9. Cole
Cole
The car service drops me off at the Rockefeller Center, and I adjust my black tie one final time before stepping out onto the sidewalk.
I’m excited to see Harper. I’ve barely seen her in the last ten days, but I get it. It’s like me when the season begins, but her week was more intense. She’s been disappearing before dawn and returning after midnight.
I’m ashamed to admit this, but God, I’ve missed her.
I head inside, nodding to the security team. Anticipation thrums through my veins as I ride the elevator. I’m excited for Harper and to see her vision come to life.
Now that I know her a whole lot better, I appreciate how important this night is for her.
The elevator doors open, and I step into a space that has been transformed into something that belongs in a magazine spread. The Rainbow Room entrance has our team colors draping from the doorway and even in the floral arrangement. Harper definitely knows what she's doing.
“Cap.” Logan's voice cuts through the chatter. He approaches with Alex and Jake. “This is some setup. Makes our usual team dinners look like casual Friday.”
“This new event planner doesn't mess around,” Alex adds, gesturing at the room.
Hearing Harper being praised for all her hard work sends a rush of satisfaction through me. She deserves every single compliment she’ll get tonight.
I scan the room and spot more of my teammates scattered throughout the crowd. In a corner near the bar, I catch sight of Novak leaning close to a striking blonde in a cocktail dress.
I tell myself that Novak is an adult and what he does in his private life is none of my business. Still, I hope that this season, he'll behave himself and keep the team's image clean.
Servers weave between guests with champagne and hors d'oeuvres. The sound of conversation and laughter mingles with a jazz quartet playing in the corner. Everything is perfect, and I’m so fucking proud of Harper.
And then I see her.
She’s standing at the far end of the room, deep in conversation with someone holding a camera.
She looks stunning in a floor-length green dress that hugs her body, which I've spent the last ten days trying not to think about. Her hair is pulled up in some intricate style that exposes the elegant line of her neck.
She glances up, doing a double take when she sees me, and the crowded room is suddenly empty.
A small smile plays at her lips, and my heart skips a beat at the way it makes her eyes sparkle under the lights.
I want to go to her. Tell her how magnificent everything is, how magnificent she is.
But I don’t. She’s busy, and now isn’t the time.
She gives me a subtle nod before turning back to the photographer.
“Cole.” Jennifer appears at my elbow, dressed in a navy cocktail gown that coordinates with the evening's color scheme. “You clean up nice.”
“Thanks.” I accept a champagne flute from a passing server, though I'm not planning to drink much. I need to stay sharp for my speech. “The place looks incredible.”
“Doesn't it? Harper and her team have outdone themselves.” Jennifer follows my gaze toward Harper, who's now directing two servers rearranging something on the display table. “She's been here since six this morning, making sure every detail is perfect.”
Of course, she has.
“Cole Maddox.” A booming voice interrupts my thoughts. Thomas Moore, one of our major sponsors, approaches with his hand extended. “Ready for the season, Captain?”
And just like that, I'm pulled into corporate schmoozing. Handshakes and small talk and discussions about playoff chances. I play my part, oozing charm as the face of the Renegades.
But throughout the evening, my attention keeps drifting back to Harper.
Each time I see her, that dress does something to my concentration. The way it skims her curves, the flash of her long legs when she walks, the elegant line of her bare shoulders.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the evening's MC announces, “please take your seats for dinner.”
I make my way to the head table, where Jennifer has strategically placed me between two major donors and across from a sports reporter. Harper's seat is three tables away. Too fucking far.
I make conversation with the reporter about our upcoming season while keeping one eye on Harper's table.
She's barely touching her food. That pisses me off.
“Cole?” The reporter is looking at me expectantly. “Your thoughts on the power play changes this season?”
“We've made some adjustments that I think will pay dividends,” I say, pulling my attention back to the conversation. But even as I discuss hockey strategy and team dynamics, part of my mind stays fixed on Harper’s movements.
Three hours later, only a smattering of guests are left. The evening was a complete success, all thanks to Harper and her team.
I loosen my bow tie and wander toward the balcony, needing fresh air after hours of recycled conversation and forced smiles.
I find Harper there, leaning against the railing with a glass of water in her hands. She's kicked off her heels and her elegant updo has come slightly undone, a few strands of dark hair framing her face.
“Mind if I join you?” I ask, stepping out onto the balcony.
