2. Harper
Harper
Angling the vent in my car to blow as much cold air as possible on me, I take another bite of my apple and watch the courthouse.
The second I see the familiar build and perfectly cut Tom Ford suit, I straighten up, my body whipping from overly hot and exhausted to alertness in less than a second.
It’s the jolt I’d needed, the one my triple shot espresso was supposed to have delivered.
Instead, it had only made me lethargic and irritable while I scrolled through the newsfeed on my phone.
He’d won another case today, but you’d never know it from the grim look on his face as he ignores the reporters waiting for him, walking past them like he can’t hear a single question they’re screaming at him.
Ev Nikitin is the ultimate man of mystery.
He’d worked his way up after law school, quickly earning a reputation for being cutthroat in the way every good defense lawyer needs to be.
He’s eerily smart, impossible to fluster in the courtroom, and he’s always five steps ahead of everyone else.
He’s also notorious for ignoring the press.
Until today, that is. Or at least that’s the plan.
I’ve been working my own way up through the system.
Although, my trajectory isn’t quite as impressive as his.
Pitiful is probably more accurate, and at the speed it’s going, my climb to the top could be beaten by a turtle with a little pep in his step.
Last week, my editor had me covering a dog adoption event.
Not exactly the breaking case I’d been hoping for.
Instead of a story that could’ve finally gotten my name out there, I’d ended up adopting one of their greyhounds and leaving the place as anonymous as when I’d shown up.
I can’t be trusted around cute little furry faces, and bringing Watson home hadn’t felt like a burden from a not-so-great split decision.
It had felt right, the first time in a long time I’d truly enjoyed the company of a male.
He even slept in my bed and I had no desire to kick him out of it in the morning.
We’re still in the early stages of our relationship, but I think it might be a match made in heaven.
Before Ev can get to his posh car that costs more than my rent for a year, I open my door and race across the street, ignoring the angry honk I get on the way. His hand is reaching for the handle when he hears me yell, “Mr. Nikitin.”
Pausing, he turns to face me right as I come to a stop in front of him.
I’d planned on making a classier entry, but there’d been more reporters than I’d thought there’d be and catching him alone is more of a spur-of-the-moment thing.
I’ve been following him for weeks, and the man is hard to pin down.
“Yes?” he asks, and if I was a weaker woman, his tone would have me ducking my head and scurrying away.
Trying to hide the fact that I’m so behind on cardio the short jog has winded me, I stall for time and beg my breathing to return to a non-embarrassing level while I look up at him.
This is the first time I’ve been this close to him, and even though I knew he was tall, I hadn’t quite realized how tall.
I’m five-three, and for some reason I always assume I’m pretty much the same height as everyone around me, but there has to be over a foot between us, and it’s a little intimidating, especially given that he’s also apparently made of pure muscle.
I ignore the chiseled jaw and fierce line of his mouth.
Thankfully his eyes are covered by dark sunglasses so I’m at least spared having to make direct eye contact.
Getting my shit together, I say, “I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time.”
“For?” he asks, and I can’t help but frown because he’s one of the best lawyers in the city, and I know he’s capable of uttering more than one-word sentences.
“My name is Harper Reed. I work for The Beacon.” As soon as he hears the name, he starts to turn away and reach for his door again.
I know it’s not because he recognizes the news publication.
We’re a digital news outlet, and although our following is constantly growing and keeping us afloat, it’s not like we’re on the level of The Times.
He just hates reporters and I’ve just marked myself as the enemy.
“Please, Mr. Nikitin, just a few quick questions or a statement is all I need,” I hurry up and say.
He ignores me and gets in his car. With his tinted windows, I can no longer see him, but I know he can see me easily enough.
I don’t bother hiding my irritation or the muttered “Fucking hell,” I give at the realization that I’m always going to be stuck writing articles that no one wants to read.
Taking a step back, I think about a way to convince him to talk to me, and when I hear the sound of his window coming down, a spark of hope flits through my chest.
