2. Harry
— ? —
Harry
I wake before Jules does.
This is my favorite part of the day, these few minutes in the gray light before dawn when she’s still soft with sleep and I can look at her without her catching me. Two years of marriage and I still wake up some mornings convinced I’m going to open my eyes and find the other side of the bed empty.
She’s on her stomach with her face half buried in the pillow and her black hair spread across the white sheets. One bare shoulder is visible above the covers, her mouth is slightly open, and she’s drooling a little.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I get out of bed carefully, trying not to wake her. The floor is cold under my feet because Jules keeps the air conditioning set to arctic, which I’ve been on her case about for weeks, and I pad downstairs to the kitchen to start the coffee.
She takes two sugars and a splash of oat milk, a specific brand that I had to track down across three different stores because it’s the only one she likes.
Growing up, nobody ever made anything just for me. Every meal was shared, every possession was communal, and every moment of attention was split between a dozen other kids who needed it just as badly.
I like being the one who does it for her. I like knowing exactly how hard to scratch her back when she’s falling asleep. I like having someone to take care of, and I like being hers.
The coffee maker gurgles, and I lean against the counter and check my phone. There are overnight emails about deals in progress, and three messages from my number two about what the hell we do now that I’ve walked away from last night’s deal.
There’s also one text from Avery, sent at 11:47 last night.
Avery: Heard dinner went badly because of her. You can always talk to me. ??
I frown at the screen. I didn’t even notice this last night, because Jules and I were distracted.
Avery’s heart is in the right place, and it always has been.
Her parents died in an accident when she was seven, and she ended up at the children’s home where I’d lived my whole life, ever since somebody left me at a police station as a baby, and I was ten when she arrived.
She got teased for her red hair, and I used to pull the bullies off her and promise that nobody would hurt her as long as I was around.
I think of her as a little sister, the kid I used to protect. She doesn’t have anyone else, and her clinginess is just insecurity, the fear of being abandoned that comes from losing everyone you love at seven years old.
I type back a quick response.
Me: Dinner was fine. Talk later.
Then I pocket my phone and pour two cups of coffee.
Jules is awake when I get back upstairs. She’s sitting up in bed with the sheets pooled around her waist, wearing nothing, with her hair a disaster and her eyes still heavy with sleep.
“Coffee,” she says, making grabby hands.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Good morning. Coffee.”
I hand her the mug and watch her take the first sip. Her whole body relaxes, her eyes close, and she makes a sound that’s almost obscene.
“You’re the best husband in the world,” she says.
“I know.”
She opens one eye. “Don’t push it.”
I sit on the edge of the bed while she drinks her coffee. She’s beautiful in the mornings, rumpled and sleepy and unguarded. During the day Jules is sharp and competent and runs a room without trying, but in the mornings I get to see her soft.
“Happy anniversary,” I say.
Her face softens. “Happy anniversary.”
“Two years.”
“Somehow.”
“Somehow?” I raise an eyebrow. “You make it sound like an achievement.”
“Being married to you is an achievement.” But she’s smiling, that smile I’d do anything to see, and she leans over to kiss me. “Two years. I like being married to you.”
“I like being married to you too.”
“Even when I steal your coffee?”
I look over at the nightstand, and my mug is gone, and she’s drinking out of it.
“When did you…”
“You were being sentimental. It was very distracting.” She takes a sip of what is now my coffee and grins at me. “Too slow.”
I lunge for her, and she shrieks, and the coffee sloshes everywhere, and we end up tangled in the sheets with her pinned under me and both of us laughing.
“You’re a menace,” I tell her.
“You love me anyway.”
“Unfortunately.”
She sticks her tongue out at me.
Half an hour later we’re both showered and she’s standing in front of the mirror with her back to me.
I zip her into her work dress and take twice as long as I need to, my fingers lingering on the warm skin of her back.
We’re nearly late because I back her against the front door to tell her happy anniversary properly, with my mouth on her neck and her hands in my hair and both of us breathless and laughing.
“We have to go,” she says, not moving.
“In a minute.”
“Harry.”
“Just one more minute.”
I kiss her again, deep and slow, and she melts against me, and we’re definitely going to be late.
***
The office is chaos when I arrive, which I don’t mind, because I’ve built my entire career on walking into rooms full of panic and calmly pointing out the solution everyone else missed.
