Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
We sit there, letting the atmosphere take shape around us.
Abby turns slightly on her stool, scanning the room with an eagle eye. “Okay,” she murmurs. “Strong start.”
“For the drinks or the men?” I ask.
“Both.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m observant,” she corrects. Then, without missing a beat, she pivots back to me, her expression sharpening with interest. “Speaking of which…”
I already know where this is going.
“How’s your boss?” she asks, drawing out the last word just enough to make it loaded. “Julian.”
I take another sip of my drink, buying myself a second. “He’s… fine,” I say, aiming for neutral and probably missing.
Abby’s brows lift immediately. “Fine,” she repeats. “Harper. You are driving around a literal multibillionaire who looks like he was designed in a lab to ruin women’s lives and your review is ‘fine’?”
I stare at her. “He’s my employer.”
“And?” she presses.
“And that’s it,” I say a little too quickly.
She leans in, eyes narrowing in amusement. “That is not it. You get evasive every time I ask about him or your new job.”
“It’s merely fine,” I insist, though even to my own ears, it lacks conviction.
Abby tilts her head, studying me the same way she’s done since we were kids, the way that says she’s already three steps ahead of whatever I’m about to deny.
“Harper,” she says, softer now but no less relentless, “I know you. And you don’t say fine like that unless it’s very much not fine.”
I let out a breath, glancing down at the surface of the bar, at the faint reflection of the room shimmering beneath my glass.
“It’s just… complicated,” I admit finally.
Her entire posture changes, interest fully engaged. “Complicated how?”
I hesitate, because I’m not even sure how to explain it. “He’s… not what I expected,” I say slowly.
“In a good or a bad way?”
I think about that… how he talks. How he listens and how he notices things most people don’t. When he made Dylan feel like the most important person in the room without even trying. “I’m honestly not sure,” I finally say.
Abby smiles, slow and knowing. “Ah. The most dangerous category: the confusing way.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not like that.”
“Mm-hmm.”
I shake my head, already regretting opening the door. “I don’t know. He’s thoughtful. He pays attention. He—” I cut myself off, pressing my lips together.
“He what?” Abby prompts.
I exhale, leaning back slightly on the stool. “He makes things… easy,” I admit quietly.
Abby’s expression softens a fraction, though the curiosity never leaves her eyes. “Easy how?”
I stare into my drink for a second, watching the condensation gather along the glass. “Like I don’t have to think about every word before I say it,” I explain. “I don’t have to… manage the situation all the time. He just meets you where you are.”
There’s a beat of silence, then Abby smiles, slower this time. “That sounds suspiciously like you like him.”
“He’s a very nice employer,” I say dismissively. “Of course I like him.”
“No… you like him, like him.”
I look up at her immediately. “I don’t like him like that.”
She raises both brows. “You do.”
“I don’t,” I repeat, even though my denial is thinner now.
“Harper,” she says, taking a sip of her drink, “you just described a man who’s attractive, successful, attentive, and emotionally competent, and your takeaway is that you don’t like him like that?”
I groan, dropping my head briefly. “He’s my boss.”
“And?”
“And that matters,” I say, lifting my head again. “A lot.”
Abby watches me, then nods slowly. “Okay. Fair.”
“It’s not like I can do anything about it,” I say, quieter now. “Even if there was a spark or whatever there.”
“Mmm,” Abby hums. “But that’s not what I asked.”
I glance up at her. “You didn’t ask anything.”
“I didn’t have to,” she says.
God, I hate that she knows me this well. I exhale, long and slow, the resistance in me starting to crumble. “Yes… there are times,” I admit. “Where it feels like”—I search for the right words—“like he’s not just being nice. Like he’s… seeing me.”
Abby leans in slightly. “Go on…”
“And it messes with my head,” I say, a small, helpless laugh slipping out. “Because I don’t know if that’s real or if that’s just him. Maybe he’s like that with everyone.”
“And is he?” she asks.
“No,” I say.
Her eyes sharpen. “No?”
“No,” I repeat, a little more certain now. “He’s not.”
Abby sits back, satisfaction flickering across her face. “Okay. Let’s review.”
“Don’t,” I warn, but it’s weak.
“He seeks you out.” She counts on her fingers. “He invites you to things he absolutely does not have to invite you to. He pays attention to your life, your brother, what you care about. He makes you feel ‘seen,’ which, by the way, is not by accident from what I can tell.”
I press my lips together, because when she says it like that—
“He likes you,” she finishes.
I shake my head, but there’s no conviction behind it now. “You don’t know that.”