He studies me, his languid gaze drifting up and down the length of my body. Studying me from head to toe. His eyes flicker with excitement, like he’s enjoying what he sees, and I don’t know how to take that. That is absolutely not allowed.
‘James!’ I snap at him.
‘Sorry. Just trying to imagine you doing yoga. You don’t exactly scream elegance.’
‘It’s yoga, not ballet. It’s about control and breathing and exploring the limits of our muscles and limbs. Sound familiar?’
I know I’m being snippy, but my headspace feels warped, and I’ve really had enough of him. It makes me miss Elijah even more.
For once, Harper doesn’t have a reply. Maybe because he agrees with me or maybe he’s finally got the message. Or maybe it’s because the heat in his eyes is still blazing and he can’t quite look at me. Whatever, I’m just grateful for the silence.
It’s only another five minutes to the hotel, but the atmosphere feels so awkward that those five minutes feel like forever before we’re pulling up at the front entrance of the hotel and the driver is opening the door to let us out.
We both stride quickly across the foyer, only to end up in the same lift going to the same floor.
As I overtake him in the corridor on the way to my room, he grabs my arm.
‘You wanna meet back out here in half an hour to go to the interview?’ he asks, hovering at the door to his suite, keycard braced in the swipe lock. The space between us wreaks of sweat and the rubbery Nomex that imbeds its scent into your skin regardless of how long ago you took the suit off.
I’m not sure why, but I relent. You can’t kick a puppy, after all.
‘Sure.’ I think I catch him off-guard because he fumbles his keycard at the same time he goes to walk through the door, gifting me with the sight of him smacking his head against the wood when the door doesn’t click open.
Thank you, universe.
It’s my reward for enduring his relentless presence, and I enjoy every single second.
His face is a picture of embarrassment and confusion. He opens his mouth to say something, but instead, wordlessly, swipes his card again and disappears into his room.
* * *
Half an hour later, we meet back in the hallway. I shut down his attempts at conversation – or fangirling over my dad to be more precise – straight away and we walk the rest of the way to the lift in silence. It’s peaceful, and I hope maybe, just maybe, Harper’s finally got the message. But the second we step into the lift he presses the buttons for every single floor on the way down.
‘What is actually wrong with you?’ My exasperated outburst shocks us both.
‘Wrong with me? What the hell is wrong withyou? Why are you being such a dick?’
‘Excuse me?’
I’mbeing a dick?
‘It’s our first interview together. Could you maybe seem like you’re the teensiest bit excited to have me on the team?’
‘It’s just going to be the usual shit. How are you feeling about the season ahead? Are you ready for next weekend? Who’s your biggest competitor this year? Just trot out some stock answers and you’ll be fine.’
‘Well, excuse me, Mr Fifteen Years in the Business, but some of us haven’t had as much experience as you.’
Okay, well that’s actually fair enough.
‘Right. Well, the interviewer, Ava Gonzalez is a pro. But she’s also respectful. Not even you could fuck this up.’
Harper visibly recoils out of the corner of my eye.
Maybe I am being the asshole here, but everything he does seems to rub me up the wrong way.
We stand in silence again, but this time the quiet makes my skin itch in a way it never has before. I sigh as we get to the media suite, but it’s time to put my game face on and I refuse to let him get to me. This is going to bemyseason.
After hair and make-up, we’re led over to the set and presented with two tiny stools to balance on before exchanging pleasantries with an interviewer who I’m sure I’ve met but can’t quite place. I go to tell Harper it’s not the reporter I’ve prepared him for, the warning on the tip of my tongue, but it’s clear they’re already waiting for us to start. I’ve done a hundred of these things and they’re always the same. It’ll be fine.
