Chapter Four

Harper's POV:

I left before he could wake up and see the regret on my face. Maybe I could pretend it hadn’t happened. Pretend it was just a dream and I hadn’t let a stranger make me forget who I was.

The hotel hallway smelled like expensive cologne and leather, nothing like the cigarette motel I'd paid for with my last real money, and I moved fast because if I slowed down I'd have to think about what I'd just done. My shirt still smelled like him. My legs were shaky. I could still feel where he'd been inside me and I hated that my body wanted to go back.

When I got back to the motel, the sun was already burning through the smog and the clerk was different from last night. This one was a woman with bleached hair and nails so long they clicked against the keyboard when I asked if anyone had turned in a photo album.

"Nothing here, honey." She didn't even look up.

I went to my room and sat on the bed that smelled like old smoke and tried not to think about the bed I'd just left. The one that smelled clean. The one where a stranger had made me forget my name for a few hours.

My phone's buzzing sound distracted me.

I should have ignored it but I didn't because I was stupid and part of me still hoped maybe Connor had realized he'd made a mistake. Maybe he was calling to say he was sorry.

The screen lit up with a notification from social media.

I'd deleted social media apps two days ago but notifications still came through and when I saw the preview my stomach dropped so fast I thought I might throw up.

Connor Blake is engaged to Jenny Hart.

I opened the app before I could stop myself.

The photo loaded slow, pixel by pixel, like the universe wanted to drag out my suffering. Connor was in a sui, and Jenny in white with a ring on her finger that was bigger than the one he'd given me. They were kissing and her hand was on his chest, showing off the diamond.

The comments were already flooding in. Congratulations. You two are perfect together. About time.

I scrolled and my hands were shaking so bad the phone almost slipped.

I saw a comment that caught my attention. "Wait, wasn't he just married?" and Jenny herself had replied with a little heart emoji and the words "Sometimes you don't know what you have until you find what you've been missing."

I threw the phone across the room and it hit the wall and cracked but I didn't care because I couldn't breathe. My chest was tight and my throat was closing and I wanted to scream but nothing would come out.

He'd waited two days after I signed those papers to propose to her.

I doubled over and pressed my face into my knees and tried to remember how to breathe like a normal person but all I could see was that ring. That smile. The way he'd never looked at me like that, not even on our wedding day.

The worst part was I wasn't even surprised anymore.

I'd known. Somewhere deep down I'd known he never loved me. But seeing it like this, seeing proof that he'd moved on before I'd even left the city, made it real in a way that hurt worse than catching them in bed together.

I heard notifications on my phone from where it had landed near the bathroom door.

I crawled over and picked it up. The screen was shattered but it still worked and there were three new emails.

All rejections.

I laughed and it came out bitter and broken because of course they were rejections. Of course nothing was going to work out. Why would it? I was Harper Lane from Montana who'd never deserved any of this in the first place.

I was still reeling in my defeat when I saw a new message from a company that's popular in LA

Novare Group.

My heart jumped into my throat because I'd applied there yesterday and hadn't expected to hear back so fast. I clicked it and held my breath while it loaded.

"Dear Ms. Lane, Thank you for your application to Novare Group. We'd like to invite you for an interview tomorrow at 2pm. Please confirm your attendance. Best regards, Novare Group HR Team."

I read it twice to make sure it was real.

An interview. A real interview at a company I'd researched and knew was big, the kind of company that could actually pay me enough to change my life.

I typed back "I'll be there" so fast I almost sent it without checking for typos.

Then I opened a new tab and searched Novare Group to prepare.

The first result was a news article from three days ago. I clicked it and started reading about the owner, some guy named Hardin Wolfe who'd built the company from nothing, and the article called him ruthless and brilliant.

“Whoosh that's interesting,” I mumbled, scrolling to get more information about him. There was a photo but it was blurry, taken from far away at some event, and I couldn't really see his face.

I bookmarked it and kept researching. Found their website. Looked at their recent collections. Read every article I could find.

By the time the sun started setting I knew everything there was to know about Novare Group except what the owner looked like up close.

I fell asleep on top of the covers with my laptop still open and when I woke up it was morning and my neck hurt and I had six new rejection emails.

But I also had an interview in five hours.

I showered in the tiny bathroom that barely had water pressure and put on the one professional dress I'd brought with me. Black, simple, the kind of thing that said I was serious without trying too hard.

My hair wouldn't cooperate so I pulled it back tight and my hands were still shaking when I called a cab because I couldn't afford to be late.

The building was downtown, all glass and metal, the kind of place that made you feel small just looking at it. I walked through the lobby and my heels clicked too loud against the marble and everyone looked like they belonged here except me.

The receptionist was pretty in that effortless way rich people are pretty and she smiled when I said I had an interview.

"Fourth floor. They're expecting you."

The elevator was glass too and I watched the ground disappear beneath me and tried to remember how to breathe normal.

The fourth floor opened into a waiting area with white furniture and abstract art that probably cost more than my entire life and a woman in a gray suit told me to have a seat.

I sat and my palms were sweating so I wiped them on my dress.

Five minutes passed, then the door opened and the woman in the gray suit said "Ms. Lane? He's ready for you."

I stood up and followed her down a hallway that felt like it went on forever and she knocked once before opening the door to an office that was bigger than my motel room.

"Good luck," she said, and closed the door behind me.

I turned around to face whoever was about to interview me and my entire body went cold.

He was sitting behind the desk in a black suit with his sleeves rolled up and when he looked up at me his eyes went dark with recognition.

It was him.

The man from the club. The man who'd kissed me like I mattered. The man whose bed I'd run from this morning.

And he was smiling like he'd been waiting for me.

“Well, Ms. Lane,” he said softly, “we meet again.”