Chapter 43
HARPER
There’s a knock at my door.
I shrug off the blanket I’ve wrapped around me since coming home and cover my sketchbook.
I fucked up, and Alex covered for me in front of a room full of important clients and investors.
“I’m not sure what’s going on, but it needs to stop,” Sophia says, walking past me and into my apartment.
“Sophia?” I say. “Come in.”
She moves through the apartment, inspecting my bedroom and bathroom.
“Not bad,” she says. “At least it’s clean and tidy.”
“Sophia, I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you doing here?”
Sophia steps back into my living area, her presence filling the space.
“Sandro,” she says, her gaze locking on mine. “He covered for you this morning.”
“I don’t understand,” I tell her truthfully.
What the hell?
“For some reason, my son covered for you, with both our clients and me. I want to know what’s going on. Are you sleeping with him?”
“What? No!” I stare at her wide-eyed. “Definitely not.”
My reaction must put her mind at ease, because her shoulders lose some of their tension.
“Want to tell me what happened?”
“I’ve printed the packs for every client meeting in London, Milan, and Paris. The wrong ones got picked up, that’s all. As you probably saw, they’re identical except for the language.”
She harrumphs.
“That’s very organised.”
“I try to be,” I say honestly, wanting, no needing, to defuse the situation. Sophia has been my saviour, getting me a job at St Clair and offering me support. I don’t want to cause friction between her and Alex or between us.
“Sandro said you’re ill.”
“I had a migraine,” I lie, hoping he didn’t embellish on what was wrong with me.
“You look fine now.”
“I have special medication. If I catch it in time, it helps ease the pain but leaves me groggy. That’s why I left the office.”
Not entirely a lie, although I haven’t had a full-blown attack for several years.
“I do not enjoy lying to my son about you,” she says suddenly, and I wonder if it’s a veiled threat. “You look tired,” she adds.
“I didn’t sleep well,” I say, not really wanting to go into the details of what Pen and Elijah disclosed. Not knowing if I can. Another person I’m now lying to.
“Are you going out partying?” she asks, her eyes burning into me. “If you are, it must stop immediately, you know that? And if you’re dating…” She closes her eyes for a second. “Emotional attachments are dangerous. It’s easy to slip up, bringing everything crashing down.”
I know she cares, but I bristle at her tone.
I’m not a fucking child, and I have far more to lose in this scenario.
“I promise you, I’m neither dating nor going out partying,” I say truthfully.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”
I sigh. “Sleep isn’t really my friend right now.”
She inclines her head. “But you have your security team?”
“I do.”
I don’t want to admit that dreams about her son and the wicked things I imagine him doing to my body leave me hot and wanting in the middle of the night. Nor do I want to admit that I work on designs late into the evening to stop my heart racing as I wonder whether someone will find me.
Sophia steps forward and pats my arm.
“I know this is a difficult time for you, but it will end.”
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me. But when?
I’ve been here three months, and no one seems to be any closer.
” There’s a sense of desperation in my voice, although with the new information that’s been uncovered…
do I dare to hope? “It’s the not knowing that’s killing me, the constant need to watch over my shoulder.
Do you know the last time I took a stroll down the street?
Went shopping in person rather than online? Too long ago!”
Her eyes flick to my callisthenics equipment.
“I even work out here, alone,” I admit. “I’m terrified someone will see past my disguise at the company gym.”
I know I’m laying it on thick. In truth, I’ve never been one to enjoy working out in public.
Sweaty photographs are never flattering, and as an influencer, it was all about the Harper Frazer brand and the public’s perception of perfection.
Besides, when I’m working out, I want to concentrate, not socialise.
Sophia shoots me a look of sympathy but doesn’t offer me platitudes. Instead, she surprises me by stepping forward and pulling me in for a hug.
I stiffen, but when she doesn’t let go, I relax, enjoying the feel of someone’s arms around me.
“You’re a strong young woman. You’ve got this. I didn’t think you would. I feared you’d bring carnage and mayhem. But you’ve surprised me.”
I chuckle against her shoulder.
“Sorry to disappoint,” I say.
She pulls back but holds on to my upper arm, squeezing gently.
“I’m glad we’ve had this talk. It may seem like I’m being tough on you, but I want you to be safe. I promised your mother.”
I close my eyes.
“And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I really do,” I say, returning the squeeze when she pulls me in for another hug.
She means well, but sometimes treats me like I have no comprehension of what’s going on around me.
I probably have more of an idea than she does.
Does she know there’s an extraction plan in place if the shit really does hit the fan?
Does she truly understand what might happen to me if these bastards find me?
Part of me hopes she doesn’t. I don’t need anyone else worrying about me.
She leaves the same way she arrived, in a rush of perfume and grace.
“Take care, Brooke. And try to get some sleep. Eye bags are not a good look and will lead to premature ageing,” she says with a smile and a wink.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say as she makes her way to the elevator, Benjamin in tow. He obviously remained in the hallway, waiting for her.
I move to the sofa, unfold my throw, take out my sketchbook, and place it on the coffee table. I open it and return to my work-in-progress, shutting out the rest of the world.