Page 82 of Julian

Harper groans dramatically into my chest. “I liked you better before you got responsible on me.”

“I’m still getting used to disappointing you.”

“You’re doing great.”

I kiss the top of her head before finally forcing myself out of bed.

By the time we leave her place after a quick breakfast, Manhattan has fully awakened around us. Snow lines the sidewalks in clean white banks, taxis pushing slowly through slush while pedestrians move carefully beneath scarves and winter coats.

Harper reaches automatically for the driver’s side door of the Range Rover.

I stop her gently with a hand at her wrist.

“Passenger seat,” I say.

She looks up immediately. “Julian—”

“I’m driving.”

“You say that like it’s a royal decree.”

“Because it is.”

She laughs softly beneath her breath but obeys, moving around the front of the car while I slide behind the wheel.

I pull away from the curb as the Range Rover pumps heat into the cold interior.

Beside me, Harper turns slightly in her seat to look at me. The smiles and jovial body language gone. In its place is a distant look on her face, as if preoccupied.

“You seem troubled,” I say.

Her eyes flick toward me. “I’m not troubled.”

“Hmm.”

A beat passes, steam curling up from subway grates as taxis inch through the traffic and snow.

Finally, she exhales quietly and looks out the windshield. “I just…” She hesitates. “I’m supposed to be the driver.”

I glance at her briefly before returning my attention to the road.

“That’s my job,” she continues. “And I know things have…” She gestures between us. “Changed. But I should still do the thing you hired me to do.”

“You think I’m undermining you?”

“No,” she says quickly. “That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

She goes quiet for a second, clearly trying to organize the thought before speaking it aloud. “I think…” She swallows lightly. “I think I don’t want to become decorative in your life.”

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel as traffic slows ahead of us.

“Decorative,” I repeat.

“I went from your driver to this, like I’m a ‘passenger princess,’ and that’s not who I am or how I want to be seen,” she continues.

“Passenger princess?” I ask.