15. Harper
FIFTEEN
HARPER
“Are you sure you need to go into the office today?” I reached up to brush the collar of Wyatt’s navy suit jacket as we said our goodbyes at the front door the next morning. For a brief moment, it felt like we were a normal couple, something I knew we’d never be.
“Trust me, there’s a million things I’d rather be doing…” his voice got huskier, “like a particular blond I happen to be especially fond of.” His beard, extra scruffy that morning, tickled my ear as he whispered into it. I giggled, glancing behind me to see if anyone was listening. But the guards stood silently a few feet away, doing their jobs.
“I’ll see you tonight.” He smacked me on the butt and I yelped from surprise. To my right, one of the guards readjusted his stance.
Wyatt opened the door and sunlight streamed into the hallway as a large black van pulled into the circle, coming to a stop in front of the door. It looked out of place next to the fancy cars lined up along the driveway and in the ten-car garage. “Right on time.”
“Tell me that’s not extra guards you’ve hired for today,” I groaned.
Wyatt chuckled. “Fiona’s more than enough. She’ll take you out in the Range Rover.”
A tall, muscular man stepped out from the driver’s side. He glanced at a clipboard, using his other hand as a visor to squint against the sun.
“I’ve got it, Boss.” Tank jogged down the stairs and out the front door. The air felt ten degrees colder as he passed, and I shivered.
Next to Tank, the man looked miniscule, his van a toy car next to the beefy sasquatch.
“It’s the equipment I ordered,” Wyatt explained. “I’m installing a home gym so you can go for your runs.” He rubbed my bare arms and frowned. “And make sure you dress warmly today.” He fingered the black silk of my blouse. “Although this looks very sexy on you.” His brow raised seductively and I swatted his arm, laughing.
“I will. And thank you for the gym, that’s very thoughtful. Though it doesn’t change how I feel about being trapped here.”
“Hopefully it will all be over soon.”
Wyatt was heading into the Grandview headquarters to keep up his image as CEO. If we were going to infiltrate the Carders’ gala, we needed him to be in full-on Wyatt Westwood mode. And I needed to look the part as his date, which is why Fiona was taking me shopping, one of my least favorite activities. There were better ways to spend my time, like looking for my dad. But I’d promised Wyatt I’d stay out of the woods, and for once, I intended to keep my promise.
“Four more days,” I sighed. “Now get out of here, Mr. Westwood. Your credit card is the one in dire need of a workout.”
“What about this one?” I twirled in front of the gilded full-length mirror. The sequined tulle sparkled in the light of the crystal chandelier.
Fiona wrinkled her nose as she sipped on a glass of champagne from the velvet sofa. “The color gives me a headache.”
I laughed. “Me too.”
Against all odds, I was actually having fun with Fiona. Maybe it was the fact that we both hated shopping and would rather be outdoors.
“Emerald is the ‘it’ color this season. Trust me.” The blond salesperson wore a name tag pinned to her white blouse that said Chloe. “And these…” she brushed the sequins, “are Swarovski crystals.”
“I don’t know. It’s just so…”
“Green.” Fiona and I spoke at the same time, then burst into a fit of laughter.
The strapless bodice felt tight against my rib cage. “It’s so hard to breathe. I feel like a mermaid out of water,” I joked.
After an hour, I could tell that the saleswoman was frustrated I still hadn’t picked a dress. She crossed her arms and sighed wearily. “I don’t know what else I can show you.” She waved at the rack stuffed with gowns, all of which Fiona and I had found something wrong with. “We’ve already gone through both our fall and winter collections.”
I picked up my champagne flute and took a small sip, returning to my reflection in the mirror. The stores I was used to shopping at didn’t offer this kind of service. Wyatt’s money definitely had its perks.
“Maybe it’s not so bad,” I murmured, giving it another twirl.
Fiona snapped her fingers. “You know what the problem is? You’re too, I don’t know, nice and sweet for all this dark, moody winter crap. You need something bright and sunny to match your personality.”
Her compliment was unexpected and I felt my cheeks redden.
The saleswoman glared at Fiona. “We’re not releasing anything for spring just yet.” She wrinkled her nose at Fiona’s leather jacket and biker boots before returning to my reflection in the mirror. “Perhaps you and your friend should try Zara or H and M,” she smirked. “They might have some leftover summer dresses in their sales section.”
