Chapter 17 Practice #2
White-on-black, obnoxiously clean, the kind of car that makes pedestrians look twice and drivers suddenly remember how turn signals work.
She slides into the driver’s seat and goes through her whole routine before her seatbelt ever enters the chat: start engine, check herself in the mirror, scroll playlists, blast the A/C like Chicago like its not already chilly outside, then buckle in.
Meanwhile, I’m already strapped.
Click.
Tight.
Secure.
My fingers curl around my purse strap as the engine hums to life.
The car eases off the curb.
And my body does what it always does.
Heart racing before anything even happens. Chest tight. Eyes tracking lanes too closely, counting distances like it’s my job.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
It only half-works.
The city moves fast around us, buildings blurring, a horn cutting through traffic sharp enough to make my stomach flip. Muscle memory flares. My fingers press into my thigh, grounding.
Wynter doesn’t look at me right away. She just reaches over and taps the volume knob.
Quieter.
Then, casually, like she’s talking about brunch.
“So,” she says. “You gonna tell me how you slept after that walk home, or are we pretending that night didn’t happen?”
I huff a breath. “I slept.”
“Mmhmm.”
“In my bed.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Alone.”
She finally side-eyes me. “Harlee.”
I roll my eyes, but my grip on my purse strap tightens. “We talked about this.”
“We talked about you kissing him,” Wynter says. “We did not talk about you inviting that man to my show like you’re running a live experiment on your own self-control.”
I glance at her. “It’s not like that.”
“Mm.” She doesn’t even look convinced. “So what was it? Field research? Boundary testing? A little ‘let me see if I can behave in public’ moment?”
I press my lips together. “You’re doing a lot.”
“You’re doing more,” she shoots back easily. “You just dressed it up in professional language.”
The music dips for a second as my phone pings into the perfectly timed silence between songs.
AUGUST JAMES
My breath catches before I can stop it.
Wynter clocks it instantly.
“Oh,” she says, smug. “That him ain't it."
I don’t think to unlock and respond. Not with her side eye judging me when they are supposed to be focused on the road.
“He’s being… Nice,” I say.
“That’s worse,” Wynter replies. “Nice, for you is dangerous.”
I laugh despite myself. The tension loosens a notch.
“Okay,” she says, voice shifting, softer now. “Real talk.”
Here it comes.
She changes lanes smoothly, eyes forward. “I support you. You know that. Always.”
I nod.
“But I’m gonna say this once, and then I’m leaving you alone about it.” A beat. “That man is fine as hell. I’m not blind. I’d climb him like a tree too.”
I choke on a laugh.
“But,” she continues, cutting me a look, “don’t let some good dick and green eyes jeopardize what you worked this hard for.”
My smile fades, just a little.
“You’re here for a reason,” she says. “Go in, learn what you need to learn, and get out. That’s the mission.”
“I know.”
“And if you’re gonna play with fire,” she adds, voice quieter now, more serious, “just don’t get burned trying to prove you can stand the heat.”
I swallow. “We didn’t cross any lines.”
Her brow lifts. “No?”
“No,” I say. “He… stopped himself.”
Wynter hums, thoughtful. “Okay. That tracks.”
“With what?”
“With a man who knows exactly what this could cost him,” she says. “And doesn’t want to be the reason you pay for it.”
The words settle heavy in my chest.
“But if you like it, I love it, sis. Just be careful. And use your safewords.”
The car keeps moving. The music swells. The city opens up ahead of us.
By the time we pull up outside Lori and Keoni’s place, my heart rate has leveled out. The panic hasn’t vanished—but it’s quieter.
Contained.
Practice.
We grab the wine and head up the path.
And before we even knock, we hear yelling.
“You are what you eat, Lori!”
“Well, that makes you a pussy.”
Wynter freezes mid-step, wheezing.
“Oh,” she gasps. “I already like her.”
The door swings open and Lori stands there in a baby-blue sweater dress and tights, grinning like she just committed a felony.
“HARLEE!” she shrieks, dragging me into a hug like we’ve known each other forever.
Then her eyes flick to Wynter and something electric happens.
“This must be Wynter.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Wynter says, wiping tears of laughter. “That was art.”
A man leans in the doorway like he lives off sun and vibes —arms crossed, smirk already loaded. Lori gestures over her shoulder. “This is Micah—my baby brother. He’s visiting from Hawaii.”
Behind her, the burly man gives a lazy nod, eyes flicking between us like he’s already forming opinions he didn’t ask for.
“Please,” he says. “My comedic timing is impeccable. Hers is just loud.”
Wynter blinks. Slow. Appraising. “I can tell you’re the kind of man who argues for cardio.”
Micah’s grin breaks wide. “I like her.”
“I love her,” Lori says immediately. “Come in before my brother tries to propose.”
The backyard is a whole vibe fifteen minutes later.
Music, smoke, red cups. Folding chairs. Somebody yelling over spades like they’re defending their dissertation.
Keoni holds court at the grill like it’s a sacred calling. Huge, tattooed, calm. Lori fits into his side like muscle memory.
