CHAPTER 14
Harper
The private terminal is quiet, in direct contrast to the hustle and bustle of New York City.
I sit behind the wheel of the Range Rover, engine off, the last traces of heat from the vents slowly fading into the chill that presses in through the glass.
My hands are wrapped loosely around a paper cup of coffee that has long ago lost its warmth, but I haven’t tossed it; it gives me a tangible object to hold on to, and I can use the grounding effect it provides.
I roll one shoulder back against the seat, working out the stiffness that’s present from sitting too long, waiting without anything to do but be aware of time passing.
The delay came through hours ago—weather over the Midwest, rerouting, holding patterns, all the things that sound abstract when you’re on the ground but apparently dictate everything once you’re in the air—and so I’ve been here, tucked into this pocket of stillness just outside the city’s reach.
At first, I filled the time the way I always do, letting distraction carry me through the minutes.
I scrolled through my phone, checked in on Dylan—home, fine, quickly becoming a Vipers superfan after attending that game—answered Abby’s running commentary on the bar we’d been at the other night, even opened my banking app like I could will the numbers into a figure more comforting if I stared at them long enough.
Not that I’m complaining. Since landing this job with Julian, my account is the healthiest it’s ever been, but that doesn’t stop the drain of raising a teenage boy.
But dwelling and ruminating on what’s going right or wrong, isn’t the way to spend my down time.
I pick up the latest book I’ve been reading, a fascinating account of a 19th century marketing guru who no one’s heard of but whose story I’ve found incredibly fascinating and downright informative.
I love reading these historical accounts of incredible people that today’s generations have overlooked.
Outside, the terminal glows in a soft wash of artificial light, the concrete stretching out in clean lines that are too orderly compared to the chaos of Manhattan just twenty or so miles away.
Every now and then, a distant sound breaks through but those noises seem far off, like they belong to a different world.
I lean my head back against the seat and let my eyes drift closed, breathing in slowly, letting the stillness settle into me.
In these in-between times, the ones where no one sees, the solitude is nice, but I do wonder what it would be like to share these moments with someone. A partner. The yearning comes when I’m most alone.
I open my eyes again, my gaze drifting out through the windshield toward the sky, where thick clouds hang low and heavy, obscuring most, but not all, of the stars.
And then I see the plane. At first, it’s just a flicker of light breaking through the cloud cover, then the plane emerges slowly, its blinking lights steady against the night as it descends with graceful precision.
I straighten slightly in my seat, my fingers tightening a fraction around the coffee cup as I track the plane’s movement, the low buzz of the engines gradually reaching me through the closed windows.
There’s a calm in watching it, about the certainty of its trajectory after hours of delay, as though no matter how long the path took, no matter how many obstacles it encountered, it was always going to find its way here.
The wheels touch down in a smooth, controlled motion, the plane gliding along the runway before gradually slowing, and moving toward the terminal. With midnight pressing in, the world held at a quiet distance—I let myself have it. This peace.
Because I know it won’t last. I know that the second that plane door opens, everything will start again. The movement and the conversations, the responsibilities waiting just beyond the edge of this stillness.
The terminal is ground-to-ceiling glass from the front entrance to the tarmac beyond, affording me prime viewing as the plane taxis.
I watch as the aircraft rolls to a slow stop and the ground crew roll out the mobile boarding stairs for the passengers to disembark.
The first figures begin to emerge, shadows at first, then familiar shapes as they descend one by one into the night.
Julian is first, and why does my pulse speed up upon seeing him?
I watch how he moves—decisive, unhurried but never idle—and even from this distance, I recognize it immediately.
He doesn’t linger at the bottom of the stairs, doesn’t turn back or wait for the others to catch up, but instead heads straight into the terminal like the night, the delay, the entire inconvenience of travel is acknowledged and then dismissed.
He carries his large leather garment bag over one shoulder, a duffel in the other hand as he crosses the slick tile floor and exits the door where I’m parked at the curb.