She turns and gives me a tired smile. “It's a free balcony.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I might actually be able to sleep tonight for the first time in three weeks.” She takes a sip of water. “Did you enjoy yourself? I saw you charming the donors pretty effectively.”
“Part of the job. You, on the other hand, pulled off a miracle tonight. This was incredible, Harper.”
A flush of pride colors her cheeks. “Thank you. My team was amazing. I couldn't have done it without them.”
I gesture at her glass of water. “You should celebrate with something stronger than that? You've earned it.”
She shakes her head. “I'm still working.”
“You didn’t eat dinner,” I say with a scowl, while wondering why her eating habits should bother me.
She grins. “I was full on adrenaline.”
“The event's over, Harper. You can relax now.”
“Can I?” She looks at me with those green eyes that have been driving me to distraction. “Because I'm pretty sure there are rules about event planners getting drunk with their clients.”
“Good thing I'm not your client.”
Silence follows my words. Harper's breathing changes, becomes shallower, and I can see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.
“Cole...”
I step closer, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume. “You were incredible tonight.”
“Don't.” But she doesn't move away.
“You're brilliant, Harper. And beautiful. And I've been going crazy living with you, wanting you.”
Her glass trembles in her hand. “You’re Brett’s best friend.”
“He’ll live.” I reach up and cup her face with one hand. “We’re two adults who are insanely attracted to each other. Am I wrong?”
She closes her eyes for a moment, leaning into my touch. When she opens them again, they're dark with want. “This is such a bad idea.”
“Probably the worst.”
But then she's rising on her toes and I'm bending down and our mouths crash together like we're drowning and this kiss is oxygen. It's desperate and hungry, full of pent-up need that’s been gnawing at us for weeks.
Her hands fist in my hair, and I back her against the railing. She makes a soft sound in the back of her throat that nearly undoes me completely. My hands slide down to her waist, pulling her flush against me, and she arches into the contact like she's been starving for it.
When we finally break apart, we're both shaking. Harper's lipstick is smudged, and her hair is completely undone now, and she's never looked more beautiful.
“Come home with me,” I say, my voice rough with need. “In my car.”
For a moment, I think she's going to say yes.
Then she takes a step back, her hand pressed to her lips. “We can't. Cole, we can't do this.”
“Harper.”
“I have to go check on the breakdown.” She's already retreating toward the door. “I'll see you at home. Later.”
And then she's gone, leaving me alone on the balcony with the taste of her still on my lips and an erection that's going to make the ride home extremely uncomfortable.
I grip the railing and stare out at the city lights, hating myself for wanting Harper. This is getting out of hand.
The thrum of desire is a live wire under my skin, but it’s quickly being short-circuited by a cold, sickening wave of self-disgust.
What the hell did I just do? What will Brett say if he finds out? Could Harper lose her job for being involved with me?
I replay the last few minutes in my head. The way I backed her against the railing.
He’ll live.
Come home with me.
I wasn't asking. I was demanding. I was so fucking lost in what I wanted, what I'd been craving for weeks, that I didn't stop for a single second to consider what she needed.
She’s my house guest. She’s here because her home flooded, for Christ’s sake. She’s vulnerable, even if she’d never admit it. And tonight, she just pulled off the most important night of her professional life.
She was exhausted, running on fumes and adrenaline, and I ambushed her. She was at her most depleted, and I saw an opening. I acted like every entitled asshole who thinks his attraction gives him the right to push.
The look in her eyes right before she fled wasn’t just hesitation. It was discomfort. And I caused it.
I let out a stream of curses. I crossed a line. I took her incredible success and made it about my lust. I probably made her feel like all my praise for her work was a way of getting her into my bed.
I've spent weeks telling myself this attraction is mutual, that the tension between us means something.
But maybe I've been reading signals that weren't there.
Maybe she's just been polite, trying to keep the peace while living in my space, and I've been too arrogant, too used to getting what I want, to see it.
The thought makes me sick to my stomach.
I'm supposed to be the team captain, the guy who protects people, not the asshole who takes advantage of vulnerable situations.
No wonder she couldn't get out of here fast enough.
I need to apologize. Harper deserves better than having to navigate my inability to control myself while she's stuck living in my apartment.
From now on, things are going to be different. Whatever it takes to get Harper out of my head and my dick under control. She's got enough to deal with building her business and planning more events for us.
The last thing she needs is me complicating her life because I can't handle a little sexual frustration.