Page 13 of The Truth of Us

I pressed a hand to my chest. “Vague promises? I have been wounded twice now.”

“Elliot.”

My first name from her mouth was worse than my last. Less formal and way more dangerous.

I leaned closer. “Yes, Harper?”

Her gaze dropped to my mouth for half a second.

Got you.

Then she looked back into my eyes. “Don’t make my job harder.”

I smiled slowly. “I would never.”

She stared at me, and I widened my smile.

She sighed. “That is exactly the face of a man who is going to make my job harder.”

The door opened, saving me from saying something deeply inappropriate. I stepped out first, adjusted my jacket, and turned to offer her my hand. For a second, she only looked at it. Like we were back on her front steps. Like accepting my hand meant accepting more than assistance out of a car.

Then she placed her hand in mine, and the cameras reacted immediately. Harper emerged from the car in cream silk and cool composure, and the world did what it should have done.

It looked. Because who wouldn’t…

I had been photographed with enough women to know the difference between attention and interest. Most dates got a glance; a few got headlines. Harper got silence first. That tiny pause of awe before noise resumed, all recalibrating, asking one question…

Who is she?

A question I would love to know the answer to.

I tucked her hand into the crook of my arm and leaned down, my mouth near her ear. “You’re causing a scene.”

Her smile didn’t change. “I’m only walking.”

“Exactly.”

Her fingers tightened slightly against my arm, but she didn’t look at me. “Behave.”

Unlikely…

We moved through the entrance, past the cameras, past the watchful eyes, and into the hotel lobby where everything smelled like money, and floral arrangements no one was supposed to notice cost more than a mortgage payment.

Harper didn’t look around. Most people looked around in a place like this. Even people who belonged in places like this. They checked who was there, who was watching, who mattered. Harper just moved, like it didn’t matter who was in the room or if anyone noticed her. I felt something strange low in my chest. It wasn’t attraction; I knew attraction. Attraction was easy.

This was different. This was… satisfaction? As if some arrogant part of me liked the way she looked beside me.

The ballroom was already full when we entered. The Northwell table was exactly where it should be, close enough to matter, not so close that it looked eager. Julian would appreciate that kind of placement. He liked power best when it didn’t need to announce itself.

I spotted him near the mezzanine first. He was standing still, watching the doors. Waiting.

Well, well.

“Is that Julian?” Harper asked softly.

I followed her gaze. “Yes.”

“He looks like he’s about to negotiate with that pillar.”