Chapter 10 #3
"I don't know! Maybe? Yes?" She stops pacing, faces me. "All I know is that I can't think straight around you. I can't write this article without it sounding like a love letter. I can't sleep without dreaming about you. And I really, really can't keep pretending I don't want you."
I move around the desk, drawn to her like gravity. "Then stop pretending."
"It's not that simple—"
I kiss her. No warning, no buildup, just my mouth on hers and all the want exploding between us. She makes a sound—surprise, relief, need—and then she's kissing me back, hands in my hair, body pressed against mine.
I lift her onto my desk, papers scattering, her legs wrapping around my waist. "God, I've missed you," I breathe against her mouth.
"Shut up and kiss me."
My hands slide up her thighs, pushing her dress higher. She arches against me and I feel myself hard against her. Her fingers are working at my shirt buttons with desperate efficiency when the desk phone rings.
We freeze.
It rings again.
"Don't answer it," Harper breathes against my ear.
"It's the clinic line." But I don't move away from her.
Third ring.
"Dr. Wilder?" Beth's voice comes through the speakerphone I accidentally hit. "Mrs. Henderson is here with Princess for her 10:30 appointment."
Harper's eyes go wide. "It's 10:30?"
I'm still caging Harper on the desk, breathing ragged. "Give me five minutes, Beth."
"Of course, Doctor." There's definite amusement in Beth's voice. She knows.
I disconnect and look down at Harper—dress pushed up, hair destroyed, lips swollen from kissing. She starts giggling.
"Princess?" She's fully laughing now. "We're interrupted by something named Princess?"
"Persian cat. Extremely dramatic. Hates everyone." I'm trying not to laugh too, but she's infectious like this.
"Even better." She covers her face with her hands, still giggling. "This is ridiculous. We're ridiculous."
"Agreed."
We stare at each other, both still breathing hard, trying to process what just happened. She slides off my desk on shaky legs, fixing her dress.
"We're really doing this?" she asks quietly.
"Unless you're running again."
"I don't run." She smooths down her dress. "You run."
"I ran once. Biggest mistake of my life."
The phone rings again. This time it's Harper's cell.
She glances at the screen and her face changes completely. "Washington Post."
My stomach drops as she answers.
"Harper Lane... Yes... About that position..."
I watch her face as she listens, watch excitement and terror war in her expression. Watch her eyes find mine and hold.
Harper's pacing now, one hand smoothing her dress nervously as she listens to the Post.
"Yes, I understand the opportunity... Remote position?... I see..."
She glances at me, and something in her expression shifts.
"I need the weekend to think about it." She pauses, listening. "Yes, I understand it's time-sensitive. Thank you."
She hangs up, and we stare at each other across my office. Her lips are still swollen from kissing, my shirt's still half-unbuttoned, and Princess is probably giving Beth hell in the waiting room.
"The Washington Post again," I say unnecessarily.
"Features editor. They’re offering a remote position this time. They want an answer by Monday." She's already backing toward the door.
"And what are you going to tell them?"
"I don't know." She's at the door now, hand on the knob. "I need to think. Without you clouding my judgment."
"Is that what I do? Cloud your judgment?"
"You know exactly what you do." Her voice cracks slightly. "You make me forget why I was angry. You make me want things I shouldn't want."
"Maybe you should want them."
"Maybe I should. But I need to figure that out without your tongue down my throat."
Fair point, even if it stings.
"The article runs tomorrow," she says, professional mask sliding back into place. "Bill has everything he needs."
"Harper—"
But she's gone, leaving me alone in my office with Princess yowling in the waiting room and the ghost of her perfume everywhere.
Beth's voice crackles through the intercom: "Dr. Wilder? Princess has peed in her carrier and Mrs. Henderson is threatening to leave a Yelp review."
Perfect. Just perfect.
My phone buzzes.
Lucas:
Maya says Harper just called crying. What did you do?
Me:
Nothing. Everything. I don't know.
Lucas:
Fix it.
Me:
How?
Lucas:
Stop letting her run. Start chasing.
I stare at the door she just walked through. Six years of letting her go. Six years of giving her space. Six years of silence, followed by weeks of professional distance and careful boundaries.
Maybe it's time to stop being careful.
But all I can think about is Harper crying, the Washington Post offering her an escape route—a way to have the career she wants with or without me. Remote means she could work from anywhere. Including not here, if that's what she wants.
Monday. She has until Monday to decide.
That gives me the weekend to remind her why she should stay. Not for me—that's not fair. But for us. For the possibility of us.
Time to stop letting history repeat itself. Time to fight for what I should have fought for six years ago.
Princess yowls again, louder this time.
First, though, I need to deal with this demon cat.