CHAPTER 21
Julian
Iwake before Harper does, although the truth is I don’t think I slept deeply enough last night to qualify as sleeping at all.
For several seconds, I remain exactly where I am, flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling of her apartment. Then I turn slightly and my attention is squarely on the woman asleep beside me.
Harper is curled beneath the duvet, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, her hair spread across the pillow in soft, tangled waves. There’s a disarming feeling about seeing her here like this, at ease and folded so naturally into the early hours of the morning.
It should be scary to be this close to a woman again.
Instead, I’m serene… downright peaceful.
Her breathing hitches as she begins to wake, eyelashes fluttering before those blue eyes slowly find me. For one sleepy second, there’s confusion, the kind that comes from forgetting where you are.
Then recognition overtakes her smiling face.
“Well,” she murmurs, her voice still sleepy. “That’s a nice sight to wake up to.”
I smile before I can stop myself. “Good morning to you too.”
She stretches slowly beneath the blankets, and I immediately regret every item of clothing currently separating us because the movement arches her body enough to remind me exactly how she felt against mine last night.
Harper catches the direction of my thoughts instantly.
“I know what that look means,” she says.
I smile. A laugh escapes her, soft and sleepy and unguarded. It’s a sound I’ve really started to get used to… and yearn for.
I reach for her, pulling her gently until she’s nestled against my chest.
“You know,” she says after a beat, tracing circles on my body with her fingertips, “for someone who allegedly works all the time, you’re surprisingly good at this.”
“At what?”
“This.” She gestures between us. “Existing like a normal person.”
I laugh quietly against the top of her head. “I’ll add it to my résumé.”
“You should.”
We linger there a bit longer, tangled together while the city slowly wakes outside the windows.
For the first time in years, I don’t get the usual urgency pressing at me first thing in the morning.
No immediate need to move. I don’t have that constant instinct to reach for my phone or start organizing the day into measurable blocks of productivity.
I just want another few hours with her, but eventually reality wins, as it always does.
“We should probably get this day started,” I say.
Harper groans dramatically into my chest. “I liked you better before you got responsible on me.”
“I’m still getting used to disappointing you.”
“You’re doing great.”
I kiss the top of her head before finally forcing myself out of bed.
By the time we leave her place after a quick breakfast, Manhattan has fully awakened around us. Snow lines the sidewalks in clean white banks, taxis pushing slowly through slush while pedestrians move carefully beneath scarves and winter coats.
Harper reaches automatically for the driver’s side door of the Range Rover.
I stop her gently with a hand at her wrist.
“Passenger seat,” I say.
She looks up immediately. “Julian—”
“I’m driving.”
“You say that like it’s a royal decree.”
“Because it is.”
She laughs softly beneath her breath but obeys, moving around the front of the car while I slide behind the wheel.
I pull away from the curb as the Range Rover pumps heat into the cold interior.
Beside me, Harper turns slightly in her seat to look at me. The smiles and jovial body language gone. In its place is a distant look on her face, as if preoccupied.
“You seem troubled,” I say.
Her eyes flick toward me. “I’m not troubled.”
“Hmm.”
A beat passes, steam curling up from subway grates as taxis inch through the traffic and snow.
Finally, she exhales quietly and looks out the windshield. “I just…” She hesitates. “I’m supposed to be the driver.”
I glance at her briefly before returning my attention to the road.
“That’s my job,” she continues. “And I know things have…” She gestures between us. “Changed. But I should still do the thing you hired me to do.”
“You think I’m undermining you?”
“No,” she says quickly. “That’s not what I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
She goes quiet for a second, clearly trying to organize the thought before speaking it aloud. “I think…” She swallows lightly. “I think I don’t want to become decorative in your life.”
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel as traffic slows ahead of us.
“Decorative,” I repeat.
“I went from your driver to this, like I’m a ‘passenger princess,’ and that’s not who I am or how I want to be seen,” she continues.
“Passenger princess?” I ask.
“You know what I mean,” she says. “I’ve worked my entire adult life. I’m comfortable when I’m useful. And lately…” Her eyes find me briefly. “I don’t know. I’m a little untethered.”
