Chapter 9
HARRISON
Igroaned before my brain had even fully booted up. Sunlight stabbed through the blinds like tiny knives, and I was half hanging off the couch, my poor, loyal sectional doing its best to hold me up.
I squinted through the haze, trying to figure out what kind of disaster zone I’d woken up in. A pillow smacked me square in the chest. “I said wake up, sleeping beauty!”
A yelp I would’ve been embarrassed of if I didn’t have the hangover from hell tore out of me and I flopped backward. “Ow. Was that really necessary?”
Aurelia was darting around my living room, her hair a little mussed, her sleeves half-rolled up, and honestly, she looked like a gorgeous, hungover tornado high on caffeine. My eyes trailed to the coffee table.
Three empty wine bottles, a collection of glasses, Some with lipstick marks. Some without. My brain filed that under “probably not responsible adult behavior.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t wake me up!” she rushed out, bending over to scoop something off the floor. For just a beat, I had a glorious view of her ass, so full and round, like a juicy peach, then she straightened up again and shot me a bleary-eyed glare. “Do you even know what time it is?”
She paused mid-sentence, glancing at the sun blazing through the windows. “Oh, my god.”
I rubbed at my eyes, sitting up slowly so as not to anger the tiny ice-picks in my brain too much. “What happened last night? Did I propose?”
“Technically, no,” she said, shooting me a look I didn’t quite know how to process. “I proposed to you. There’s a difference.”
Before I could even begin to formulate a response, the front door opened and then she was gone, still pulling one of her heels as she disappeared. I sagged back against the couch, staring at the ceiling in the hopes that some of the answers might be written there.
Last night was a complete blur. All the wine, the candlelight, that ridiculous conversation about arranged marriages and portfolios, and now, apparently, she’d proposed. To me.
I let out a long, slow whistle. “Well, that escalated faster than expected.”
Somewhere deep inside me, though, a grin spread despite the pounding in my skull. Because if last night was any indication, Aurelia Van Alen came with the kind of chaos I could get very, very addicted to.
After a few long minutes, I realized I probably had to get going myself and finally forced myself up.
I’d only just slid the empty bottles into the trash when my phone rang.
Naturally, I was hungover after spending the night with the daughter of her arch-rival, so CC had decided to check in with me.
“Good morning, baby,” she cooed through the speaker. “Are you ready for Christmas shopping in New York next week?”
I groaned, sliding hand over my eyes. “Do I sound ready? I’m still trying to remember my own name.”
“Don’t even worry about remembering anything. I’ll take care of all the arrangements. All you have to do is show up at the jet,” she said, in full maternal-babying mode. “I’ve got this. We’ll shop, we’ll eat, and we’ll survive another holiday. You’ll love it. You always do.”
I squinted around the kitchen for anything resembling pain relief. My head throbbed. My stomach protested. I finally found a crusty bottle of Tylenol lurking behind the toaster. It’d probably expired back when I was still in college, but I pried the bottle open and let the pills slide into my palm.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’m planning on going. Maybe,” I mumbled, squinting at the instructions like they were ancient hieroglyphics. “Depends if I, uh, if I have to work. I’ll check with Sterling.”
“Oh, Harrison, you don’t have to think about work. You’ve got me, remember?” CC cooed again, and I felt my resolve melt a little.
God, I really did look forward to these trips, even if I pretended otherwise all year.
My mother had always wanted a daughter, a little girl to drag along on these things.
Three times, she’d tried and failed, and as a result, I had to go every year.
It’d been our tradition ever since I’d been a kid.
I winced, popping the Tylenol and hoping I’d taken enough. “Okay, Mom. Yeah, you got it. Hey, I’ve been wondering about something. I met this girl, Aurelia, and—”
Who?” CC’s voice was clipped with curiosity, but I heard the excitement in her undertone.
I rubbed at my temples, honestly at least halfway to convincing myself that death would be better than this. “Aurelia Van Alen. You know, the Van Alens. Why do we never invite them to anything?”
“Where did you hear that name, sweetheart?” I could hear that she was trying to keep her tone light, but it was sharp enough to cut diamonds—and it wasn’t just because my head was feeling so sensitive.
“Dad talks about Richard Van Alen sometimes,” I said, grimacing at the throbbing in my skull. “They still do some consulting together. You know that. I was just wondering why we never knew them growing up.”
There was a click. Just like that, she’d hung up on me. Fantastic.
I was not in the right mind to deal with that, or with CC’s judgment, or with anything, really. Not today.
After a brief moment of consideration, I grabbed my laptop and curled up under a blanket on the couch, still fuzzy from last night. When I pressed the button to power up my laptop, there was nothing. The damn thing was dead.
Of course. Fuck, and it’s Friday. I should probably be at the office. Weather permitting, but one glance outside told me that it probably wasn’t.
I was stuck. Cold. Alone. Hungover.
Perfect.
One of those things, at least, I could do something about, so I slowly sat up again, grimacing when more pain shot through me, and went over to the fireplace. At least some heat might bring life back into me.
In my hungover logic, however, I fucked up with the vent, not opening it properly, and soon, the entire living room was filling with thick smoke. I coughed and hacked, gagging as I waved my hands in front of my face and wondering if I’d just accidentally set the townhouse on fire.
This is a losing battle. I gave up mid-cough, but finally opened the vent, hoping it’d at least help to air the place out.
As I stumbled back to the couch, my gaze settled on the window again and it occurred to me that Aurelia had raced out a little while ago. I had no idea how long it’d been, but she’d gone out. In… that.
Wind was gusting down the street, the sleet gone, but the rain hadn’t quit. Immediately, worry sped through me, my gut tightening as my brain-fog parted just enough for me to realize that she never should’ve left.
I grabbed my phone off the coffee table and called her, clutching the device harder than necessary as I waited for her to pick up. As soon as she did, relief flooded my entire body and I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
“Harrison?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “What’s going on?”
“Hey, uh, did you make it out all right?” I asked. “I didn’t realize how bad it was still looking out there.”
“I did. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. We’ll talk later.” The words were rushed and quiet, so soft that it took some focus to figure out what she was saying.
She hung up before I could respond and I sighed, finally steeling myself to blink through the smoke and return to the fire place. It was fucking freezing in here and the smoke would clear faster if I could manage a proper flame.
It took some effort to coax the coals to life, but the new logs I’d added finally cracked, heat began to spread, and just as relief started to seep in, the power flicked back on. The overhead lights blinked first, then the heater hummed to life, and I sank back against the couch.
Well, at least I can get some charge on my laptop now. This day might just not be a total write-off after all.