10. Harper
HARPER
By the second week of our arrangement, Elliot had somehow become woven into my daily routine.
So much so that I had considered whether he needed to be reminded that this was a temporary arrangement.
He sent me gifts daily, even though I reminded him I didn’t need him buying me things and texted me constantly; it wasn’t even sexy or romantic things.
That would almost make more sense. Instead, it was things like:
Elliot:
Timothy wears loafers without socks, and I don’t trust it.
Or:
Theo just called a shareholder meeting “a hostage situation with pastries.”
Who talks like that…
Why was he at our shareholders' meeting?
And the question remains: What does Theo do?
Or:
What are your thoughts on decorative pillows?
If you were to stay at a man’s place overnight…
What would you need to have there?
Julian smiled, and it freaked me out.
I should not know that Elliot only drank his coffee black when he was stressed, or that he hated sparkling water, and I definitely should not know exactly what his face looked like when he was trying not to smile. But somehow, over the course of our arrangement, I learned all of it anyway.
The problem was that Elliot made this… feel easy.
Our arrangement was working exactly the way it was supposed to, publicly.
We were everywhere. Lunches, charity events, dinners, cocktails, meetings, and galas.
Every single time Elliot touched me in public, cameras caught it.
His hand on my lower back, fingers laced through mine, or his mouth brushing my temple.
And kisses… so many kisses.
But somewhere during week two, the line started blurring. Because Elliot kissed me like a man who enjoyed it and didn’t plan on stopping. And that was a problem, a massive one. So when he pushed, I kept reminding him of the rules and why.
I noticed it most at night, specifically when he looked at me after sex. Like he forgot himself for a second. Like he wanted to say something and stopped. His eyes betrayed him more than his actions, and it was confusing enough that I started leaving faster. Which he noticed, unfortunately.
Thursday night, I arrived at his penthouse already exhausted and trying very hard not to look like I was in pain. But I failed spectacularly.
My period started early, and the cramps had started that morning.
By evening I felt as though someone had shoved a knife into my abdomen and twisted it for fun.
I had tried to cancel our plans, but Elliot, being Elliot, told me we had to stick to the schedule unless I was willing to attend the holiday event.
So I pulled on my big girl panties and was determined to get through whatever mixer it was we were supposed to be attending and then have a date with a hot bath, herbal tea, and then bed.
I hated being visibly uncomfortable. Weakness in my world was something people noticed and filed away for later use.
Especially as a woman. So I wore black tailored trousers, an oversized cream sweater over one of my silk camis, because bras when my breasts felt like they were rebelling should be illegal.
And then, to top it off, one of my softest cashmere jackets and my favourite scarf.
I was going for comfort to avoid murder.
The second he opened the door, his eyes narrowed. “You look… overdressed.”
I brushed past him into the penthouse. “Hello to you too.”
“You’re wearing pants… and so many layers.”
“That is normal for Chicago in late fall.”
“Harper.” His voice followed me toward the kitchen. “I don't think I have ever seen you wearing that much clothing.”
I ignored him and reached for the glass of wine already waiting for me on the counter. Elliot leaned against the island, watching me carefully. God, this man noticed everything.
“You’re tense,” he said finally.
“I’m always tense,” I said, trying my hardest not to roll my eyes.
“Not like this.”
I exhaled slowly and immediately regretted it because my abdomen cramped hard enough that I visibly flinched. Elliot’s expression changed instantly.
“You’re in pain.” His voice had a soft quality that made me wonder what little Elliot was like, and I hated that.
“It’s nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I laughed despite myself and then winced again. Elliot was in front of me a second later, hands sliding lightly around my waist.
“Harper.”
“It’s just cramps.”
His brow pulled together slightly. “Just?”
I shrugged one shoulder weakly. “They are horrendous for the first three days of my cycle.”
Something unreadable moved through his expression then; concern, maybe. I had a feeling he had little experience in the girlfriend department or the girlfriend-with-cramps department. Not that I was his girlfriend…
I took a sip of my wine to distract myself from the way Elliot was looking at me, because it felt strangely intimate, more intimate than sex somehow.
“Come here,” he said quietly.
“I’m fine.”
“That was not convincing.”
Before I could argue further, Elliot took the wineglass from my hand and set it aside before steering me toward the couch.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Trying to be helpful, just go with it.”
“I don’t know how to respond to that without sounding like a bitch.”
Elliot snorted softly and sat down before pulling me carefully back against his chest.
