Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Harper
T he sound of what felt like thousands of people talking washed over her, and her heart pounded in her chest. She imagined all their heads swiveled toward her, their eyes following her as she made her way toward the table where her sister and their father waited.
They’re not looking at you.
The ballroom felt large when they arrived at the fundraiser, but now it felt absolutely mammoth. The stage at the front of the room had a podium, and a gray-haired man in a suit was giving a speech that nobody was paying attention to. His voice droned over the sounds of people laughing as they sipped champagne.
Guests were seated at round tables with stunning floral centerpieces in hues of pink and white. But Harper paid no attention as she focused on weaving her way through the sea of guests in their finery. The closer she got to her table near the front of the room, the faster she breathed.
Isla spied her, smiled widely, and lifted a hand in greeting.
Harper stopped. How could she have admitted the one thing she’d sworn she’d never tell a soul? Isla’s smile slowly fell, her brown eyes filling with confusion as she looked questioningly at Harper.
Suddenly unable to take the last few steps, the distance between Harper and her sister—her best friend—felt immense.
Her eyes darted from Isla to their father. His suit, as usual, was immaculate but simple. His graying hair was cut in the same no-nonsense style he had worn for as long as she could remember; the short sides a shock of white. While his daughters’ hair was naturally honey-blonde, his hair was black. But they all shared the same brown eyes.
In their home back in LA, pictures of them with their mother showed that once upon a time he laughed and smiled.
But Harper had only vague memories of that version of Jay Holden.
The man in front of her was as far from her memories of the loving father and husband of her childhood as you could get.
She chewed on her bottom lip and barely stopped herself from lifting her finger to her mouth to bite her nails. A habit she’d thought long since broken.
Huffing in annoyance at her lack of discipline, she made it the final few steps to the table, barely sitting before the MC’s voice drifted over the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please,” he said. This time, the crowd quieted and turned in their seats to face the stage. “It’s time for the silent auction. We have a number of wonderful donations this evening?—”
Harper stopped paying attention, her thoughts racing, until the MC said, “An especially big thank you to the wonderful Isla Holden, who has donated her time for a private performance.”
Isla stood and waved, and Harper wanted to grab her and yank her back down to her seat but instead focused on slowing her breathing and relaxing her shoulders. Not everyone in the room was looking at their table. What would she say?
Sit down, your career is about to end and it’s all my fault?
Harper groaned, drawing a sharp look from her father. His phone was in his hand, and he was staring daggers at her. Her stomach flipped, and she knew—without a doubt—that the news had broken.
When Isla sat down again, Jay typed something into his phone and then placed it face down on the table. He steepled his fingers and stared intently at Harper, barely shaking his head.
Harper couldn’t meet his eyes. Sweat beaded on her forehead. The lights were too bright, the sounds were too loud, the laughter of the women at the table next to them suddenly grating in a way it hadn’t earlier in the evening.
Her heart thundered in her chest, her breathing so fast she was in danger of hyperventilating. Thank goodness she was sitting down, because her legs couldn’t hold her up.
A hand landed on her shoulder, and she jerked, letting out a loud squeak. People at the next table turned to look, and her cheeks heated.
She whipped her head around to see Isla’s bodyguard, King, staring down grimly at her.
King was a solid wall of muscle, barely disguised by his immaculate black suit. If it wasn’t for the bulge at his side where she knew he carried a gun, and the way he constantly scanned the room, she’d mistake him for a guest. His thick brown hair was cut military short, parted on top and swept to one side, the hint of a tattoo peeking out from the collar of his crisp white shirt.
“Please come with me, Miss Harper,” he said quietly.
Harper glanced from him to her father, who nodded subtly, and she realized who he was contacting only moments before.
King was never far away from Isla, much to her sister’s annoyance, and had obviously been watching from the side of the ballroom.
“What’s going on?” Isla’s eyes darted around the group.
“Harper isn’t feeling well,” their father said, which wasn’t entirely a lie.
Harper’s stomach flipped once more, and she pressed a hand to her belly, willing her dinner to stay down.
“Oh, no.” Isla reached to grip Harper’s other hand. “Not another panic attack?”
Harper shook her head mutely, avoiding Isla’s attempt to meet her eyes. How could she tell her what she’d done? She couldn’t ruin everything for her. She didn’t want to see the look on Isla’s face when she realized that everything she’d worked hard for—that their entire family had worked hard for—had come to an end.