Outside the windows, Manhattan keeps moving. A cyclist cuts between two taxis. A couple argues outside a coffee shop. Somewhere farther downtown, a siren wails faintly before fading.
Meanwhile, my entire attention is fixed on the woman beside me.
“I’m glad you brought this up,” I say finally.
Her brows pull together. “You are?”
“Yes.” I glance toward her. “Because the truth is, Harper, you’re wildly overqualified to be a driver. You know that. I know that. Percy knows that. I mean, that taxi driver over there can probably tell.”
Immediately she stiffens. “Julian—”
“No. Listen to me.” My tone intensifies enough to stop her interruption. “You solved a multimillion-dollar ticketing disaster in under sixty seconds from the front seat of a car.”
She looks at me.
“You created the entire emotional framework for our All-Star campaign over a lunch. My entire executive team spent months trying to figure out how to connect the Vipers to the city in a meaningful way and you solved it almost as an afterthought.”
That almost earns a smile from her.
“You have instincts that can’t be taught,” I continue. “You understand people. Consumer behavior. Emotional engagement. Narrative positioning.” I shake my head slightly. “Do you know how valuable that is?”
She’s quiet now, listening with interest.
“I don’t want anything handed to me,” she says.
“Of course you don’t. That’s not what this is.”
“No, I really mean that.” She turns toward me more fully now. “I don’t ever want someone looking at me thinking I got somewhere because I’m sleeping with the owner.”
I nod. “Good.”
That clearly isn’t the response she expected.
“Good?” she repeats.
“Yes.” I glance at her. “Because I understand. I didn’t want things handed to me from my father. There’s no satisfaction in that. Earning it yourself is the only way to fulfillment.”
Harper stares at me like she’s trying to determine whether I’m serious. I am.
“There’s a company I invested in about five years ago,” I say finally. “A beauty brand. They’ve expanded aggressively online and now they’re preparing for brick-and-mortar.”
She blinks. “Okay…”
“It’s called Penny Aura.”
Her eyes go wide.
“You invested in Penny Aura?” she asks, incredulous.
“Yes.”
“Oh my God,” she says in disbelief. “I’m literally wearing their mascara right now.”
“I know.”
Her eyes narrow. “How could you possibly know that?”
“You think I don’t notice things?”
Color rises into her cheeks and she looks away again, but I can see the wheels turning now.
“They’re huge,” she murmurs to herself. “Their engagement on social media is so strong. They have a great brand narrative, but I’m surprised they haven’t expanded further.”
“Yes,” I reply calmly. “And there’s a position open for the chief of staff to the Chief Marketing Officer to help with exactly that.”
She stares at me, then laughs once under her breath like the idea is absurd.
“Julian…”
“I am not handing you the job,” I say firmly before she can spiral into objections again. “But I did tell them they should interview you.”
“I haven’t done anything like that before,” she says quietly.
“No,” I say. “You’ve done a lot harder.”
Her eyes lift back to mine.
“You’ve survived,” I say. “You’ve adapted, raised a teenager while working multiple jobs and still somehow remained ambitious underneath it all.” I shake my head. “Most executives I know would collapse within a week inside your life.”
A faint laugh escapes her. “I do it because it’s family. I’d do anything for my family.”
“The Penny Aura founder wants to meet you next week,” I continue more gently now. “That’s all this is. A meeting.”
She stares out at the snowy city again, processing. “You really think this could work? That I could make this work?” she asks, an innocence in her voice that I find so sexy.
“I know you can.”
I arrive home late that night after our annual board meeting stretches nearly two hours longer than anticipated. Year-end meetings always do, especially when our agendas grow longer and longer each season.
The approach of January, the start of a new year and new problems, always makes otherwise intelligent people suddenly desperate to solve every unresolved issue before year-end.
It’s exhausting.
By the time I step through the front doors of the townhouse, the city is subdued, dark and ready for rest.
I loosen my tie as I cross the foyer.