I step out of the Range Rover just as he approaches, the cold air biting sharper now that I’m fully exposed to it, my breath pluming in soft clouds between us.
“Long night?” I ask as I meet him at the back of the vehicle.
“Longer than anticipated,” he replies, settling his luggage in the cargo space. “Weather held us longer than expected.”
I nod, already moving to open the passenger door for him out of instinct, even though I know he doesn’t require it. “At least it was worth it.”
That earns me a brief glance, amusement flickering in his eyes as he slides into the seat. “It usually is when we win.”
“Five to one,” I say, because of course I know. Dylan and I watched the game tonight at the apartment.
Julian settles back, one hand coming up to rub lightly at the back of his neck. “Should have been a shutout,” he says. “But the win is exactly what we needed. The team’s finding its rhythm at the right time.”
I circle around to the driver’s side, slipping back behind the wheel as the rest of the players disperse—laughter, voices, the camaraderie of a team riding the high of a solid win carrying through the air.
“They seem like they’re in a good place,” I say as I start the engine, glancing over at him briefly before easing the car into motion.
“They are,” Julian replies. “We’re approaching the midpoint of the season, and this is when it matters most.”
I nod, pulling away from the terminal, my focus already shifting to the road ahead. “That’s good,” I say. I’ve learned enough in the last few weeks to understand how the game is as much mental as it is physical.
“I’ll get you home as quickly as I can,” I say, already mapping the route in my head, calculating the fastest way back into the city with as little friction as possible. “You’ve had a long day.”
“I appreciate that,” he replies.
We fall into easy conversation as I guide the car out of the terminal and onto the access road.
Our comfortable interaction doesn’t require me to think too hard about where I stand or what this is or isn’t. I merge onto the road, the tires moving steadily against the pavement as the city looms ahead.
And then, the steering wheel jerks in my hands.
It’s subtle at first, just a slight pull, a resistance that shouldn’t be there, and yet it is. I instinctively tighten my grip as the car drifts just enough to register. Then I hear it. The unmistakable thwapping, which sounds like a helicopter overhead, but really is the sound of deflated rubber.
My stomach drops. We have a flat tire.
The vibration follows a split second later, a low, uneven thrum that travels up through the wheel and into my arms.
“Hold on,” I say, my voice steady even as my pulse spikes, easing my foot off the accelerator and guiding the car toward the shoulder.
The panic hits sharp and unrelenting, not because of the tire itself, but because of where we are. The road is narrow, barely more than a lane in each direction with no real shoulder to speak of, the darkness pressing in on all sides.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath as I push open the door and step into the night. Julian is out at the same time, rounding the front with the same composure he brings to everything, as though this is simply another problem to be solved rather than an inconvenience at midnight on an empty road.
I walk around to the other side of the car from the back, and yeah… the right rear is flat.
“We’ve got a spare,” I say quickly, already moving to open the tailgate with more force than necessary, my mind racing ahead to logistics, timing, everything that could go wrong.
“I assumed as much,” he replies evenly.
The trunk opens and I pull his luggage out before opening the panel to reveal the spare tire tucked neatly beneath.
Julian steps in beside me without hesitation, lifting it out with ease and setting it down on the pavement.
I’m caught off guard by the seamless way he moves, by the certainty in his actions.
I grab my phone. “Hold on,” I say, already unlocking it, thinking I can find a quick tutorial or anything useful to guide me through the steps of how to change a flat tire. “I’m sure there’s a YouTube video on how to do this somewhere.”
But I glance over and find Julian is already on his knees beside the tire.
The sight of it stops me for a beat—Julian Langley, billionaire, immaculate in every other setting I’ve seen him in, now kneeling on the side of a dark road with his sleeves pushed up slightly, his focus entirely on the task in front of him. “Lug wrench, please,” he says, holding out his hand.