Today’s chaos is about last night. Word has spread that I walked out of the deal, and I’ve been ignoring every call about it since I left the house.
My number two falls into step beside me as I cross the lobby. “We need to talk about last night.”
“Later.”
“People are worried…”
“People can worry. I’m not changing my mind.” I stop walking and turn to face him. He’s a good man and a competent one, and he’s terrified of me, which is useful. “The deal is dead. Move on.”
He swallows hard and nods. “Yes, sir.”
The elevator carries me up to the tenth floor, where Avery is already at the desk outside my office with my messages sorted into piles.
She’d been on the front desk downstairs for years, and she took over this one when Jules moved to run the foundation two years ago, which means she handles my calendar, my messages and the logistics of keeping my professional life from imploding.
She’s efficient and reliable, and she’s been with me since before I had money or power or anything worth wanting.
I spend the morning dealing with the fallout, which means phone calls and emails and one of the old guard who wants to meet in person to “discuss where the company is headed,” which means he wants to yell at me. I tell Avery to schedule him for next month.
At noon, twenty-four peonies arrive at Jules’ desk.
I know because she calls me.
“You sent me flowers,” she says.
“I did.”
“Twenty-four peonies.”
“One for every month.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and when she speaks again, her voice is softer. “I love you.”
“I know.”
She hangs up before I can say anything else, and three minutes later my door opens, and Jules walks in still holding one of the peonies and locks the door behind her.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi.”
“I wanted to thank you for the flowers.”
“You could have just said thank you on the phone.”
“I could have.” She walks toward me, and there’s a sway in her hips that I recognize. “But that didn’t seem adequate.”
She rounds my desk and sits on the edge, right in front of me, and I push my chair back to make room. Her dress rides up when she crosses her legs, and I can see the edge of her thigh.
“We’re at work,” I point out.
“I’m aware.”
“Anyone could knock.”
“Door’s locked.”
She reaches for my tie and pulls me forward, and I go, because I’ve never been able to resist her.
The kiss is slow and teasing. She tastes like the mint tea she drinks at her desk, and her hands are sliding into my hair, and I’m pulling her closer, off the desk and into my lap.
“Jules,” I manage.
“Shut up.”
I do as I’m told.
She’s kissing down my jaw and my neck with her fingers working at my buttons. I should stop this. We’re in my office in the middle of the day, and I have a call in twenty minutes.
But her mouth is on my collarbone now, and her hand is sliding down my chest, and I can’t remember why any of that matters.
“Let me,” she says, and she slides off my lap and onto her knees.
“Jules…”
“I want to.”
She looks up at me through her lashes, and I’m gone.
She unbuckles my belt and pulls me free and wraps her hand around my cock, and I have to grip the arms of my chair to keep from groaning out loud.
“Quiet,” she says, and there’s mischief in her eyes. “We’re at work.”
Then her mouth is on me, hot and wet and perfect, and every thought I had about work is gone.
She’s good at everything, but she’s especially good at this, the way she takes me deep, the way her tongue works the underside, the way she knows exactly how much pressure and exactly how fast. She knows my body better than I do.
“Fuck,” I breathe. “Jules, fuck, I’m…”
Someone knocks on the door, and Jules freezes.
“Mr. Winslow?” It’s Avery’s voice, muffled through the wood. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but there’s a problem with the Friday report. It can’t wait.”
Jules looks up at me with her mouth still wrapped around my cock and raises an eyebrow.
I clear my throat. “Give me five minutes.”
“It’s really urgent.”
“Five minutes, Avery.”
There’s a pause before she says, “Yes, sir.”
Her footsteps retreat, and Jules pulls off me with a wet sound.
“Five minutes, huh?” She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Give me thirty seconds.”
She grins and goes back to work.
Two minutes later I’m biting my fist to keep from shouting as I come down her throat. She swallows everything, and then she stands up and straightens her dress.
“I should get back to work,” she says.
“You’re just going to leave?”
“I have a meeting at one.” She leans down and kisses me, and I can taste myself on her lips. “Happy anniversary, husband.”
Then she walks out, and I hear her say a pleasant hello to Avery on her way past.
Her lipstick is on my collar, and I don’t bother to wipe it off.
