Of Happiness

by Olivia Luck

  “I know a few reasons,” I mutter. “There’s no way I’ll live with you without contributing financially.”

  “Not negotiable,” he says sharply.

  “Very negotiable. Don’t steamroll me on this one, Harris Grant.”

  As stern as I am, he gives me a soft smile. “We’ll talk about it,” he promises. “Anything else?”

  “I haven’t met Eleanor yet,” I say dumbly, referencing his housekeeper. Harris’ head falls backward when he laughs.

  “If those are the only excuses you can come up with, then we’re all good. She’ll be at our place when we go back.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but he’s right. I don’t want to waste another night apart.

  “Okay.”

  Harris’ arms fall to his side when I step forward, pressing up on my tiptoes. I practically throw myself at him, clasping my hands around his neck. A contagious grin spreads across his cheeks and I can’t help but giggle when he grabs me around the waist and spins me around.

  “You’ve just made me the happiest man in Chicago.” By the beam displaying almost all of his teeth, I know he means it. Harris drops a kiss on the tip of my nose.

  “You’re hard to resist,” I relent.

  He gently places me on solid ground and with two equally satisfied smiles, we head into Sean and Luke’s apartment.

  In the guest bedroom, I tug out a carryon suitcase from the closet. “What should I pack for this mystery overnight trip?”

  Harris stretches out on the bed, arms crossed over his broad chest while he watches me without a care in the world.

  “Bring whatever you’re comfortable in for regular summer temperatures during the day. I’m taking you shopping here for a dress to wear Saturday night.”

  As I fold a sundress into the bag, I raise both eyebrows at him. “Why can’t I wear something I already have?”

  “Because I’m getting you something new.” He says it so matter-of-factly with no room for argument.

  Turning from him, I collect more necessities for the next several days. “You don’t need to do that.”

  “No, I don’t need to, but I want to. And you’ll let me.”

  “Do you realize you can be a bossy control freak at times?” I glance over my shoulder, tossing him a smile, so he knows I’m only half serious.

  His lips tilt. “I’ll confess to being a control freak. But I don’t consider it bossiness. To me it’s a way of demonstrating the details of your life matter to me. You’ll let me show you that, right?”

  I shuffle into the closet and pull out a fancier summer dress, the pink belted one I thought I might wear for a date with Harris.

  “When you put it that way, it sounds more like a doting boyfriend,” I mumble as I pack. “No clues where we’re going?”

  Smug satisfaction is evident in his voice. “One clue. We’re going to a once in a lifetime event.”

  I nibble my lower lip as my mind races with possibilities. “How will we get there?”

  “No matter how hard you try to distract me with that lower lip, I won’t give anything else up.”

  Huffing in frustration, I flounce back to the closet to finish retrieving items. “Fine. How about you tell me what we’re doing tonight, Mr. Cancel-My-Meetings-for-the-Rest-of-the-Week?”

  “Tonight it’s just you and me at home. As for the next few days, I don’t have too much planned.”

  “What little do you have planned then?” I shut my suitcase with a definitive yank of the zipper. Leaving the bedroom door open behind me, I head into the hallway bathroom to gather my toiletries and makeup. I decide to pack everything now, so I won’t forget them later.

  In the reflection of the mirror, I watch Harris stalk into the bathroom and slip an arm around my waist. The weight of his arousal nudges my lower back. He bends down to gently press his lips to my cheek. “I think you get the idea.”

  Our eyes meet in the mirror and I grin teasingly. “Perhaps.”

  With a swift twist, I’m whirled around and he’s backing me up against the sink. “Are we almost done packing here, edible Edith? We need to get the hell out of my assistant’s apartment.”

  I tilt my head to the side, letting my loose hair fall off my neck. “I could probably use another thirty minutes or so.”

  “No time for that,” he insists, reaching behind me to grab my makeup bag off the counter. In a smooth movement, he lifts me, my makeup bag, and curling iron up and rushes us back into the bedroom.

  “But my shampoo,” I say laughingly.

  “Time to go.”

