Chapter 4

~Harper~

I’m still riding the high from blurting out that I like him like actually like him when everything goes sideways two days later.

It starts normally. Well, normal for us. I wake up to Elias sliding back into bed after his run, all sweaty and annoying and pressing cold hands to my stomach just to make me yell. I shove him off, call him a disgusting caveman, and he laughs and kisses my neck until I stop pretending to fight it. 

I spend the morning in the darkroom, blasting music through the little speaker he bought me, developing a roll of film I shot from the rooftop the night of our date. The prints come out perfect, string lights blurry in the background, his handsome profile sharp in the foreground while he’s looking at me like I hung the moon. I pin them up and stare way too long, feeling like a complete sap.

Around noon Sofia knocks again. This time she’s got a tray with lunch, sandwich, chips, pickle and another tiny paper bag tucked under the plate. More pills. My stomach knots.

I take the tray, mouth a quick “thank you” before she can bolt. She pauses, glances over her shoulder like someone might pop out of the walls.

“You should stop taking them soon,” she whispers, so quiet I barely hear. “He’s starting to notice things. Asking questions about my shifts. About who goes into which rooms.”

My heart slams. “What kind of questions?”

“The kind that get people fired. Or worse.” She meets my eyes, dead serious. “I like my job, miss. And my head attached to my body.”

Then she’s gone.

I sit on the stool in the darkroom and stare at the pills like they’re ticking. Part of me wants to dump them down the sink right now. Part of me wants to shove them deeper in the apron pocket and pretend this isn’t happening. I do neither. I just hide them again and eat the sandwich like a coward.

By evening I’m antsy. Elias has been locked in his office all day, door shut, voice low and clipped through the walls whenever he’s on calls. I keep wandering past like a loser hoping he’ll come out and drag me back to bed or cook terrible pancakes or something. Anything to stop the weird buzzing in my chest.

Finally the door opens around seven. He steps out looking wrecked tie gone, sleeves rolled up, hair a mess like he’s been yanking on it. Eyes bloodshot.

He hangs up. Stares at the screen.

I poke his arm. “Everything okay?”

“No.”

“Want to tell me?”

“No.”

“Great talk.”

He exhales hard through his nose, drops the phone on the coffee table like it’s radioactive. Then he turns to me, cups my face in both hands.

“I’m taking you out tonight,” he says. “Proper out. Not rooftop. Actual restaurant. Dress nice.”

I blink. “You’re mood swinging harder than me on PMS week.”

“I need out of this fucking apartment.” He kisses me quick and hard. “Please.”

There’s a crack in his voice on that please that shuts me up.

“Fine,” I say. “But I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu and dessert and three drinks.”

He smiles for the first time all day. “Deal.” he brings in some designers with some hot shot clothes and I pick the best from it with Sofia’s help. 

An hour later I’m in a black dress. He walks out of the bedroom in a black suit, no tie, top buttons undone, looking like sex and money.

He stops when he sees me. Just stares.

“What?” I snap, tugging at the hem. “Too much?”

“You’re trying to kill me.”

“Oh please.”

He laughs. Kisses me until my lipstick is gone and I’m dizzy.

The restaurant is some rooftop place downtown, yeah ironic with heat lamps and a view and a table tucked in the corner away from everyone. We drink wine. We eat things I can’t pronounce. He actually talks about his dad’s cancer getting worse, about the board breathing down his neck, about how he’s scared he’s running out of time.

I listen. I don’t make jokes. I just hold his hand across the table and let him talk until his voice is hoarse.

On the way home in the car he’s quiet again, staring out the window. I slide across the seat, lean into his side. He wraps an arm around me automatic.

“You okay?” I ask.

“No. But better with you.”

I don’t know what to say to that so I just kiss his shoulder.

Back in the penthouse he pours us both whiskey even though I hate whiskey. We sit on the couch, legs tangled, sipping in silence.