***
At four o’clock, Avery knocks on my door again.
“Come in.”
She enters and closes the door behind her. “That report thing turned out to be nothing. Sorry for the interruption earlier.”
“It’s fine.”
“The restaurant called,” she says. “They need to push the reservation to nine.”
I frown. “Nine? I booked seven.”
“They said they’re overbooked. Nine was the best they could do. I already let Jules know.”
“You talked to Jules?”
“I sent her a message.”
I nod, because if Avery says she handled it, she handled it. She’s never let me down.
“Is there anything else you need?” she asks.
“No, that’s fine. Thank you.”
She leaves, and I go back to my work.
At six-thirty, I call Jules, who has been across town at a site visit since three.
“Hey,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Good thoughts?”
“The best thoughts. Are you almost done?”
“Almost. I can’t wait to see you.”
“Me neither. Don’t be late.”
“I’m never late.”
She laughs. “You’re always late. But I love you anyway.”
“I love you too.”
I hang up and check the time. I have two and a half hours until dinner, which is plenty of time to finish up here and change into my spare suit.
At six forty-five, I grab my jacket and head down to the garage to get her bracelet out of my glove box, where it’s been hidden for a week. I’ll change when I come back up.
Avery is waiting in the parking garage.
She’s slumped against her car with her face pale and her hands shaking. When she sees me she straightens up, but her eyes are red rimmed and scared.
“Avery? What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” she says, and her voice is trembling. “I’m so sorry, I know you’re leaving, I just didn’t know what to do.”
“What happened?”
“My car.” She gestures at it helplessly. “Flat tire. And there was a man. I think someone was following me.”
Her whole body is shaking now, and I recognize this, because I’ve seen it a hundred times since we were kids. When Avery feels unsafe, the fear takes hold of her and doesn’t let go.
“Hey.” I step closer and keep my voice calm. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
I crouch to look at the tire, which is flat down to the rim. “I can change that.”
“There’s no spare. I already looked, and I tried to call a tow truck, but my phone is dead.” She holds it up, and the screen is black. “Can I use yours? Just to call them?”
“Of course.”
I hand her my phone. She fumbles with it, types in a number, and presses it to her ear.
“It’s going to voicemail,” she says. “Can you wait with me? Just until they get here? I don’t want to be alone.”
I check my watch. It’s six-fifty and the reservation is at nine, so I have over two hours.
“Of course,” I say. “I’ll wait.”
She sags with relief. “Thank you. Thank you, Harry. You’re the only one who ever…” She stops and takes a breath. “Thank you.”
We wait, and the tow truck doesn’t come.
Avery calls again and leaves another message. She’s calmer now, leaning against her car while I stand nearby. She tells me about the man she saw in the parking garage, how he was watching her, how he followed her to her car before disappearing into the stairwell.
“You should report that to building security,” I say.
“I will. I just panicked. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
She hands my phone back. “Thank you for staying with me.”
I pocket it without looking. “Do you want me to drive you home?”
“Would you?”
“Of course.”
Traffic is bad, with construction on the highway and an accident near the exit, and by the time I pull up to Avery’s building it’s almost eight-twenty.
“Thank you,” she says again, climbing out of the car. “Really. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“Get some rest. We’ll figure out your car tomorrow.”
She waves as I pull away, and I head for the restaurant.
I walk in at eight-forty with the bracelet in my pocket, pleased with myself for being early.
The ma?tre d’ looks up when I approach. “Mr. Winslow. Good evening.”
“I have a reservation at nine o’clock. I’m a bit early.”
He frowns and checks his book. “I’m sorry, sir, but your reservation was for seven o’clock. Your wife has already left.”
“Left?”
“She waited for about ninety minutes. She left perhaps ten minutes ago.”
My stomach drops.
“I was told it was changed to nine,” I say.
“No, sir. Seven o’clock. We never called to change anything.”
I pull out my phone and check it for the first time since Avery handed it back.
The ringer is off, and I have six missed calls from Jules.
She sat alone in our restaurant for ninety minutes on our anniversary, and I was waiting on a tow truck in a parking garage.
As I’m standing there, a text arrives.
Avery: Thank you for tonight. You’re the only one who ever really cares. ??
I stare at the message for a second, and then I run for my car.