Introductions blur. Drinks appear in my hand.
Wynter clocks the grill and groans like she’s seeing a miracle.
“That smells illegal.”
Keoni laughs. “Brat or burger?”
“Biggest one you got,” she says solemnly. “I want it massive and in my mouth expeditiously.”
Lori chokes on her wine.
“That’s Wynter,” I say, already laughing her off.
“Oh we are going to get along famously,” Lori wheezes again, like she just found her soulmate in chaos.
Time gets slippery after that. Shots happen. A game of Xtures breaks out. The women absolutely dog-walk the men. A grown man acts out giving birth like he’s possessed by a demon with a midwife certification.
Wynter cries real tears.
Everyone agrees to never speak of it again.
Later, the fire pit hums low. Most people drift off for refills, leaving me, Wynter, and Lori tucked into a quieter pocket of the night.
Lori bumps my shoulder, eyes glittering.
“So,” she says. “Who do you have your eye on?”
I damn near inhale my drink.
Wynter perks up like a bloodhound. “Oh, here we go.”
“It’s nobody,” I lie.
Lori narrows her eyes. “That’s a lie you tell when it’s somebody inconvenient.”
Wynter sips her beer like she’s watching a documentary. “Top of the food chain.”
Lori’s eyes light.
“Oh.”
I exhale, defeated. “You two are insufferable.”
“Thank you,” Wynter says sweetly.
Then, like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing, she tilts her head, eyes flicking between us.
“So…” she says lightly, testing the waters. “What’s the deal with y'all CEO? Mister James… or whatever his name is?”
Lori doesn’t even hesitate. “August James?”
Wynter snaps her fingers. “Him.”
Lori nods immediately, like we’re confirming the sky is blue. “Girl...”
My head turns. “What?”
“That's a piece of art right there,” Lori says, unbothered. “Office kryptonite. HR violation in a tailored suit. Me and Mya were drooling over him the other day.”
Wynter leans back, slow grin spreading like she just got handed proof. “Interesting, tell me more.”
My stomach does that small, traitorous flip. “So everybody just… talks about him?”
“Girl,” Lori corrects, “everybody thinks about him.”
Wynter lets out a sharp laugh, dragging her hand down her face.
“I’m just saying… that man look like he’d have you acting out of character and calling it a spiritual experience.
Him and his little friend too—Kelley? Yeah.
Both of them look like they ruin lives in a very well-dressed, tax-bracket-appropriate way. ”
I choke. “Wynter.”
“What?” she shrugs, completely unbothered. “I’m being respectful. I didn’t even say what I was really thinking. Which involved a trip to Paris, if you catch my drift.”
Lori laughs, but then her voice dips, just a notch. “Mm. Well… You might have more of a chance then then the rest of us. Seeing as that you don't have any associations to him whatsoever.”
Wynter leans forward instantly. “Spill.”
She glances around, like she’s about to share classified intel.
“A few years back,” she says, lowering her voice, “there was… an incident.”
The air changes.
My throat tightens. “What kind of incident?”
“A woman got close to him,” Lori says. “Too close. Holiday party year. They did it at one of those boutique hotels we partner with. Employees got rooms. Cute little perk.”
Wynter’s face lights up. “Mess.”
“Mess,” Lori confirms. “Somehow, this girl convinces the front desk to give her a key to August’s room.”
“What the fuck,” Wynter breathes.
“Exactly,” Lori says. “No one knows how she even knew which room was his. No one knows what she did up there. We just know after that? No more holiday parties. No more hotel rooms. New fraternization policy. Mandatory harassment training. The whole company got put on punishment.”
I stare into the fire, heat prickling under my skin for reasons that have nothing to do with the flames.
“What did James do?” I ask, trying to sound casual and failing.
Lori’s face shifts, more serious now. “He called a meeting. Full team. Stood up there and said something happened that compromised his safety in a way that couldn’t be ignored.”
My stomach drops.
Safety.
Not reputation. Not optics. Not “unprofessional conduct.”
Safety.
“And then he pressed charges,” Lori finishes.
Wynter’s expression sobers. “Damn.”
I swallow. Hard. Not jealousy.
Something colder.
“What happened to her?” I ask.
Lori snaps her fingers like she’s been saving this part for dessert.
“Turns out,” she says, “she wasn’t even an employee. She was a reporter.”
Wynter’s jaw drops. “Shut up.”
“Deadass,” Lori says. “She was trying to get dirt on his stepfather.”
My head spins. “Senator King?”
Lori nods. “The one and only. Nobody even knew they were connected. No shared surname. No public acknowledgment. August is a vault. Eight years in that building and all I know is his birthday.”
Wynter exhales slow, leaning back. “Okay… yeah. That explains a lot.”
Lori nods once. “He’s private. He’s by the book. No scandals. No mess. That was the one time.”
Silence settles between us.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, like it knows the exact moment I’m trying not to think about him.
I don’t check it.
Because suddenly, I understand something I didn’t before.
August James doesn’t avoid lines.
He builds them for a reason.
And now that I know where they are— we both know exactly how to break them.