”
“What about?”
“You ask, then I ask. Remember?” he teases. “Are you happy living under these grey skies every day?”
“Well… I did find the greatest entertainment this city has to offer. So, I guess I can look past the shit weather.”
He turns around to face me. I’m perched on the kitchen counter, dangling my feet around like a child.
“I haven’t even shown you the best parts yet,” he says, leaning in for a brief kiss.
“You’re really testing my self-control,” I say, making him chuckle.
I don’t let him distract me for long. “Nice try. What did you lie about?”
He sets the knife down. “I told my mom that Emily and I ended on good terms.”
His voice shifts—strained, almost painful. “The news was all over it. I didn’t want her to worry, so I told her they were making it all up. She thinks we decided it was best to go our separate ways.”
I jump down and wrap my arms around his waist. “That sucks,” I mumble into his back. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m better off.”
I let go, allowing him to clean up and put the baking dish in the oven. I expect him to be upset, but when he turns to face me, the look in his eyes shows something different.
“What about us?” he asks. “How do you feel about this?”
A question I’ve been circling for weeks. I’m a mix of dopamine and doubts. Like a rollercoaster ride that doesn’t seem to end.
“I feel good. I like you,” I blush. He knows that I know there’s much more to say to that question. “That’s the main feeling.”
“Are you scared?”
“It’s my turn now,” I dodge, and he narrows his eyes in mock accusation.
“What do you like most about being you?”
“That day. At the Anchor. You knowing who I was got you to keep humoring me.”
He takes a small but calculated step toward me. The tension shifts. I’m suddenly very aware of every movement.
“It had nothing to do with you being famous,” I stumble. “It has everything to do with you being who you are. Making me feel heard.”
“And I will do that every day,” he says. “You don’t have to be scared.”
He inches a little closer and licks his bottom lip. I’m mesmerized. I can’t speak.
“How long do I have to wait to convince you I’m serious about you?”
“Wait for what?” I whisper.
One more step. I can touch him if I reach out.
“To make you mine.”
I full-body shiver. Like he whispered a secret only my skin could hear. It’s been too long. I forgot how it felt to be wanted this way.
“That’s what you are waiting for?” I ask, barely audible. “For me to believe you?”
He nods, wraps an arm around my waist, and pulls me closer until there’s no space left between us. My arms slide around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.
I kiss him—short, but heavy with everything I’ve been holding back.
“I believe you.”
Three words. They’re enough to unlock the gate that’s been holding us back all this time.
Suddenly, he’s everywhere. He’s kissing. Biting. Sucking. I’m holding onto him, my skin burning with desire, needing more. He traces a line of kisses down my jaw, then cradles my cheek, gently tipping my head back to continue down my neck.
Every time a moan escapes me, he responds with a playful bite. His fingers toy with the hem of my shirt for one, two seconds before giving into all temptation and ripping it off.
His hands skim down my sides, teasingly.
When he reaches my ass, he gives it a squeeze, then lifts me effortlessly. I wrap around him without thinking.
Pressed against him, I bring his lips back to mine, deeper this time. There’s nothing casual about it. I can feel him against me—tense and barely holding back.
“Fuck,” he grunts when I drag my lips down his neck.
“Bedroom,” I whisper. “Now”
I’m so focused on memorizing every inch of him that I don’t even register we’ve moved until he lays me down on the bed.
“You sure?” he whispers.
“Am I sure about sleeping with the sexiest man alive?” I tease, tugging at his shirt.
I’ve never been more sure about anything that felt this right and terrifying.
I work my way down to his pants, fingers tracing every curve.
His hand stops me at the zipper.
“Just Josh,” he says, like he’s reminding me. It’s real. Just him.
“Just Josh,” I echo. “I’m sure.”
I’m on cloud nine.
Sprawled out across his sofa in nothing but one of his soft blue button-downs, sleeves rolled to my elbows, smelling like him.
He’s cleaning up the dishes from the dinner we desperately needed post… everything.
“That was one of the best home-cooked meals I’ve ever had.”
“I think you’re biased,” he laughs from the kitchen. His hair is sticking out in all directions.
My phone rings, and Emma’s name pops up on my screen.