Harper had plans tonight with Abby, which, if I’m being honest, I’m glad about.
Dylan returns from North Carolina shortly, and once he’s back, Harper’s world will become chaos again around responsibilities and schedules and the endless gravitational pull of caring for other people. I want her to enjoy these final few days of peace while she can.
The aroma of food reaches me before I step fully into the kitchen. Percy, of course.
My dinner is already laid out neatly at the island beneath the warm pendant lighting—a beef filet, roasted broccoli, a glass of red wine breathing beside the plate. Percy never misses.
Usually at this hour, he has already disappeared upstairs to his private quarters for the evening. Tonight, he remains downstairs, leaning lightly against the counter with a dish towel folded over one arm, watching me with a calm patience.
I suppress a smile as I shrug out of my coat.
“You’re still awake,” I observe.
“So are you, sir.”
I glance toward him as I cut into the steak. “You’re hovering.”
“I am lingering,” Percy corrects mildly. “Hovering implies panic.”
I laugh under my breath and take a sip of wine.
There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again.
“You seem…” He considers the word carefully. “Lighter lately.”
“Do I?”
“You do.”
There’s no judgment in it. Just Percy being Percy. It’s why I love him.
He folds the dish towel once more before adding casually, “I assume Ms. Hawthorne is not joining you this evening?”
Straight to it, then. I had a feeling he wanted to broach the Harper situation.
I shake my head. “Subtle as ever. And no, she’s out with her friend tonight.”
“I’ve known you since you were thirteen, sir. It’s a rare night you don’t stay at home when you’re in the city, and last night you were in absentia. But I trust you were keeping her company, yes?”
I glance down briefly at the plate before finally saying it aloud.
“Yes,” I admit. “I’m seeing her, Percy. I certainly didn’t mean to worry you.”
“No worry at all, sir. I just… well, it’s nice to know you find her company so intriguing and engaging that you want to spend an evening with her outside of home.”
“Well, it wasn’t our first evening outside of this home,” I continue. “I brought her with me to the Bahamas for Christmas.”
That earns a longer pause. Not disapproval—actually, quite the opposite. It seems he’s hovering dangerously close to satisfaction.
“Well,” he says at last, warmth threading through his impossibly proper British cadence, “it’s about bloody time.”
I bark out a surprised laugh. “Percy.”
“What?” he says innocently. “I’m old, not dead. I’m allowed occasional enthusiasm.”
I shake my head, still smiling despite myself.
Percy studies me briefly before speaking again, gentler this time. “You’ve always enjoyed female companionship,” he says carefully. “But I suspect this situation differs somewhat from the others.”
The understatement nearly makes me laugh again.
“Yes,” I say quietly. “It does.”
Percy nods. “I’m very pleased to hear it, sir.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. “You are?”
“Immensely.”
I look down into my wineglass, turning it once, slowly between my fingers. “She’s extraordinary,” I admit. “And she doesn’t seem to realize it yet.”
Percy smiles faintly. “Those are often the most extraordinary sort.”
Then Percy pushes away from the counter and folds his hands behind his back, slipping so naturally into that familiar fatherly posture he’s carried my entire life.
“You know,” he says, “there comes a point when honoring grief and living inside it become two different things.”
I look up slowly. Percy holds my gaze. “You have loved deeply before. I remember that time well.”
I say nothing.
“But loss is not meant to be a permanent residence, sir.”
He steps closer then, resting one hand lightly against the back of the chair opposite me.
“It is time,” he says quietly, “to allow yourself to move beyond your losses.”
I stare at my plate, unsure of what to say or do next. The truth is I don’t fully know if I’m ready for that… moving beyond. I don’t know if anyone ever truly is.
But I do know one thing with complete certainty now: Percy is right.
Whatever this is with Harper—it’s different. It’s not compartmentalized to fit neatly in one part of my life or a fling to provide relief and distraction from my everyday stress. The more I see of her, the more I want to see of her. And the more I’m with her, the more I want to be with her.
And somewhere beneath the fear and uncertainty and grief I still carry, I want to see where it all will lead.