In Pursuit (29 page)

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear before. You are my girlfriend, who I plan on keeping around for a long, long time.”

My eyelids droop as I study his chest, the words sending tremors of pleasure.

“There’s nothing in this house that you don’t have access to. Especially the man of the home.” There’s that playful side again, the completely endearing Harris that makes me want to smother his stubbly chin and cheeks with kisses. So I do.

 “I plan on being around for a long, long time, too,” I confess after I have my fill of kisses.

“Then we’re on the same page. Now, could you please continue playing? It’s the perfect backdrop to this.” He gestures to the file folders spread before him.

After I grab the tablet, I scamper out of the room and back to the piano. When I find the song I want to play, I study the music and attempt to learn some of Emeli Sande’s
Next to Me.
Time passes in a hurry as I practice, and before I know it, my stomach growls in hunger.
One more song,
I tell myself, even though it was inevitable that I end my session with
Landslide.
When I hit the last key, a slow clap startles me.

Harris has one shoulder propped up against the wall, and he is studying me with such fervor that I nearly break his gaze because I can’t handle the intensity. He visibly shakes himself out of his daze.

“I haven’t done anything to deserve you, and yet I have you,” he says huskily as he walks toward me.

In this moment, I desperately want to tell him I love him, admit what I know is true – he’s ruined me off any other man, any other possible relationship.
There will be no one else.
The thought is equally terrifying and exhilarating.

I’m about to make some sort of confession when my stomach rumbles again, breaking the spell between us and causing Harris to laugh.

“My girl is hungry, huh? Luke made us reservations tonight at some new Italian restaurant in the West Loop. Does that please you?”

“Everything you do pleases me,” I say unashamedly.

He smiles smugly as he reaches for my hand. “Let’s go get you fed. I have a feeling you’ll need those calories later.”

Dinner is another decadent affair. From the moment we enter the restaurant, Harris and I are treated like royalty. My naughty boyfriend uses the opportunity to seduce me by way of pasta and red wine, though he doesn’t drink himself. However, it’s like the alcohol has loosened his lips, because when we’re driving home, he slips when he asks me about traveling.

“I’d love to go to Italy one day,” I tell him.

“What makes you want to visit?”

“Other than the food, I want to see the Vatican, and see some of Bernini’s paintings. Sarah and I took an art history course in school, totally devoted to seventeenth century Roman architecture and artists, and I became fascinated with the topic.”

“Hm… then you’ll have to take a trip there, won’t you?” Harris says with a mischievous grin. “I remember when we went to the Sistine Chapel, my brother couldn’t get over the nude paintings.” He’s lost in the memory, completely oblivious to what he just revealed.

“Brother?” I ask softly.

A bubble of tension replaces the once carefree mood. I study Harris as his lips tighten almost imperceptibly.

“What was that?”

“You, um, you mentioned a brother. I hadn’t heard of him before.”

From you.

He continues navigating the car without speaking. Now his fingers grip the steering wheel harder, the hand not resting on the wheel taps anxiously on the middle console.

I wait.

“Drop it,” he says evenly as he pulls the car to a stop in front of his building.

“I’m sorry, what?” I'm shocked.

“Look, Edith.” He puts the car into park and turns to face me. His eyes are that stormy cloud color again, nearly black. “The topic of my brother is off limits.”

“Off limits? But Harris –”

“Stop,” he interrupts me. Before we can continue, the valet opens the passenger door of the car and I scramble out.

Harris strides around the car, quickly walking toward the building. I have to jog to catch up.

“Wait!” At the front door, he pauses and turns toward me. His face is a mask of pain, and he lifts his hand to roughly rub it across his cropped hair. Then he jerks one of the heavy glass doors open, and with a short nod he indicates that I should enter ahead of him. This time, he’s the slow one following behind me as we cross the lobby.

“Talk to me,” I say softly when we reach the elevator bank. Reaching my hand out, I let my fingertips brush against his.

“Do you know?” he asks hoarsely.

He waits.

Neither one of us press the call button for the elevator.

“Sarah told me,” I say quietly.

“Shit!” He punches the elevator button and the door opens with a delicate whisk. “So you were gossiping about me?”

I hurry in behind him and the door shuts, locking us in.

“No, it wasn’t like that. Claire has a picture of you three on the wall, and I’ll admit, I was curious, so I asked Sarah."

“You don’t know the full story,” he says grimly, and then presses the PH button.

“That’s right, I don't. But I want to know, and I want to support you.” Again, I reach out to him, resting my hand on his arm. It’s like he doesn’t feel my touch, his gaze is far away from this place. My hand drops lamely at my side when he doesn’t acknowledge me.

“I’m not ready to share this with you.”

That stings.

“Let me help you, Harris, please. I care about you so much.” Shoot. A lump begins to form in my throat thickening my voice. “I can’t begin to imagine what it must be like for you, but, please, don’t shut me out.”

“This topic is closed.” Our ascent is finished, and the doors open. He stalks ahead of me into the foyer.

Head held high, I follow him into the apartment. He may have tabled the discussion for now, but it’s far from over. I may not have much experience, but I do know that serious relationships need communication to survive.

