Chapter 19 Unexpected Variables #3
He drops forward into me, pressing me back into the door, weight solid and grounding, and I wrap around him without thinking, holding on like the world might tilt if I don’t.
My hands move—up his arms, across his shoulders—until I find his face.
That look.
And before I can think better of it—
I slap him.
Quick. Clean.
The sound cracks between us.
Then I grab his jaw and pull him back in, kissing him hard—measured, intentional—something between a warning and a promise.
August chuckles, still catching his breath, his brow resting against mine, mouth grazing my damp skin.
“That… was incredible,” I manage between uneven inhales, looking up at him like I just saw fireworks.
He smirks, tucking a loose strand behind my ear. “Beyond incredible. That was mind-blowing.”
I laugh, a little breathless. “Did you actually just say mind-blowing?”
“I think I did.”
He lowers me slowly, carefully, until my feet touch the floor. My legs wobble, but he doesn’t let go—arms still firm around my waist, keeping me steady.
We breathe.
Together.
His forehead falls back against the door. He presses a lazy kiss behind my ear, then another along my cheek. My fingers curl into the nape of his neck, tugging gently—possessive in a way that surprises me.
We don’t speak for a while.
The silence isn’t awkward.
It’s… full.
Finally, he murmurs, amused, “Did you slap me?”
I smile against his mouth. “A little.”
“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” I ask, trying—and failing—not to laugh.
“No,” he says immediately, smiling into my hair. “You’re fine. I kind of liked it. It was different.”
…So that just happened.
Definitely not part of my bingo card for the week.
My skin is still buzzing, my common sense slowly crawling back from wherever it disappeared to. There’s something about him that short-circuits me every time. I set out to make sensible decisions and somehow end up… here.
Tumbling down the rabbit hole like Georgie after Pennywise’s balloon. Like—yes, I know this is a terrible idea, but the balloon is shiny, and the dick is very hard to ignore.
He lowers me slowly, carefully, until my feet touch the floor.
My legs wobble the second they take my weight, and for a beat, I lean into him—still caught in the aftershocks, still not fully back in my body.
But he doesn’t let go.
Not right away.
His hands stay firm at my waist, steadying me—grounding.
Then—
He straightens.
And it changes everything.
One second we’re tangled up in the same space, breathing the same air—
The next, he’s towering over me again, all height and heat and quiet control, his presence settling back into place like it never left.
I have to tilt my head to meet his eyes.
That alone does something to me.
Not helpful. Not even a little.
My fingers are still curled in his shirt, but now it feels different—less like I’m holding him there, more like I’m holding onto something I shouldn’t.
He watches me.
Not rushed. Not uncertain.
Just… there.
August releases a soft chuckle, dropping his chin to the top of my head. “Are you alright?”
“Yes.” I don’t hesitate. “I’m more than alright.”
That distinction feels important.
He shifts slightly to examine my face, his expression transitioning. The hunger recedes, replaced by attentiveness. The man who notices details. Who anticipates fallout.
“You’re shaking,” he observes.
“Just adrenaline,” I say. “And reality coming back online.”
His lips quirk. “Understandable.”
He steps back—just enough—adjusting himself, deliberately creating space. Then he smooths down my dress with unexpected care, fingers brushing my hip in a way that tightens something in my chest.
“I shouldn’t have initiated this,” he says softly. Not regretful. Just… honest. “I told myself I’d maintain professional boundaries.”
I hold his gaze. “I know. I’m equally culpable.”
Silence settles between us.
“But I don’t regret it,” I add. “I’d be lying if I said I did.”
Something shifts in his eyes—subtle, but there.
“Good,” he says. “Me neither.”
I drop to my knees, gathering scattered papers into my bag, suddenly feeling exposed.
Not my body.
My soul.
Like I’ve left something behind in the mess.
He kneels beside me without hesitation, already collecting my things. Tablet. Planner. Charger.
“This’ll make quite the entry in today’s meeting minutes,” he says dryly, handing me my planner.
I roll my eyes, biting back a smile. “Knock it off. Don’t try to laugh me out of my panties.”
“If I recall correctly,” he says evenly, “that happened about twenty minutes ago.”
A beat.
“And I don’t think you found any part of it funny.”
I pause.
It takes everything in me not to laugh right now, and I know my expression isn’t helping when I look at him.
“That is beside the point,” I say, trying to steady my voice. “Point being… that—however earth-shattering that might have been—”
I pause, blinking up at him through my lashes, biting my lip.
