Page 30 of Knocked Up By the Silver Foxes

“You’re only saying that because you’re still infected by Monica.”

Asher’s jaw tightens. He picks up his glass.

“Who’s Monica?” Harper asks.

Neither of us answers immediately.

I see Asher’s focus shift before I follow it. The dining room door has opened. Evelyn comes through first, silk and gold, that walk. Monica is a half-step behind her in deep green, hair dark and perfect, already scanning the room.

Her eyes find our table and then Asher.

Fuck.

Asher starts to rise. It’s instinct, just his palms pressing to the table, the first inch of standing.

“Don’t, Ash.” I say it quiet, without looking away from the door.

He stops. Stays seated.

Harper looks between us. “What? What’s wrong?”

They reach the table before I can answer.

Evelyn stops at the edge of the booth and looks down at us with the particular expression she reserves for things that have disappointed her without surprising her. “It’s rude to stay seated when a woman is standing.”

“The only woman here is already sitting, Evelyn.”

She holds my gaze for a moment and then decides to let it go and takes the chair at the end of the table. Monica stays standing, eyes still on Asher, and then she shifts them to Harper.

Harper looks back at her. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away, and then she extends her hand across the table. Clean and direct.

“Harper Brooks,” she says. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

Monica looks at the hand.

She doesn’t take it.

“Monica Leigh,” she says, and her eyes move to Asher and back to Harper with a smile that doesn’t reach anything. “It’s good to see Asher making an effort to move on.”

The air at the table shifts.

“Monica is Asher’s ex,” I say.

Monica tilts her head at me. “Could have been yours too, Maddox.”

“Not even blackout drunk, Monica.”

Something cold flashes across her face before the smile returns. She pulls out the seat next to Asher and sits.

Harper hasn’t moved. She’s sitting straight between Asher and me and I can feel the shift in her, not fear, not shrinking, something more like the stillness of a woman recalibrating the room she’s walked into and deciding what to do about it. Her shoulder is still warm against my arm.

I leave my arm exactly where it is.

Evelyn glances at Harper with that measured, gracious expression. “I must say, you’ve made yourself quite at home since you arrived. Killian, his event planning, his closest friends.” Her eyes move across the table and back, unhurried. “A smart girl cultivates goodwill where she can, I suppose.”

Monica makes a small sound.

“Evelyn—” I start.