Chapter 11
ELEVEN
MIND WANDERING, Harper relied on autopilot to complete her invoices.
It was Monday for crissakes, she’d left Bastian’s place on Saturday. Get over it already.
Bastian’s embrace took up too much space in her brain. Stupid. Stupid.
On the Saturday morning, she’d woken in his embrace. Cool, right? No big deal. Yeah, maybe if that was all she did. That wouldn’t have been totally audacious. But this was her and she didn’t do things by half. No, she ratcheted entitlement up to a whole new level.
How?
She’d been on top of him, her whole body on his, sleeping on him like he was her own personal mattress.
Shit. And there was the incredulity again. Who did she think she was? They’d fallen asleep, that didn’t give her license to climb on top of him like some kind of animal.
In that mortification, she extricated herself from his arms, slowly, carefully, so as not to wake him. She’d gathered her things and crept out of the bedroom to dress in the silent kitchen.
Shame. Shame. Shame.
From there, she slipped out through the garage and ran down the concrete driveway without daring to look back.
Period. Over. Forget it.
Why couldn’t she stop thinking about it?
Embarrassment flamed in her cheeks all over again.
It was funny how something acceptable in the intimacy of a dark bedroom became mortifying in the stark light of day.
Saturday hadn’t been a total bust. After a quick stop at home for a shower and change of clothes, she’d gone into the office and buried herself in paperwork. Sunday too. Work grounded her, everything made sense inside her four little walls. Keeping busy was better than obsessing about her audacity.
With the weekend gone and Monday lunchtime approaching, her father’s building was in full operation mode. Her small office on the ground floor was functional, little more, nothing fancy. Still, she was grateful her father let her work there given her business wasn’t any part of Scott Solutions.
Bastian.
Damn.
Where did that thought come from?
She had to forget about him.
For those first few seconds, after waking in the security of his arms, in his bed, bathed in his generosity, she’d been at peace. The guy had done nothing but help her out, and she’d gone and made a fool of herself. Typical. She couldn’t kid herself it was the first time.
It started with her meltdown over Damon and now she’d mounted him in his sleep.
No, they’d never see each other again. That decision was easy. She’d asked him the question before sleep. After? She’d rather poke her eyes with pins than risk humiliating herself in front of him again. God knew what she’d do next if given half a chance.
Done. Finished. No more. Bastian? Bastian who? That was it. A stranger. They were strangers.
A tap on her office door raised her head. Great! A distraction that—when Damon peeked in, optimism fled.
God, she couldn’t catch a break.
“Do you have a minute?” her ex asked.
For him, the answer would always be the same. “No.”
“I want to apologize,” he said, coming in despite the lack of invitation. “I think we should talk.”
If he was going to carry on talking anyway, why bother asking permission?
No surprise. This was Damon, he heard what he wanted to hear.
Another knock on the door spared her his homily. Optimism again piqued her spine straight. Come on, be a reprieve, be a reprieve. She had nothing on her schedule, but she’d take a meeting with any surprise visitor on the planet who wasn’t Damon Twaddle.
Would she ever learn not to jump to conclusions?
The refined woman who stepped into her modest office drenched her with a horror that forced her to her feet.
“Mrs. Hunt,” Harper said, running a hand down her hip.
Carolyn Hunt surveyed the desk, the file cabinets behind her, and the poster on the wall above… Oh, God. There wasn’t judgment there, that she could read, but half her problem was being unable to do just that, with anyone.
The blinds on the window were closed because Harper didn’t like passersby on the sidewalk to see her working or in meetings with clients. The covered window precluded natural light lessening any illusion of space. Not that there really was such an illusion.
The tiny, gloomy room didn’t frighten away Mrs. Hunt’s smile. No, like a pro, it remained in place, even when she glanced at the bristling Damon.
“Can I tempt you out for some lunch, Harper?” Carolyn asked.
“You’re lunching with his mother?” Damon spat, striding to her desk.
Mrs. Hunt saved her from responding. “Ah, you know Bastian too?” Carolyn asked, something false flavoring that particular smile.
“We’ve met,” Damon ground out the words while maintaining his glare.
“Good,” Carolyn said. “It’s important her coworkers know she’s off the market.”
Smiling was an art form for this impressive woman. Somehow, Carolyn managed to appear tame and courteous while exuding a severity that betrayed no one should mess with her.
No doubt she was a formidable mother. Though Harper struggled to imagine anyone disciplining Bastian with any kind of success. He was too kind to be naughty anyway.
Bastian. Yes. She only had to consider his opinion on this situation for a dozen seconds. There was no way he’d approved his mother showing up there in advance. No way would he let his mother cultivate a relationship with his fake girlfriend.
She couldn’t encourage this. Carolyn had the wrong impression. It would be dishonest to lead the innocent matriarch on. And, honestly? She wasn’t cut out for subterfuge.
The words. The words. How to let Carolyn down gently…
Deliberating, she moistened her lips. “Mrs. Hunt—”
“Call me Carolyn.”
“Sure, but—”
“It’s just lunch, a little luncheon. Nothing inconsiderate in that, is there?” Innocence seemed far from that glow in Carolyn’s eye. “There’s someone I’m dying for you to meet.”