  “She can’t leave the city without having a conversation with me first.”

  After Harris practically dragged me back to his apartment and hurriedly introduced me to a clocking-out Eleanor, he showed me his idea of what we could do without too many set plans. In the early evening, we visited the grocery store, so I could cook (and Harris could help by opening cans and encouraging me from his seat at the breakfast bar). Now we’re sharing a chaise lounge on his terrace. I’ve settled between his spread legs, my back to his front. His broad arms wrap around the top of my chest. We’re both wearing pairs of his sweatpants, but I have my own tank top on and he’s shirtless. His skin provides a warm, human blanket.

  At the mention of Claire, his body goes tense, muscles flexing.

  “Why?” he asks in a voice on the edge of anger.

  “There are a few reasons. A week ago I had three steady clients in Chicago; now I’m down to one.”

  “Fletcher?”

  “Dropped me like a bad habit.”

  He sighs, the breath tickling my ear.

  “There’s more to this than me finding new clients though. Until recently I hid from Claire. She needs to know I’m serious about our relationship and committed to you. Maybe it will be for naught, but this is really important to me.” The tautness melts off him and he squeezes me tightly.

  “If it’s what you really want to do…”

  “Believe me, this is not on the top of my most wanted activities. I need to speak to her because that’s how important you are to me.”

  “I really don’t like this, but I can’t deny you,” he says huskily against my ear.

  “I need to do this,” I whisper, closing my eyes and sinking into his embrace.

  “The car comes for her tomorrow at ten.”

  “Then I’ll go at nine.”

  Harris pulls his boxy SUV around the semi-circle driveway in front of Claire’s building. He unbuckles his seatbelt, turning to face me with a pleading look.

  “Let me come in with you.”

  As I was preparing to walk here, Harris demanded that he drive me. Though he didn’t mention it, I could tell he felt anxious about my impending confrontation with Claire. He would have to fall in line, though. I couldn’t soothe his jangled nerves because I was too busy fighting with my own.

  “While I really appreciate you wanting to, I need to do this on my own.” Fixing him with my own beseeching gaze, I continue, “Claire and I were a friends of some sort before you and I happened. My hope is she’ll take this as a sign of my respect, me coming alone.”

  He inhales a deep breath and nods his assent. “Fine. But I’ll be waiting right here; call me the second you need me.”

  “Hopefully I won’t.” I try to reassure him and myself as I move across the car to drop a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for wanting to come with me.”

  “Hurry up and go before I follow you in there,” he grumbles.

  With a deep breath of my own, I exit the car and begin the walk inside. Bernie’s at the front desk this morning, waving happily when he sees me walk back. He must not know I’ve moved out, because he doesn’t comment.

  One sweaty-palmed elevator ride later, my heart is galloping and I knock a knuckle against Claire’s front door. A few moments later, the pounding of footsteps near the door let me know she’s home.

  “What?” she snaps, yanking the door open. This isn’t the Claire I’ve come to know. The w
oman before me wears a ratty robe, hair piled high on her head in a sloppy bun. “You,” she snarls, taking a menacing step forward.

  “Yes, me.” I roll my eyes at her, putting out a more resolute front than accurate. “Can we please talk?”

  Her nostrils flare, eyes narrow. I’m convinced she’s going to slam the door in my face when she takes a step back to let me enter. The anger drains from her face and she takes on a calm expression.

  There’s the Claire mood swing I’ve come to know.

  I follow her inside and gently close the door behind me. We come to a halt at the dining room table and she yanks out a chair to sit down. I force myself to slowly lower into a seat like I’m not inwardly panicking.

  Doesn’t she have a flight to catch in an hour? There’s no sense of urgency. It hardly looks like anything’s different in the apartment. I see no luggage, no clutter, nothing.

  Inwardly, I practice my calming mantra before speaking.

  “I’m sorry about the state of our relationship, Claire,” I begin tentatively. “The girl I met and spent time with before Harris got into picture was someone I genuinely liked. If you can meet me halfway, I would really like us to be to be friends.”