I reach for it, still trying to reconcile what I’m seeing. “You… know how to do this?” I ask, unable to keep the disbelief out of my voice as I give him the wrench.
He doesn’t look up as he loosens the first lug nut. “Percy taught me,” he says, like it’s the most natural explanation in the world. “When I was a teenager.”
I press my lips together, but the laugh slips out anyway, soft at first and then impossible to contain as he hands me the first lug nut, dropping it into my palm. I stare at him agog as he hands me three more for safekeeping.
Julian pauses to glance up at me, one brow lifting in quiet curiosity. “Is this amusing?”
I shake my head quickly, still smiling despite myself. “No, it’s just—this feels like that scene from A Christmas Story.”
He considers that for a second, then resumes working, handing me a fifth lug nut. “Oh… Fuuuuuuuuuudge,” he says, then smiles at me.
I laugh, hard this time. He gets it and he gets me. The laugh is a full body one, and as my head rocks back, my foot slips on a patch of ice below me.
It’s sudden and sharp, catching me completely off guard, my hand jerking instinctively as the force of it knocks everything loose.
The lug nuts scatter.
I see them midair briefly in the dark—one, two, three, four, five—metallic clicks echoing briefly before they roll out of sight, disappearing into the dark.
For a split second, I freeze.
Then the panic surges back, stronger this time, flooding through me as I whip out my phone and turn on the flashlight. I scan it over the pavement, looking for the lug nuts.
“Oh my god…” My voice is already unraveling as I sweep the light across the ground, desperate to find them. “I’m so sorry, oh my god, I’m so sorry—”
I can’t see anything. The light doesn’t reach far enough, the shadows swallowing everything just beyond the edge of the car, and I’m moving too fast, too frantic.
“This is so bad,” I mutter, my heart pounding, embarrassment and panic tangling together in my chest. “I’m so sorry, Julian, I—”
I spin around, looking for another angle and run straight into a hard, male body.
Julian.
His hands grip my upper arms to steady me. His face is inches from mine and the world narrows to the space between us the world blurs. And all I see is his face, looking at me. Me. Like I’m the only thing worth looking at.
And then he kisses me.
It isn’t rushed, but it isn’t tentative. It’s firm, his hand coming lightly to my jaw as if he’s been thinking about this longer than I have. My mind tries to catch up, to insert logic, draw boundaries, list every reason this shouldn’t be happening—but it’s pointless.
Because it feels…
Incredible.
The night goes quiet around us. The only thing that exists is the warmth of him, the way everything inside me tilts and shifts and gives in a way I don’t recognize and don’t try to stop.
And then it’s over. He pulls away, and the chill of the night air hits my lips.
I blink, still too close, my heart racing hard enough to make my voice unsteady when I finally manage to speak. I take two steps back. “I’m so sorry. So very, very sorry.”
Julian tilts his head. “What are you sorry for?”
“We… I don’t know… I’m sorry, I know, we can’t do that again,” I say, fumbling for words that make sense.
His eyes don’t leave mine.
“You’re my boss,” I add, struggling to regain my composure.
But inside, I’m pulled in the opposite direction.
“We mustn’t do that again,” I repeat. But there’s a problem… I want to do it again.
I just… can’t.
Before my awkwardness can stretch any further, before either of us can make this more complicated than it already is, headlights sweep across us, bright and sudden, cutting through the darkness.
A car pulls up beside us.
Grizz.
He rolls down his window, his gaze flicking between us, then down to the tire, taking in the situation in a single glance.
“You two need a hand?” he calls out.
I straighten immediately, switching back into professional mode, even as my pulse refuses to cooperate.
“Yes, please,” I say quickly, maybe too quickly. “We got a flat.”
Grizz nods as he pulls over, opening his door. “Yeah, looks like it. Let me help.”
I risk a glance at Julian, who’s staring at me with a look that weakens my knees. Why must he do that?
But then he turns away, moving to help Grizz with the tire, and just like that, whatever that was is gone.