Honestly, this thing with Harlow took me by complete surprise. At this point, I didn’t even know or understand if there was a narrative. All I knew was that I couldn’t stop thinking about her, and where that was going I had no idea, but I’d like to find out.
“AH, THERE IS NOTHING like rooftop cycling!” Afton yelled, pumping her fist into the air.
Sweat poured down my back as I peddled my stationary bike faster. Afton’s personal trainer, Mandy, was kicking our butts today.
“Come on, ladies, gimme that extra little push right here,” Mandy challenged. “Visualize that goal, focus on your breathing.”
Pushing myself hard the last two miles, I relished the burn in my legs. I focused on my breathing while I watched the sailboats rock back and forth on the water. The cinematic view of The Harbour from the rooftop of the Buchanan Building made the pain substantially less.
“And done. Good job, ladies!”
“Whoop! Thanks, Mandy!” Afton shouted.
I slowed my pace on the bike, cooling my legs from the workout. “Shit, that was intense.”
She hopped off her bike and grabbed a mineral water from the bar. “I know all I want is a big cheeseburger and some fries now.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Was that what you were visualizing?”
Afton picked up her phone and a huge smile spread across her face.
“What are you so smiley about?” My legs shook as I climbed off the bike. “Is that a guy?”
“What guy?”
I toweled off my neck and chest. “Play it that way if you want, but I think you’ve got yourself a guy.”
Ignoring my comment, she tucked her phone into her bag. “Let’s go to Rum Bar, we totally deserve it.”
“Okay, and if I get enough booze in you, perhaps you’ll tell me about this mystery guy.”
“You’re not going to drop this are you, Lo?”
“Not a chance.”
Apparently, everyone else had the same idea because the bar was packed. I needed another drink, and our server had disappeared. Walking towards the bar, I glanced back at our table where Afton and Nicholas were engrossed in a deep discussion.
“Could I get another beer?” I asked, sagging against the railing of the bar.
As I waited for my drink, I stared at the sky-blue accents that popped against the all-white walls. My eyes closed and I allowed myself a quick daydream that included Grady and an afternoon on the water. Instead of lusting after Grady, I should be focusing on launching my website. I couldn’t push it off too much longer. Haven, my publicist, had been sending me multiple emails each week urging me to settle on a new launch date.
“One blonde ale,” the bartender said with a full smile.
“Thanks, put it on our tab.”
“So far, the Zika virus outbreak is considerably narrow,” Nicholas mentioned, as I passed by the table on my way to the patio. Afton was obsessed with the latest Zika virus news. You’d think she was preparing for the end of days with the amount of bug spray she’s stocked up on.
Feeling sober-ish, I leaned against the pale-yellow, wooden railing watching two boats crawl across the water. Sipping my beer, I lost myself in my earlier daydream. My thoughts focused on Grady’s scruffy jaw, and tousled hair blowing in the breeze. I wanted to run my fingers through his hair and feel his mouth on mine. I wondered if he’d seen the tabloid headlines from Pour Fest.
“Twice in one weekend, is this fate or what?” Grady rasped in my ear.
I glanced over my shoulder for confirmation that he was really here and that the slight effects from the beer and the smell of salt water weren’t toying with my senses.
“Possibly,” I said. “What brings you out for drinks on a Sunday afternoon?” I turned around to face him, biting my lip to stifle a moan at the sight of him in a pair of grey shorts and a dark blue t-shirt. His baby blues were hidden behind a pair of aviators and his dark hair was mussed and swept over his brow.
“Would you believe that I happened to be in the neighborhood and wanted to see what the party was all about?”
“I might believe that,” I said before taking a sip of my beer.
“Actually, I am glad that I bumped into you.” He pried the glass from my hand, and then took a drink. My eyes dropped to his lips, and then to his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.
“Oh, and why is that?”
Inching closer, he passed the beer back to me. “It seems that you and I are being talked about online.”
I smiled. “It seems that you sent tongues wagging. I’m just the mystery woman.”
“Mystery woman,” he repeated, tossing his head back slightly. “I met with my agent and Haven this morning, it seems they are very interested in knowing about this mystery woman.”
“Well, it won’t take long for Haven to figure out that it’s me in the photo. She will probably want to spin it to the press that we’re dating when I launch my website.”
“What website?” he asked, flashing me a charming smile.
“What? Didn’t you know that I’m a ‘global influencer’?” I pretended to feign shock. “Cocktails and couture dot com. It’s a fashion, beauty and lifestyle website where I’m sharing my style secrets and my favorite cocktail recipes.”
“Congratulations, that’s very cool. See you are full of mystery, I guess the press was right.”
I tried desperately not to blush. Words escaped me at the moment. Harry had been my biggest supporter when I’d told him about the website. I wasn’t totally sold on the idea, but it was Harry who convinced me to go for it.