I take a step closer like an eager puppy only for him to say, “You’re in my way, Ms. Reed.
I’m not a fan of the press, but I’d rather not run you over if I can help it.
” The stern line of his mouth lifts up the tiniest bit at the corner before he adds, “Although, I have no doubt I could defend myself and evade jail time.”
There’s no way to keep the stunned look off my face as I force my feet to move and take a step back so he can pull his gorgeous car away from the curb and leave me far behind. I watch his car disappear into traffic and then jump when a cabbie honks at me to get out of the street.
Pissed, I run back to my car, wondering why everyone always has to be such an ass.
Just once I’d like to be pleasantly surprised by someone.
I’d like them to not end up being a giant jackass.
That’s the kind of surprise I’d love the Universe to bring me.
Ev Nikitin, criminal defense lawyer and all-around douche is just like all the other pompous rich guys around here.
I’m not giving up, but my chances of landing an interview are dwindling by the second.
Taking a few minutes to calm myself under the blast of my air conditioning, I think about how many hours I have left before I can go home to my dog.
With a resigned groan, I put my car in drive and take my place in the long line of traffic.
I may not have a sparkly new Audi, but my Toyota Corolla has never done me wrong.
We’re going on eight years together, and it’s always been faithful and reliable.
The exact opposite of every guy I’ve ever dated.
I use the drive to sort through my thoughts, or at least try to.
I’m still pissed at how rude Ev was, and I’m still really pissed that I can’t stop thinking about how good he’d looked.
God, he’s probably the type of guy who won’t even date a woman unless she’s a certain height and bra size.
I’m guessing I’m the exact opposite of everything he loves.
When I see the old brick building, I put on my blinker and head for the small parking lot behind the building.
I take a second to enjoy the cool air before opening the door and bracing myself against the onslaught of humidity.
The Beacon is on the third floor, and the elevator has been broken so long that it never even occurs to me that we have one.
I always head straight for the stairs like everyone else.
By the time I get to our floor, I’m surprised my cardio isn’t better because I’ve been climbing those three flights for five years now, and I do it several times a day.
I feel like a light jog shouldn’t wind me.
I blame it on the monstrous heat wave we’re having as I walk past the break room and grab a donut from the pastry box someone was kind enough to bring in.
The glaze coats my lips, and the cherry filling almost makes me whimper with gratitude.
“Hey, Harper, how’s your dog?”
I look over at the sound of Jace’s voice and take another bite while I roll my eyes at him and fight a grin. “He’s amazing,” I say after I’ve chewed. “Best decision with the male species I’ve made in a very long time.”
He laughs and turns back to the screen in front of him while I bypass the ten work stations that are filling the open space and head for the office in the far left corner.
It’s the only office with any privacy, and when I give a soft knock, I hear Arthur’s voice telling me to come in.
I finish chewing the last of my donut before I open the door and step inside.
Arthur’s the only man I’ve ever known who actually wears suspenders to keep his pants up and not as a fashion statement.
In his early sixties with a hairline that’s receding faster than the polar ice caps, he’s the exact opposite of Ev Nikitin, but what he lacks in the handsome department, he makes up for with heart.
He’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, but he’s also one hell of an investigative journalist with the awards to prove it.
He left the big newspaper he used to work for and refuses to give a clear answer on why.
All he’ll say is that he wanted to start something smaller, something he could be proud of.
He may have a good heart, but he’s never once given me the easy way out.
He challenges me constantly, always pushing me to be and do better.
I love him immensely and worry about him constantly.
“Donuts are bad for you,” I say as soon as I see the empty plate on his desk with the tell-tale dollop of cherry filling left on the side.
He leans back with a grin. “I see you’re putting your journalism skills to good use.” With the smile still playing at his lips, he reaches up and points to the corner of his mouth. “You missed a spot.”
“Damn it,” I mutter as I lick away my own guilt. “I’m younger. I can handle the sugar,” I tell him as I take a seat in the well-worn brown leather chair in front of his desk. Sinking into it, I lean back and sigh.