Her words stabbed like a dagger, exposing me for a fraud. Just because I was dating one of the richest men in Seattle, didn’t mean that I belonged in a place like this, trying on – I looked down at the price tag and gulped – an $8,000 Caroline Herrera gown. Although I’d found success with my cover story in August, underneath all the praise and accolade, I was still that same broke girl, struggling to make ends meet with a single mom. A mom who I hadn’t seen in a week. Guilt washed over me, making my insides turn the same shade as the gown.
“Ahem.” The saleswoman tapped her foot impatiently.
“You’re right. Sorry to have wasted your time,” I mumbled. “Come on, Fiona. Let’s go home. I can just borrow something from Savannah.”
Fiona’s eyes narrowed. “No.” She downed the rest of her champagne and slammed it down on the glass table. The sharp ting resonated through the dressing area as she marched over to where Chloe was standing. Even in her black combat boots, she towered over the high-heel clad saleswoman. With crossed arms and pursed lips, Fiona looked like a seriously pissed-off supermodel. She was an intimidating presence, and a part of me felt sorry for Chloe.
“Maybe we didn’t make ourselves clear.” Fiona’s voice lacked any emotion. “We are here to find this lovely young woman,” she pointed to me, “a gown for the Carder gala, which she will be attending with her boyfriend, Wyatt Westwood.”
Chloe’s eyes grew wider than saucers. “W-Wyatt Westwood?” she stuttered, looking back and forth between me and Fiona.
“Yes. Wyatt Westwood. As in, the CEO of Grandview Gold Corporation. Or perhaps you know him from Seattle’s ‘Sexiest Under Forty’ list?”
“Y-yes. Of course I know who Wyatt Westwood is.” She hung her head. “Come to think of it, I think we may have a rack set aside for our VIPs. I’ll go check.” She scurried away, tail between her legs.
Fiona picked up the half empty bottle of Veuve Clicquot and topped up her glass. She nodded at my near empty flute. “More?”
I nodded. “That was harsh,” I admitted, as she filled my flute to the rim.
“But necessary,” she winked. “Lesson number one. Our kind doesn’t let humans talk down to us, and you shouldn’t either.”
When Chloe returned with a new rack of dresses, she was flanked by an older associate.
“Ladies,” the older woman gushed, her fiery red hair pinned back into a classic chignon. “I’m the manager here. Welcome. I hear we’re looking for something for the Carder gala?”
Her smile seemed genuine, and I felt my shoulders relax. “Maybe something a little less…” I turned back to the mirror. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was wrong, but the dress just didn’t feel like me.
“I think I understand. Chloe.” She snapped her fingers. “Bring me the rack.”
“Y-yes, Ma’am.” Chloe wheeled the rack next to the velvet sofa, refusing to make eye contact with anything but the floor.
The older woman quickly shuffled through the hangers, stopping when she came to a puffy cloud of burgundy. “I suspect this is the one.”
As she lifted the hanger, I gasped. It was the most beautiful gown I’d ever seen.
“The neckline is invisible,” she explained, pointing at the nude mesh. “It will be as if the hollyhocks, camellia and—”
“Gardenia,” I gushed, in awe of the delicate embroidery.
The saleswoman chuckled. “You know your flowers. Doesn’t it look like they’re growing right out of the gown?” I nodded. “It’s very romantic, and also unexpected for this time of year. A statement piece if I ever saw one. Oscar de la Renta certainly knows his stuff. Go on, try it on,” she urged, nudging me back into the changeroom.
Ten minutes later, and after a $12,000 charge to Wyatt’s credit card, Fiona and I left the shop. I felt a little bit like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman with the giant shopping bag, which made Fiona my Richard Gere, I thought, stifling a giggle.
“Thank you,” I said once we were both seated back in the Range Rover. “You know, I’m actually kind of excited to wear this dress to the gala. Does that make me a bad person?”
Fiona raised her brow. “Why would that make you a bad person?”
I looked down at my hands, folded in my lap. “With everything going on, isn’t it wrong for me to be excited about something so trivial? I mean, the whole point of the gala is to take down the Carders and stop all the evil things they’re doing.”