His gaze shifted to my cleavage and then his finger was trailing over my clavicle. My nipples, the jealous attention whores they were, decided this was the moment to show up to the party. With a subtle movement, my hands gripped the Kimono style cardigan I was wearing closing it over my chest.
“What’s this all about?” he asked, sliding his finger under the chain of my necklace.
Electricity raced through my blood. My eyes dropped to where he was touching my skin. Rays of afternoon sun glinted off the tiny gold pineapple charm.
“It’s a pineapple.”
“I can see that,” he mused, his eyes trained on the delicate piece of metal fruit.
His finger skimmed over the rise of my breast and a rush of tingles skittered down my spine. “I like pineapples.”
Grady’s attention turned to my lips. “That’s the entire story?”
I twirled the charm between my fingers. “I hadn’t realized that we were playing twenty questions.”
He pinned me against the railing with his hips. “Oh, I can go all night.”
Swallowing harshly, I couldn’t seem to find my words. All I could manage was a nod. The strands of lights above us flickered and the bartender rang the bell. “Blue light special! You know what that means!”
The announcement jolted me and he stepped back. Grady’s blue eyes remained fixed on me. There was no mistaking the heat between us. After spending a vast majority of my days dreaming about him, I had solid evidence that he wanted me as much as I wanted him. The fact that his erection connected with my stomach told me everything I needed to know.
“Hey, Harlow,” Afton called out. “Oh, hey, Grady.”
“Hi, Afton, Harlow was filling me in on the details of her new website.”
“It is very exciting, I see big things happening this summer for Harlow,” she replied, before pinning her brown eyes on me. “I paid the tab, and Nicholas needs to get to the airport.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there.” I looked at Grady, a wry smile playing on his lips. “I guess I need to be going.”
“Me too,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair. “I have an early practice tomorrow, there’s a match coming up soon.”
The breeze kicked up, whipping my hair across my face. “Oh, are you playing in the Stars and Stripes match? I heard that was a big deal around here.”
“I am. Would you like to be my guest?” he asked, tucking my hair
behind my ear.
“Maybe.”
MY ENTIRE DRIVE HOME was consumed with thoughts of Harlow. Her lips were too damn tempting. Those pink lips of hers, I ached to kiss them. Just one taste.
I maneuvered my car up the driveway, and then pulled into the garage. Closing the door, I was alone again. The world shut out while I stayed tucked away in my beach hideaway.
Once inside, I tossed my keys on the counter. This place was set off the main road hidden by trees, but light from the large glass windows poured over every exposed beam and piece of wood.
Wood. Exposed.
Raking a hand through my hair, I blew out a harsh breath. Harlow Trembley. I’d spent at most fifteen maybe twenty hours with her and now I was having filthy fantasies about her. What the actual fuck?
In a short span of hours, she seemed to have seeped into my every thought and I couldn’t flush her out. All that hair, those gorgeous auburn waves. When I’d been within inches of her, the scent of her hair crashed into my senses exploding every receptor in my body.
It didn’t help matters that I was staring at every flat surface around me, wondering how her copper colored hair would look fanned out over the counter as I ate her. Then there were her eyes to consider. There was smolder in those green eyes whispering “come fuck me.”
As I led Elsa, my horse, into the stables, Chelsea Hodges approached. Chelsea and her family owned the polo grounds and the East Harbour Athletic club.
“Mr. James, there’s an urgent message from Haven Cardwell, she needs you to call her as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, Chelsea.”
I kicked up and jogged towards the clubhouse. The worst thoughts entered my mind that someone had died. When I reached my locker, I could have taken the door off the hinges, instead I punched in my code. I grabbed my cell and swiped Haven’s number.
I didn’t wait for her to speak. “Is my mother okay? My sister?”
“Your family is fine, this is another matter.”
Relief flooded my body. “Out with it, Haven.” I sagged against the lockers, wiping the sweat from my brow.
“It’s your ex-wife—she claims that the mystery woman you were with is the woman you left her for.”
“Fuck!” My fist collided with my locker. “Fucking Heather—you know that she is a goddamn liar.”
“Yeah, I know, but if you’d let me I’d like to control the story. Give me the greenlight, Grady, and tell me who the mystery woman is and I will smooth everything over.”
I dragged a hand through my hair. “That’s just it, if we tell the whole world, it won’t be smooth. Heather will flip out.”
“Fuck, Grady, what have you done? Who is she?”
“It’s nothing, I swear, we’re not even dating, but . . .”
“But? What?” Haven asked dragging out the words.
“Well,” I began, dropping a hand to my hip. “She’s also a client of yours, and I’m not sure if that is a good thing or bad thing.”
Haven gasped, which is a sound I’ve never heard from her lips. “Who? Who is she?” The sound of ice clanking against glass told me that Haven was about to pour some of her Grandfather’s bourbon into a glass. Her family owned one of the oldest bourbon distilleries in Kentucky.
“It’s Harlow Trembley.”
Silence hung on the line for a few moments. “Don’t worry, Grady, this will be handled.”
