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)
I reach for her, pulling her gently until she’s nestled against my chest.
“You know,” she says after a beat, tracing circles on my body with her fingertips, “for someone who allegedly works all the time, you’re surprisingly good at this.”
“At what?”
“This.” She gestures between us. “Existing like a normal person.”
I laugh quietly against the top of her head. “I’ll add it to my résumé.”
“You should.”
We linger there a bit longer, tangled together while the city slowly wakes outside the windows. For the first time in years, I don’t get the usual urgency pressing at me first thing in the morning. No immediate need to move. I don’t have that constant instinct to reach for my phone or start organizing the day into measurable blocks of productivity.
I just want another few hours with her, but eventually reality wins, as it always does.
“We should probably get this day started,” I say.
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.
“You know what I mean,” she says. “I’ve worked my entire adult life. I’m comfortable when I’m useful. And lately…” Her eyes find me briefly. “I don’t know. I’m a little untethered.”
Outside the windows, Manhattan keeps moving. A cyclist cuts between two taxis. A couple argues outside a coffee shop. Somewhere farther downtown, a siren wails faintly before fading.
Meanwhile, my entire attention is fixed on the woman beside me.
“I’m glad you brought this up,” I say finally.
Her brows pull together. “You are?”
“Yes.” I glance toward her. “Because the truth is, Harper, you’re wildly overqualified to be a driver. You know that. I know that. Percy knows that. I mean, that taxi driver over there can probably tell.”
Immediately she stiffens. “Julian—”
“No. Listen to me.” My tone intensifies enough to stop her interruption. “You solved a multimillion-dollar ticketing disaster in under sixty seconds from the front seat of a car.”
She looks at me.
“You created the entire emotional framework for our All-Star campaign over a lunch. My entire executive team spent months trying to figure out how to connect the Vipers to the city in a meaningful way and you solved it almost as an afterthought.”
That almost earns a smile from her.
“You have instincts that can’t be taught,” I continue. “You understand people. Consumer behavior. Emotional engagement. Narrative positioning.” I shake my head slightly. “Do you know how valuable that is?”
She’s quiet now, listening with interest.
“I don’t want anything handed to me,” she says.
“Of course you don’t. That’s not what this is.”
“No, I really mean that.” She turns toward me more fully now. “I don’t ever want someone looking at me thinking I got somewhere because I’m sleeping with the owner.”
I nod. “Good.”
That clearly isn’t the response she expected.
“Good?” she repeats.
“Yes.” I glance at her. “Because I understand. I didn’t want things handed to me from my father. There’s no satisfaction in that. Earning it yourself is the only way to fulfillment.”