  Claire remains impassive, playing with a hangnail.

  “I made some mistakes and I’m sorry for dating Harris behind your back. I should have been up front about it from the beginning. Look, I don’t want to put words in your mouth, but it seems you’re protective over Harris. Don’t want him to get hurt. You should know this isn’t a casual relationship for me. What’s between him and me is more than just a passing fling. I’ve fallen for him. We’re committed to being together and… he makes me happier than I ever thought I could be.”

  At that proclamation, Claire lets out a disbelieving snort.

  With a slight frown, I carry on stronger now. “I was incredibly hurt when you accused me of having an affair with Peter. That’s not the person I am. I’m not sleeping with him or Landon Fletcher, even though his wife fired me, too.”

  Anger bubbles in my stomach, but I stomp it down. It won’t help the situation.

  Claire lifts her eyes to mine and what I see scares me. She’s emotionless, no glimpse of the fury I saw on Saturday night.

  “Amanda knows the truth now, but she doesn’t want you back. Even if you didn’t sleep with her husband, she can’t stand the sight of you. You remind her of his infidelity.” It’s a monotonous tone, no inflection.

  Fury gets the best of me when I reply, “And does she know that it was you?”

  “Me what?” Claire asks innocently, shrugging her delicate shoulders. “I explained to her I was confused and upset that you wormed your way into Harris’ bed. She understood.”

  My mouth falls open. “You can’t be serious.”

  “As serious as I’ve ever been. The only silly one in the room is you. You’re a fool to think it will work out with Harris.”

  “I disagree,” I respond evenly. Underneath the table my hands clench into fists and I bite back venomous words.

  “Look, I was trying to protect you when I told Amanda you’re fucking her husband.” She reveals another trace of emotion with a twisted smirk.

  “What the hell does that mean?” I lean forward, glaring at her.

  “If he thought you were screwing around on him, he might drop you before he did serious damage. Harris destroys whatever he touches. Look what he did to my Cooper. Look what he did to me.”

  As much as I want to rip into her for tarnishing her brother’s name, I keep my mouth shut. What happened to the Grant siblings is not something I’m prepared to dissect with the emotionally unstable Claire.

  “Anyway, you’re much better off with me than him. Don’t you remember that night at Luminous? I saw the way you responded to me. Harris will never get that kind of reaction from you.”

  I fight the urge to gasp at her audacity. At the club I had wondered if hers were the feminine hands caressing me. Turns out it was another one of her manipulations, just as I suspected. I grind my teeth together to stifle the building screech. After a deep inhalation through my nose, I calm down. Slightly.

  “Maybe when you get back we can work this out,” I suggest, knowing that the version of Claire I’m speaking to now has no sense of reason. This conversation won’t mend the damaged bonds.

  “When I get back, yes,” Claire murmurs to herself.

  Scooting the chair back, I stand up abruptly. “I wish you the best, Claire, truly.”

  She remains seated, back to playing with her fingernails. “Right. I’ll see you when I get back, little mouse.”

  That damned nickname again.

  “Good luck,” I mutter, spinning on my heels and seeing my way out into the hallway.

  What damaged universe did I enter when I crossed the threshold of this apartment?

  Although the outcome of the conversation was so far from ideal it’s practically a joke, I mentally pat myself on the back. For the first time ever, I confronted someone and did it without breaking out in hives or blushing until my cheeks turned the shade of red apples. Little victories.

  Hurriedly, I return to my boyfriend, jumping into the waiting car.

  “How did it go?” he asks anxiously.

  I shake my head slowly. “She wasn’t really in a frame of mind for talking, I guess.”

  “What did she say?” His face turns to thunder and he turns to get out of the car. My hand shoots over to halt his progress.

  “Don’t go up there.”

  “Why the hell not?” he asks angrily.

  “Because I want to mend my relationship with Claire and if you burst into her apartment ready for an argument, some of the things I said might not sink in.”

  Harris drums his fingers on the top of the steering wheel, mulling over my words.

  “You’re right. What was it that you said to her?” he finally asks in a calmer tone.