“Harper.” Fiona rested her hand on top of mine. “Rule number two. You’re allowed to have fun and find joy in the small things, even when everything feels like it’s going to hell. Especially then.” She gave my hands a little squeeze before pulling away. As she signaled to turn out of the parking lot, she asked, “Is there anywhere else you wanted me to take you?”
“Do you think we could stop into Sun Valley to check on my mom?”
“I don’t see why not. Wyatt just said we needed to stay out of the woods. But… isn’t Sun Valley still in quarantine?”
I shrugged. “The recorded message hasn’t changed in a week, but something doesn’t feel right. What if they just forgot to change their voicemail back to the old one?”
“Well then, let’s give it a try. There’s nowhere else we need to be right now, anyways.” She swerved into traffic, eliciting a loud honk from a pissed-off BMW driver that she’d cut off. She stuck her tongue out in the rearview mirror and held up her middle finger. Fiona was definitely a bad ass. Maybe I needed to start paying more attention to these lessons of hers.
Seattle was notorious for its midday traffic, but Fiona expertly navigated the lanes on the highway and we pulled into the parking lot of Sun Valley in record time. And not a second too soon. I shoved open the passenger door to gulp in the fresh air. The car ride had made me nauseous, and I gratefully inhaled the fresh mountain breeze.
Fiona unbuckled and rushed over. “Are you okay?” she asked, worried.
I held up my palm. “Fine. Just a little car sick.” After a minute, when I was sure I wouldn’t actually vomit, I gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I don’t usually get motion sickness.”
She frowned. “I’ll drive slower on the way back.” She lingered as if she had something more to say, but then changed her mind, turning toward the large brick building. “Let’s go see what the situation is.”
The nearly empty parking lot wasn’t very inspiring, but I smiled and nodded, hopeful I’d get to see my mom for the first time in a week.
The same beefy guards stood outside the Sun Valley entrance, looking just as out of place in their business suits and ear pieces as they had the last time I’d visited. I recognized the one with the buzz cut and jagged scar. He’d been the one guarding Mom’s room the night of the intruder incident. At least with Fiona next to me, they seemed less threatening.
Buzz Cut stepped in front of the door to block us. “Reason for visiting?”
“My mom is here,” I explained. “Hope Davis.”
Buzz Cut held up a thermometer. “We’re still dealing with the norovirus outbreak. We’re letting in close family members, but only if they can prove that they’re not sick.”
I nodded. It seemed like a reasonable precaution to take. I looked to Fiona, who frowned at the thermometer. “You go ahead, Harper. I haven’t been feeling the best.”
“Suit yourself, lady,” he growled, then held the thermometer up to my forehead. He removed it after a loud beep, his scowl growing as he stared at the screen, which flashed red. He shook his head. “You have a fever.”
“But I feel fine,” I pleaded. “Please. I haven’t seen my mom in a week.”
He held it up so I could read the screen. “One hundred point three. I can’t let you in. Sorry.”
He didn’t look very sorry. I turned to Fiona in disbelief, half-expecting her to put up a fight, or to tell the man off like she had with the rude saleswoman. But instead, she linked her arm through mine. “Let’s go, Harper. We’ll try again some other time.”
As we turned to leave, a deep voice stopped me in my tracks. “Wait.”
The second guard gripped what looked like a bouquet of flowers in his hand. “You’re here for Hope Davis?” I nodded hopefully, as he glanced down at a small card attached to the bouquet. “These were dropped off about ten minutes ago, but we’re not accepting any deliveries during the outbreak. Do you want them?” He held out the fan-shaped package, wrapped in thick brown paper.
Buzz Cut spoke. “Just dump them in the trash where they belong.”
“No,” I croaked. “Please. I’ll take them.” I reached out and grabbed the thick bundle from the guard’s hands.
Back in the parking lot, Fiona apologized. “Sorry. I knew I’d fail the temperature test and didn’t feel like explaining it to the guards.” She looked at the package in my hands. “Flowers?”
“I don’t know.” I carefully peeled back the brown wrapping to peer inside.
The memories came back in a rush, as the subtle scent of yellow tulips filled the car.