 “What the fuck is she doing here?” My eyes fly up to the angry woman glaring daggers at me from Harris’ couch. She’s seated next to her visibly distraught best friend.

Harris appears just as confused as me.

“What are you talking about, Claire?” His voice is deadly calm.

Amanda’s face is flushed red, her body trembling. Harris’ sister rises, closing the distance between us so she stands just a few feet from Harris and me.

“
She,
” her tone is venomous, “has been playing around on you.”

“Excuse me?” I ask tightly. Anxiety starts to build between my shoulders, my palms tingling with pins and needles.

“Say what you mean to say, Claire,” Harris commands.

“She’s been fucking my husband!” Amanda cries from the couch, jumping to her feet.

My mouth drops open, and my gaze flies to Claire. She looks positively livid. There are no signs of remorse for her crimes against Amanda.

“That’s not true.” As hard I try, I can’t manage to keep my voice steady. “Harris,” I grab his arm again, desperate for him to hear me. “You know that’s not what happened.”

“No?” Claire asks snidely. “Then tell me why you’re missing the very pair of panties that Amanda found in Peter’s drawer.”

“You went through my underwear drawer? Are you insane?” Mentally, I review my thongs. Was I missing a pair? In all the stress over the past few days, I hadn't noticed, but I do remember Amanda showing me a very familiar looking pair that day last week.

Shit.

“I can’t believe you lied right to my face,” Amanda sobs, next to Claire now. “You came into my house, and pretended like you had no idea he was cheating.”

Claire shakes her head, making a clucking noise as she pulls Amanda up against her shoulder. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” she hisses. “Harris, tell her to leave.”

He still hasn’t uttered a word, not contradicting his sister, or coming to my defense. Even after I told him what I saw. With an unfamiliar level of confidence, I lock eyes with Claire, my gaze steady and strong, and move into her personal space.

“You and I both know that the person having an affair with Peter is not me.”

A moment of doubt flickers in Claire’s expression, but then she wipes it clean, assuming a haughty stance.

“I saw you.” My words are sharp. “I saw you and Peter on Wednesday.”

You could hear a butterfly flap its wings, that’s how silent the room became.

Then Claire snaps into offensive mode.

“You little bitch.” She releases Amanda, stepping toe to toe with me, an angry scowl marring her lovely features. I hold my ground, keeping my eyes deadlocked with hers.

“After everything I’ve done for you, given you a place to stay and clients to keep your business afloat. Then, to top it all off, I
let
you date my brother. And how do you repay me? By hurting my best friend and brother, and tarnishing my good name. Who do you think you are?”

I twist back, looking at a still dazed and confused Harris. “You know this isn’t true. Say something,” I demand.

With a growl, he turns away from us, rubbing his neck in frustration.

Splat!
That’s the sound of my heart falling from its rightful place in my chest, slamming against the floor.

 “Amanda,” I say urgently. “I’m so sorry that this has happened to you, but please believe me when I tell you that I haven’t been having an affair with Peter. It’s not true.”

“Get. Out,” Claire snaps.

With one last fleeting look to the mute Harris, I rush out of the room and toward his bedroom.

F
or the second time this week, I scurry into a bedroom and begin frantically packing. Most of my things are still in my overnight bag, so it just takes a few minutes to gather all of my belongings. I pause at Harris’ bedroom door.

One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand

Using my shoulder to nudge the door open, I walk through the hallway. There’s no way around passing through the living room and I’m confronted with the sight of a sobbing Amanda cowering in Claire’s arms. Harris is watching them helplessly, and when I re-emerge, my heart thuds painfully in my chest. 

Ask me to stay. Tell them they’re wrong. Show me you care.

My silent pleas unanswered, I return to the elevator, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I wait. The doors open smoothly and after I press the lobby call button, I turn back for one last look. Now, Harris hovers around the wife of his co-worker, murmuring soothing words. I shake my head in disgust, leaning heavily against the elevator wall.

“Goodbye.” None of them hear me.

By the time the elevator hits the ground floor, a river of tears has left a trail of mascara dripping down my cheeks. When I pass by the concierge, he offers me a sympathetic smile.

“Would you like me to call you a cab, Miss?”

How humiliating.
 

Wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand, I give him a tremulous smile. “Thanks, I’m okay.”

But, no, I’m
not
okay. Reaching into my purse I dig around for my cell phone. Can I really call Sean again in the middle of the night? It’s Saturday anyway, he’s probably out with friends.

Outside Harris’ building, I stop moving, and drop my heavy weekend travel bag to the sidewalk. Little beads of sweat snake down my neck, dripping to my lower back. A dull ache has taken up residence in my upper abdomen. My head is swimming. Why didn’t Harris speak up for me?

Legs, move!

There’s no time to waste. They might leave the building at any moment, and I can’t let them catch me standing here. I heave the oversized bag back on my shoulder and begin wandering aimlessly.

It wouldn’t destroy my budget to find a hotel for the night, and there are some not too far from where I am. With a heavy heart, I begin the trek toward the tourist-infested Michigan Avenue.

How could Harris and I go from a blissful weekend together to this disaster so quickly?

Claire.

She holds power over him that I apparently can’t compete with. A few words from her and he stalls.
He should have had my back.