  “That I wanted us to regain our friendship and I was hurt by what happened with Amanda and Mrs. Fletcher. But the most important thing I said”—I shift my weight across the car, brushing my lips across his—“was that I’m devoted to you.”

  Against my lips, I feel his flicker toward a smile. My distraction technique was a success. “It’s a mutual feeling.”

  With a lingering kiss, I retreat back into my seat.

  He shifts the car into drive and exits the roundabout. “What are we doing today?”

  “You could tell me where we’re going on our surprise trip,” I suggest as he points the car toward Chicago Avenue.

  “That could happen, or”—he pulls props his sunglasses on his nose—“I can take you north on Lake Shore Drive to breakfast. Then I want to buy you something for our surprise trip.”

  “Harris.”

  “Edith.”

  I can’t help it, I laugh at the way he stretches my name across four syllables.

  “You don’t like the way I dress?” he asks suggestively. As he signals to move into another lane, he tosses an easygoing grin my way.

  I inspect the way his tight, white T-shirt molds to his chiseled arms and offsets his tanned skin.

  “Hm.” It almost comes out like a moan. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  He chuckles. “Well, I’m the one picking something out for you.” The teasing disappears and be becomes more serious. “Baby, I’d like to do something nice for you, pamper you. Will you let me?”

  “There’s no way I’m going to win this, am I?” I grumble, slumping down into my seat.

  “Enjoy the ride, baby.”

  The tension in my neck begins to drifts away, the wind that whirls outside the car carrying it into the summer air.

  “This isn’t happening,” I murmur, surveying the mosaic tiled floor beneath my sandaled feet. After our brunch in Evanston, a northern suburb, Harris hightailed us back into the city for an appointment. Now my hand grips his in the foyer of the most exclusive clothing store I’ve ever entered. It’s a boutique not far from
Harris’ home, and a purveyor of men’s and women’s clothing, judging by the modern racks hanging from wires in the fifteen-foot ceilings.

  With a gentle tug on my hand, Harris takes me through the entryway and into the main floor of the showroom. As soon as he spots us, a young man with a wild, deep brown afro rushes forward to greet us.

  “Harris, welcome back!”

  “Good to see you, Claude.”

  The name fits the tall, lanky man wearing bright red chinos and funky black-framed glasses. There’s no sign of a French accent, though.

  Harris drops my hand for an instant, engulfing the man in a guy hug, throwing one arm around him and swiftly patting his back. Then he returns to my side, dropping a possessive arm around my shoulder.

  “Claude, this is my girlfriend, Edith, the one I told you about.”

  Instantly he gives me a once over causing me to fidget, though Harris holds me firmly in place.

  “Oh la, la, La Vie en Rose,” he murmurs when he’s finished observing my teal sundress.

  “Stop checking out my girlfriend,” Harris says, exasperated.

  Rolling my eyes at his mock growl, I extend my hand to Claude. “Nice to meet you.”

  “I am going to have so much fun dressing you both today. I’ve got things pulled for you, Edith.”

  “Already?” I ask Harris, quirking an eyebrow.

  He shrugs unapologetically. “I may have sneaked a look at your sizes and told Claude.”

  My mouth falls open in shock.

  He dips toward my ear, presses a kiss to the spot in front of it. “Pamper you,” he reminds me, stealing anyway any argument I might have.

  Claude twirls away from us, heading toward a line of bright dresses. “You’ll look lovely in red,” he says more to himself than us.

  As we cross the floor of the shop, Harris leans down to whisper in my ear. “I thought if I bought something for myself you’d feel more comfortable.”

  My nose wrinkles. “Still don’t like the idea of my boyfriend buying me clothes when I have perfectly good things at home.”

  Harris pauses our walk, turning our bodies so that we are facing each other. His hands cup my shoulders and he gives a steady, penetrating gaze. “One more clue about our trip—I’m taking you to an incredibly special and unusual event. You should have something incredibly special to wear. Since this whole thing was my idea, I will provide the appropriate attire.”