All the music lessons of their childhood, the summers spent at singing camps, the competitions… All for nothing.
Harper stifled a sob as she let King lift her to her feet. Gripping her elbow, he escorted her from the ballroom. The room was a blur as her eyes filled with tears, spilling down her cheeks in a river. She kept in the sob until they were free of the eyes of the ballroom crowd, and then she collapsed onto a padded bench in the hotel’s hallway.
Tears streaming down her face, she heard King speaking softly on the phone, and then he squatted down in front of her to meet her eyes.
“Harper? Look at me.” His voice compelled her to look up. “We need to get you out of here.”
“I’ve ruined everything!” She was almost in hysterics, her words coming in gasping sobs. To her mortification, it came out more like “I-I-I’ve ru-ru-ruined everyth-ing-ing-ing”. Not her best moment.
King smiled grimly. “Maybe you have.”
That stopped her. “What?”
“Maybe you have ruined everything. Maybe you haven’t. There’s only one way to get through this mess, though.”
That was more words than she’d ever heard him say in one go. Normally, he hovered silently behind Isla. Harper wondered if he talked this much to her sister.
He offered her a pack of tissues, and she dabbed below her eyes and tried to calm her breathing.
“How do I get through this?”
He nodded at her as if pleased she’d asked the question. “One day at a time.”
Dabbing at her eyes, she sat up straight and took a shuddering breath. “Ok, so what do I do?”
He looked away down the hallway and his lips thinned, as if he was not happy about what he had to say next. “You do what your dad asks, and hope that he’s right.”
Harper nodded. That was what she had expected. Jay Holden always had a solution for every problem.
King stood and offered her a hand up, which she waved away, pushing herself to her feet. His brotherly, no-nonsense attitude was exactly what she needed right now. If he’d offered sympathy, she probably would have cried even more.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Harper followed him until they reached the foyer of the hotel. The space was enormous, an expanse of marble floor dotted with expensive-looking rugs and lounge chairs grouped intimately in sets of two and three. The glass doors that led to the front of the hotel were guarded by uniformed doormen.
King paused before them, gesturing at the doorman to wait before opening the door.
“Right. This is the plan,” he said in a low voice. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to Harper. “Here are the contact details of a friend of mine.”
Harper took the envelope and frowned. “A friend of yours?”
She thought she’d go back to their hotel suite, maybe hide out for a few days before heading home to LA. She shook her head.
He ran a hand through his hair, his jacket shifting to reveal the holster and gun. Harper swallowed and looked away.
“I served with West. He’ll keep you safe. I trust him with my life.”
Harper scrunched up her nose. “I don’t understand.” Surely, she wasn't being sent away? She belonged with her sister. Isla needed her.
Are you sure about that? After what you’ve just done?
Harper dragged her teeth over her bottom lip.
“Mr. Holden asked me to get you somewhere out of the way for a few days until this mess blows over.”
Harper barked out a laugh. “Surely it’s not so bad that I can’t just go back to the hotel?”
He didn't answer, instead ushering her through the door and into a waiting car. His expression was serious as he leaned on the open door, and she sobered. “Look at your phone.”
Harper paled but did as he asked. It’s been off for the past few hours, so she turned it on. At first nothing happened, but then the notifications started. And they didn't stop.
Emails. Social media tags. Google alerts. It’s all there. And it wasn't good.
She sagged into the seat. “Oh, shit.”
“Call your dad when you get to the hotel.” He shut the door, hit the roof of the car with the flat of his hand, and stepped away.
“Where—”
The driver turned the car onto the busy road, and she shoved her phone back into her evening bag, not wanting to look. If only she’d ignored that nosy reporter, she wouldn’t be in this mess.
“Stupid. So stupid.”
“What’s that, Miss?” the driver asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “Actually, where are we going?”
“Portland, Miss.”
What? “But Portland’s on the other side of the country.”
“Oh no, Miss,” the driver chuckled. “Not Portland, Oregon. Portland, Maine.”
What? That couldn’t be right. She pulled out the envelope that King had given her and extracted a piece of white paper on the hotel’s letterhead. In neat, heavy block handwriting was written: West, Beaver Lane, Cape Wilde.
What? No phone number. Just five words.
And Maine?
“Maine?” she asked. “Isn’t that just lobsters and lighthouses?”
The driver chuckled. “Something like that, Miss.”
Oh no. What had she done?