I immediately tensed, and not because I didn’t want to touch him. I did too much.
“You can relax,” he murmured against my hair. “I’m not trying to seduce you.”
“That would honestly be less alarming.”
His laugh vibrated through his chest. Then his large, warm hands slid beneath my sweater, flattening gently against my lower abdomen. I sucked in a breath instantly and then groaned.
Because the way his hands felt against my skin, in this way…
“How are your hands this warm?” I asked, trying to redirect my thoughts and get control of my hormones.
“I’m powered by ego and expensive whiskey.”
I laughed softly despite myself. Then another cramp, that felt more like a spasm running through the lower half of my body, hit, and I instinctively curled tighter against him.
Elliot’s hands pressed slightly firmer against my stomach.
He was so comforting; it felt nice, as if I were safe.
That last thought hit hard enough that I immediately tried to sit up, and that caused Elliot to tighten his arms around me automatically.
“Stop moving.”
“You’re being weirdly nurturing.”
“I’m trying to save your life.”
“I’m on my period, Elliot, not in the trenches.”
“I mean, how much blood loss are we talking...”
I huffed, and he laughed. I knew this was crossing all kinds of lines, but I relaxed again anyway.
Because unfortunately this felt… nice. The penthouse was quiet around us, the city glowing beyond the windows, while Elliot stayed wrapped around me without asking for anything.
I couldn’t remember the last time someone took care of me without expecting something in return.
I must have drifted off eventually because the next thing I knew, sunlight was filtering through the windows, and I was still curled against Elliot’s chest. But I wasn’t sitting up… I was...
My eyes blinked open slowly as my brain caught up. Warmth surrounded me. I tried to piece together where I was without moving. I felt heavy blankets and powerful arms.
Oh, my God. Did he snuggle me into breaking one of my rules?
I stiffened instantly. Elliot made a low sound behind me before tightening his arm around my waist sleepily.
“Relax.”
“Elliot, we have rules.” I was feeling hyperemotional and was fighting with myself so I wouldn’t cry. Stupid hormones.
His laugh was rough with sleep, and despite the pain, I felt myself clench.
“You fell asleep,” he murmured.
“Did you drug my wine?”
He ignored me, snuggling his face into my hair and the back of my neck, “You drooled on me a little too.”
I gasped and twisted enough to glare at him. Elliot grinned lazily, hair a complete mess, blue eyes heavy with sleep. He should not have looked that attractive. No one should look that attractive this early in the morning.
“You’re lying.”
“Maybe.”
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously before another cramp rolled through me.
I groaned and dropped my head back against the pillow. Elliot’s hand slid slowly across my stomach again. He nuzzled his face against me, bringing his lips to my ear when he said, “I heard orgasms help with cramps.”
I laughed, saying. “That sounds like fake science men invented.”
“You are in pain, Harper, so I think it’s worth testing.”
God. Why was he like this, and why did I like it so much?
“You are unbelievable.”
“And yet you’re still here.”
I had a sudden realization that I was not in the clothes I wore here, and I started trying to do the mental math on how long I had my cup in.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I pulled the blanket away from me, seeing I was in what looked like a pair of Elliot’s sweats and my cami.
I closed my eyes, answering, “My flow can be really heavy for the first few days, and I don’t… I may have made a mess.”
I braced for how he would react; this was unfamiliar territory for both of us. He kissed the back of my head and got out of his bed. Elliot walked in front of me, his tanned skin on beautiful display as he wore only a pair of navy blue boxer briefs.
And that is how I ended up in his shower, trying not to think too hard about the fact that this somehow felt more intimate than him fucking me against his kitchen island.
The large marble shower filled with steam while warm water cascaded over my skin.
Elliot stood behind me, his hands moving slowly as he worked shampoo through my hair. Which should not have been hot, and yet...
“There is something unsettling about this,” I informed him.
“What part?”
“You. Washing my hair like...”
Elliot laughed quietly behind me. “Like what?”
“It feels very domestic. Have you ever washed a woman's hair before?”
Elliot went quiet, and I wasn’t sure what that was about. I tilted my head back slightly as his fingers worked gently through my hair. And a flutter in my stomach that had nothing to do with my period overwhelmed me. That feeling that whispered… What if?
What if this could be real?
What if I just gave in, forgot my rules, and…
I hated that feeling. Because men like Elliot did not become safe simply by learning to touch you gently. And women like me should absolutely know better than to confuse intimacy with permanence.
Even if part of me wanted to.
Which was the real problem.