Chapter 13: Five Minutes

Chapter 13: Five Minutes

"Myles." Serena's voice cracked on the name, thick with tears, the wounded princess right on cue. "Baby, I need you. Some psycho just attacked me. I'm at Maison Rose. Please, please hurry."

She hung up and rounded on Harper, chest heaving, her cheek still glowing red. "You're going to regret this."

"Probably not," Harper said.

Valentina perched on the edge of the table and crossed her legs. "Make yourself comfortable. We'll wait."

So they waited.

Harper sipped her sparkling water. Chloe whimpered into a napkin. Madison and Tatum hovered like bridesmaids at a funeral, glancing from the phones still pointed their way to the terrace entrance and back again.

Five minutes. Harper counted.

Then a black Rolls-Royce slid up to the curb outside the ivy wall, long and sleek as a yacht, and Myles Crawford stepped out in a charcoal suit. His jaw was tight. His eyes were blazing. He came through the rose arch like a man walking onto a stage.

Harper waited for her stomach to drop. It didn't. She watched him weave between the tables and thought, with a strange, distant calm: He looks so small.

"Serena!" He rushed to her and cupped her face, thumbs grazing the handprint. "Baby, are you okay? Who did this?"

Serena melted into his chest and sobbed. It was, Harper had to admit, a beautiful performance. Oscar-worthy, even.

Myles took in the scene: the toppled chair, the scattered petals, Chloe pressing a bloody napkin to her mouth. Then his eyes found Harper, and his face twisted. Annoyance first. Then something colder.

"Harper? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Eating lunch."

"Don't get smart with me." He jabbed a finger at her. "Serena is a client. A brand ambassador for the company. Do you have any idea what kind of PR nightmare this is? Get your ass home and stop causing trouble."

A client. A brand ambassador. The night before, Harper had watched him feed that client duck off his own fork. She almost laughed.

Valentina didn't bother with almost.

"Oh, fuck off, Myles." She slid off the table and planted herself between them, shoulders squared. "A client? That's what we're calling it now? You lying, cheating, worthless scumbag. You're not fit to lick the dirt off her shoes. You treat her like the help, you parade your mistress in her face, and then you have the nerve to..."

"Watch your mouth." Myles's lip curled. "Nobody asked you, Valentina. You're a bitter, trashy woman who collects men like trading cards and calls it a business. Don't pretend you care about anybody but yourself."

"I care about her." Valentina's voice dropped, cold and quiet. "Which is more than you ever managed."

"Myles."

Harper didn't raise her voice. She didn't have to.

He turned.

She rose from her chair, slow and deliberate, and smoothed the front of her jeans. Shoulders back. Chin up. Eyes as still as water, the way she used to stand at the end of the platform in the second before she left it.

"We're breaking up."

The terrace held its breath. A dozen phones held steady.

Myles stared at her. Then he laughed.

It started low and rolled into something big and hearty and delighted, the laugh of a man who'd just heard the best joke of the week. He actually bent over, wiping the corner of his eye.

"Oh, Harper." He shook his head, still chuckling. "Oh, babe. You're adorable."

The grin vanished like someone had flipped a switch.

"Stop talking. Get home."

Harper didn't blink.

Myles flicked a hand at her the way you'd shoo a stray cat, then turned his back on her completely. He scooped Serena up, one arm under her knees, one behind her back, a perfect princess carry. She tucked her face into his neck, sniffled for her audience, and shot Harper one last triumphant look over his shoulder.

He carried her through the garden, past the staring diners and the whispering waiters, out to the waiting Rolls-Royce. Tatum and Madison scurried after them, half-carrying a lisping Chloe. The door shut with a heavy, expensive thunk, and the car glided away down Canon Drive.

For a moment, nothing. Then the murmurs started, table by table, and somewhere a phone camera clicked one last time.

Valentina finally picked her chair up off the flagstones, dropped into it, and drained her water in one long swallow.

"I'm going to kill him."

"No, you're not." Harper sat down across from her. Her hands were steady. She noticed that, and it surprised her. "You're going to finish your salad. Then you're going to help me get out of that house."

"Out of the house."

"Tonight. I'm grabbing the suitcase and both bags, checking into a hotel, and tomorrow I'm on a plane to Austin." Harper looked past the roses at the empty curb. "I'm done with him, Val. I'm not spending one more night under his roof. Not as his fiancée. Not as his anything."

Valentina studied her for a long moment. Then a slow, wicked grin spread across her face, and she pulled out her phone.

"What are you doing?"

"Booking a seat."

"For who?"

"For me, genius. I'm coming with you."

"Val. You have a company to run."

"I have an assistant, a very good phone, and a roster of actors who can survive a week without me holding their hands." She tapped the screen with a flourish. "Honestly? I miss watching you soar. And if you leave me here, I'll be lonely in LA. Do you know what I'm like when I'm lonely? I adopt men."

"You adopt men when you're happy, too."

"That's fair." Valentina tapped her chin and gazed off into the roses. "Ooh. Texas. Maybe I'll find myself a cowboy. Big hat, bigger shoulders. I'll sign him, put him in a western, and make him a star."

"You're going to Austin to scout cowboys."

"I'm going to Austin to support my best friend," Valentina said primly. "The cowboys are a bonus."

Harper laughed, the kind that started deep in her stomach and filled her whole chest. It had been years since one like that had found her. Valentina joined in, loud enough that the man in the linen suit glanced over and hid a grin behind his espresso.

Then Harper's phone buzzed against the marble.

It was Keaton. "Just saw the video. Are you okay?"

She frowned. Video? Two tables over, the woman in pearls lowered her phone and became suddenly, intensely interested in the dessert menu.

Another buzz. Keaton again. "Whatever you need. I'm twenty minutes away."

Harper looked at the screen for a long moment. Then she typed back. "I'm okay. Better than okay. See you in Austin."

She hit send, set the phone face down, and picked up her fork.

For the first time in three years, lunch tasted free.