His mouth is still swollen from where I was just—
Yeah.
“That doesn’t make this uncomplicated,” I finish, quieter now. “Or remotely part of the plan.”
He doesn’t move.
Not closer. Not away.
Just… stays exactly where he is.
“Maybe I’m not interested in uncomplicated.”
I meet his gaze. “August?”
“I mean it.” His tone shifts—solid, certain. “Yes, we crossed a line. One I set.” A beat. “And I’m fine with that.”
That lands.
“But I value you—professionally and personally—too much to turn this into some office secret.”
That lands harder.
“Then what exactly,” I ask carefully, “are you suggesting?”
His smile unfolds slowly. Intentionally.
“Let’s start with dinner,” he says. “A proper date. I’ll pick you up. At this point, I think I’ve proven I’m not a serial killer.”
You might not be killing people, but you sure did murder this pussy.
His ego does not need that reinforcement, so I keep it to myself.
Instead, I blink.
“Dinner.”
“That’s generally how it works,” he laughs softly. “Like adults.”
The seconds tick by.
“If I’m breaking my own policies, I’m doing it properly. We explore this. And though I’d have preferred timing things differently...” his gaze drops briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes, “...we’re clearly past that point now.”
My heartbeat stutters
“You’re Augustus James,” I remind him. “The James in James Wilde.”
“And you’re Harlee Prince.” he counters with a shrug. “Now that we’ve established who we are, what’s your answer?”
I let out a sharp breath. “You never quit, do you?”
“Never,” he confirms, smile spreading. “Still waiting to hear yes.”
I shake my head, flooded yet torturously aware I want this.
“I like you,” I whisper. “But I can’t lose myself soft launching vibes with you.”
“That’s not what I want.” He rises, hand outstretched—steady, no rush. “I want to meet you where you are.” The blunt sincerity tugs at me.
I let his hand settle in mine, then think better of it and pull away.
“James,” I say with a sigh.
“August,” he corrects, softer.
I exhale. “August… dating you could jeopardize my graduation. Charming or not, I can’t risk that.” I bite my lip, just as one little aftershock flows through me. Traitor.
“I’m not asking you to gamble with your future or your name,” he replies calmly. “I know exactly what’s at stake.”
A pause.
“I just want to take you out, talk to you, spend time with you—honestly.”
My chest tightens.
“I have responsibilities,” he continues. “A board. Legal obligations. Real consequences. I plan every move.”
He holds my gaze.
“And I meant it. I will shield your reputation like mine. This—” he gestures between us “—won’t collapse on my watch.”
God.
“I’m simply asking you to trust me.”
Trust is the smallest hurdle.
“Fine,” I concede. “But you promise—discreet.”
His eyes spark, as if he’s won a dangerous bet.
“Saturday. Seven.”
“Discreet,” I echo.
“Absolutely.”
“And nothing changes here.”
He tilts his head. “I mean… something already did.”
“August—”
His brow lifts.
“I’m serious,” I say.
“I know. I’ve got you. We’ll be careful.”
I sling my bag over my shoulder and stand.
“I’m serious,” I repeat. “If this spirals—”
“I’ll be the first to clean up,” he assures. “You won’t carry this alone. I promise, I mean it.”
A strange warmth buds in my chest.
He drops to one knee, picks up my shoe, and slips it on with tender care.
“This is a bad idea,” I murmur.
This wasn’t habit—it was a line crossed with eyes wide open.
“Yeah,” he agrees softly. “That’s how I know it’s real.”
I should walk away.
I don’t.
“Look at you, finally agreeing,” he teases.
“Don’t get cocky,” I whisper. “I could still cancel.”
“I’d eat my weight in Oreos,” he grins. “Or skip that and give you the best night of your life with me.”
I shake my head. “Your ego is unreal.”
“Just aware of my assets,” he says with a wink.
We linger until he finally calls a car service.
His embrace envelops me before he presses his mouth to mine—a kiss that’s deep and deliberate, leaving my lips tender.
“Let me know when you’re safe at the library.”
I’m almost out the door when I hear, “Hey, Prince.”
I glance back.
“Saturday at seven,” he says. “Bundle up.”
The playful slap on my ass and theatrical air kiss somehow manage to be both irritating and charming.
I walk away, my legs unsteady but my chest certain.
After weeks of fleeing, I’ve found something different.
I’m making a choice.