“She’s real,” he says, lifting my legs off the cushion to sit down next to me.
“I’ll call her later,” I say quickly—almost as if I’m about to be caught red-handed.
“No, pick up. I’ll have to talk to her at some point.”
“You’re not even decent,” I say, rolling my eyes at him.
He shrugs it off, unbothered, and starts running his hand up and down my leg.
I sit up and frame my face in the screen. Emma’s driving, phone propped on the dash.
“You won’t believe what happened at work today,” she launches immediately. She doesn’t look at me until she gets to a red light. “You look different. Where are you?”
“What? I look the same,” I lie, trying to keep my cool as Harrison kisses my ankle and starts moving up.
I shoot him a sharp look that reads, Don’t you dare. I’m going to kill you, but that just seems to encourage him even further. I swat his hand away, too late. The sudden movement gives Emma a full view of the dark brown leather couch beside me—and the very obvious masculine energy.
“That’s not your place,” Emma says. Her mouth opens and her eyes widen. “Is he there?”
I’m about to deny everything when Harrison snatches my phone out of my hands. Emma is his problem now.
“You exist,” he says playfully.
I sit up so I can see her face. She looks panicked, clearly trying not to veer into oncoming traffic.
“Jay,” she blurts, “he’s shirtless. Why is he shirtless? I’m pulling over.”
“I like being comfortable at home,” he answers smoothly.
“This is so weird.” Her face flushes as she stares literally anywhere but the screen. “I was not prepared for this, and this is something I definitely needed to prepare for.”
“Understandable,” he agrees. “How about Julia calls you later? We’ve got… unfinished business to attend to before bed.”
I gasp. Emma does the same.
I expect the conversation to be done. I’d think he’s left her speechless for the first time in her life. But somehow, she manages to string a sentence together.
“If you hurt her––”
“I would never,” Harrison cuts in. “I promise.”
Harrison wakes up with the sun. Way too early for a weekend. But he kisses my temple like he’s waking up next to something precious, and the hour feels less criminal. If it were up to me, we’d stay in all day, but I can tell he’s itching with energy.
I don’t want to mess up his daily routine, so I get Arthur to drive me home to grab a few things.
Yes, I’m fully planning on staying until told otherwise.
There’s still a bath that I have yet to try—one the size of a swimming pool, with pressure jets included. It would be irresponsible to not take full advantage.
When he opens the front door to let me back in, he’s holding a big stack of unopened letters.
“Yes! Pay those bills, Mr. Harrison,” I tease.
“Fan mail. Fan mail. Jury duty? Nope, fan mail...” he mutters, sorting them into a pile on the kitchen counter. Then, he pauses. “Oh, damn.”
“What?” I ask. “Spicy fan mail?”
He turns, smirking, with a raised eyebrow.
“Work event I totally forgot about,” he huffs. “I hate going to these things.”
“What is it?”
“Premiere night for Shadow Strike 2.”
My eyes widen. “No way. I loved the first one. Matt Hunt is so good in those action roles.”
“Exactly,” he sighs. “Watching it would be fine. But the red carpet, the dress code, the press—it makes me stressed just thinking about it.”
“Why not skip it?”
“Peter got me the invite. He’s been pulling strings to get me back in the loop.”
I step forward and place my hands on his shoulders. His eyes lock on mine. He knows I’m plotting something.
“I could go with you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“It’s hectic.”
“I mean, it’s the hardest launch we could possibly do,” I admit. “You’ve been off the grid for months, and then boom—back in the spotlight with a brand-new girl.”
I pause. “You’re right. It’s a terrible idea.”
He grins. “I’d be showing up with the hottest, most stunning woman in the room.” I blush. “It’d serve to be an outstanding evening.”
“Would this be your official return? No more hiding?”
He nods.
“It’s time. I was told I need to find another job,” he smirks. “Plus, there’s a restaurant downtown I’ve been dying to take you to. Best sushi you’ll ever have.”
“If you’re up for it, I’m in.”
“I’m up for anything,” he says, leaning in, “if it’s with you.”
He kisses me—and suddenly, the idea of walking a red carpet doesn’t seem quite so bad.