14. Harper #3
My eyes linger on the veins I can see while he reads my article. “You’re a very good writer, Harper,” he says, surprising me by how heartfelt it sounds. “Even your earlier pieces are very good. You’ve gotten better over the years, of course, but you’ve always been a very gifted writer.”
Stunned, I ask, “You read my earlier stuff?”
“I did.”
He sends off my article, pockets my phone and pours himself another drink before taking it to the couch.
Watson immediately hops up to lay beside him.
I watch as a small smile spreads across Ev’s beautiful mouth before he hides it by taking a drink.
His hand falls to pet Watson, though, so my dog won’t feel neglected.
“Why?” I ask, unable to let it go. “Why read it all when it had nothing to do with you? This is the first time I’ve been allowed to write about crime.”
He’s quiet while he pets Watson and slowly works his way through another glass of vodka.
When I miraculously stay patient and sit down on the couch, waiting for him to answer in his own time, he raises a brow at me and lets out an amused small huff of a laugh, acknowledging how painful this must be for me and taking full delight in it.
Finally, he says, “I needed to know more about the woman who was stalking me, and then I guess I was just curious. Plus,” he adds, “I like your writing, especially how you never shy away from your hatred of politicians.”
“I’ve never met one I liked,” I say. “You have to be rich to get into politics, and rich people don’t know shit about what it’s like to be a normal, struggling person who can barely afford groceries. They make empty promises and then go back home to their mansions. I find it insulting.”
“Well, you used to hate all lawyers, too,” he says.
I look over to meet his eyes. “Don’t I still?”
The smile he gives is so big my own mouth immediately copies it before I can stop it.
“I like to think you’ve found one you can tolerate, at least a little bit.”
“Maybe just a little bit,” I say, “but that’s only because you promised I could take a swim in your tub later.”
“You didn’t already do that?”
“No, I thought about it, but I’d rather do it before bed. It’ll help me sleep that way.”
He finishes off the last of his drink and starts to stand.
Watson gives him an annoyed look when the process disturbs his nap, and when Ev reaches down to reassure him that everything is okay, my heart feels like it skips a beat.
Apparently my new weakness is men who treat my dog right, or maybe it’s just Ev.
That thought is somehow scarier, because the last thing I need is to develop real feelings for this man.
It’s only natural I’d find him attractive.
Any woman with eyes would, but sexual attraction and true affection are not the same thing, and I need to be careful things don’t start slipping to the second category.
That’s dangerous ground that will only complicate things and leave me hurting.
“Come on,” he says, when I stay sitting. “I’ll help you get it set up.”
“I think I can figure out how to turn on a faucet,” I tell him, but I stand and follow him out of the room and up the stairs that lead to the top floor.
“Well, I did watch you snoop around earlier, but you didn’t look in the cabinet that holds the towels, so I figured I’d show you. I think I might even have some bubble bath.”
I cringe at the idea of him watching me snoop. I knew I was being filmed, but I thought maybe he hadn’t set cameras up in his own room.
“I didn’t snoop that much,” I say, because it’s true. I had looked around, yes, but it had been mild to what I’d really wanted to do. I hadn’t even looked in every drawer or under the mattress. I’d been kind of proud of my restraint, actually.
He gives a soft chuckle but doesn’t look back as he hits the top of the stairs and leads me to his room.
I catch a soft whiff of the cologne he uses when we enter the large, masculine bedroom, and I’m grateful that I at least didn’t sniff his cologne bottle when I’d found it earlier.
I’d really wanted to, but for once I’d listened to the common-sense voice in my head and not acted on the crazy desire.
We walk past the king-size bed with the blue and grey bedding and into the enormous bathroom. The soaking tub is in the corner, and when he walks over and starts the water, I start poking around, trying to find the towels.
“On the left,” he says when I start opening drawers on the right side.
Switching to the left, I open the cabinet and see a stack of fluffy towels, the kind with the thread count I’ve never been able to afford to splurge on.
The ones at my apartment are more mismatched and threadbare, but these are all in the same shade of light grey and when I grab one, it feels like grabbing onto a fluffy blanket.
I pull it out and tell myself to not get used to this.
Going back to my apartment is going to be hard enough.
Maybe he’ll let me go with a parting gift—a gift bag of towels and comfy blankets and a handwritten note that says he hopes I’ve enjoyed my stay.
I’m still grinning at the thought when I turn around and see him pouring bubble bath in the tub so it’s all nice and perfect for me.
Steam rises around him, and I’m more excited about a soak in his tub than I probably should be.
“Why do you have bubble bath?” I ask. “I thought you said you never take baths.” The thought of having a tub like this and never using it is so insane my poor brain can’t make it make sense.
He looks at the bottle and shrugs. “I guess it was a gift.”
My mind immediately conjures up images of women he’s invited over, women who have soaked in his tub just like I’m about to do and then maybe one woman who’s used it so often she thought to bring her own bottle of bubble bath so it’d be here when she needed it.
The thought sours the moment, so I push it from my mind and instead step closer to the part of the bathroom that’s starting to feel more like a sauna.
Ev checks the water once more before standing up and facing me.
The bathroom suddenly feels much smaller, and when there’s a few awkward moments of silence, he says, “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything.”
Before he can walk too far away, I reach out and grab onto his forearm, my fingers hitting the Grim Reaper tattoo before I drop my hand at the reminder of who he is.
“Thanks,” I say, before taking a step back.
He watches me for several seconds before giving a tight nod and walking out of the bathroom.
I wish I could read him. I always pegged him as arrogant.
I’d shoved him into the giant ass category, but now I know that’s not true.
That’s what he hides behind, but the more time I spend with him, the more I’m convinced it’s not who he actually is.
He confuses me at every turn, and I hate it.
I don’t like not knowing the truth of things.
It’s like an annoying itch I can’t reach, and before I shut off the water, I let out a frustrated sigh.
Stripping out of my clothes, I sink into the deep tub, letting out a much happier sigh when the hot water is up to my neck and I start to feel the tension seep out of my body.
I shouldn’t feel so wound up after a day of basically sitting on my ass.
It’s the first day in a long time that could be considered a day off.
Aside from the short article I wrote, I didn’t do anything because I couldn’t.
It was oddly liberating, like I’d been given permission to do nothing for the first time in my life.