The call went dead and I had no doubt that Haven was working some of her Hollywood Fixer magic. In that regard, she was like Olivia Pope, except Haven didn’t wear a white hat—no hers was black and I was pretty sure it had red devil horns.
All I knew is that I needed to talk to Harlow and fast.
IT WAS HIGHLY UNUSUAL for my phone to start blowing up at two-thirty in the afternoon on a Monday. I left the device sitting on the credenza across the room as to not be distracted while I hammered out the finishing touches on the website.
The constant buzzing was driving me insane. I should have used DND. I stalked across the room and scrolled through the notifications. Haven had called me twice. My friend, Zanita Van Haren, had called me about fifteen minutes ago, and now there was a demanding text ordering me to answer my fucking phone.
“Where’s the fire, Zanita?”
“Fucking finally, you answer.” Her Dutch accent delivered each syllable with sharpness. “The fire is online. The UK papers are claiming that your recent break-up with Harry is the reason for his terrible cockup against Team USA. The gossips are saying you ripped his heart out.”
I looked at the date on my laptop, sure enough the World Cup had started and I was oblivious.
“None of that is true! He broke up with me, for the love of God.” My fingers flew over my keyboard as I did a Google search for my name.
“Gossip columnists don’t care about that and the UK tabloids are especially vicious.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity Fuck.
There it was in bold letters:
Model Harlow Trembley dumped England goalkeeper Harry Brackman before World Cup gaffe.
“The British tabloids are saying you’re the reason he’s playing so poorly and missed that block that led to the tie game.”
Headline after headline and all of them painted me as the villain. These Brits are serious about their soccer. They're looking for any excuse to give their star player a break.
“Yeah, I can see that.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know if there is anything I can do, they’re going to believe everything they read anyway.”
I ended the call with Zanita and returned my focus to the computer screen. Secretly, I was hoping that either Harry or his agent would clear up the confusion. Every article included a single quote from Harry, saying that he was sorry to the fans and his teammates for the error. No mention of me, and the fact that we broke-up weeks ago.
Why, Harry? Why would you allow this to happen?
NORMALLY, I LOVED THE sound of silence but today, not so much. I tried to call Harlow’s cell three times and each time it went to voicemail. I only hoped she didn’t think I was a psycho. I needed to get out of my house—it felt too small. Too quiet.
Just as I opened the door to my garage, my phone rang. It was a number I didn’t recognize.
“Hello, this is Grady.”
“Grady, this is Kayla from Buchanan Beauty. I have Afton Buchanan on the line.”
What good luck, maybe she could put me in touch with Harlow.
“Great, thanks, Kayla.”
“Grady James, I know this is highly irregular, but I wanted to let you know that we’d love to offer you the campaign. I’ve already shipped the contract over to your agent, Jennifer March, so act a little bit surprised when she gives you the good news.”
“Thanks, Afton. I’m happy to accept. And I can’t wait to work on the campaign. Um, by chance do you happen to know where Harlow is today?”
“Well, I assume that she is still at my beach house working on her website. Why?”
“I was trying to get in contact with her about a personal matter.” I opened the door to my Range Rover and climbed inside.
I heard Afton tapping on her keyboard. “I’m going to give you my address. You can drive over and talk to Harlow in person. She might have her phone on do not disturb since she’s working.”
Afton rattled off her address and I logged it into my GPS. “Thanks, I really appreciate this and the opportunity to be the face of the new campaign.”
“Not a problem, Grady. I’m elated to have you on Team Buchanan.”
Fifteen minutes later, I found myself maneuvering my vehicle around a circular gravel driveway, in front of a classic Hampton’s shingle clad home surrounded by lush landscaping.
Once I parked, I walked around the back of the main house, past the pool and then trudged up the back stairs of the guest house. I knocked on the sliding glass door, and Harlow appeared from the hallway. She gave me a small smile and a quick wave.
&
nbsp; “Grady, what are you doing here?”
The smell of fresh cut flowers hit me when she opened the sliding glass door. Harlow wasn’t wearing any makeup, and her auburn hair was piled high on top of her head in a messy bun. Her eyes were red and puffy, which told me that she’d been crying.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“I’m not sure what I am.” Harlow motioned for me to come inside. “Would you like something to drink? I’m thinking of pouring a glass of wine, maybe the whole bottle.”
“Sure, I’ll take a glass.”
On bare feet, she sauntered towards the wine rack. As she reached up for a bottle, the white tank top she was wearing rose, exposing her flat stomach.
“Make yourself at home,” she called over her shoulder. “I assume Malbec is okay?”
I nodded and made myself comfortable on the couch. Everything in the living room was grey and white with splashes of pinks. My gaze followed her as she went into the kitchen, popped the cork and then poured two glasses. With the bottle and two filled glasses in hand, Harlow joined me on the couch.
“What’s got you feeling down?”
After handing me a glass she took a large gulp. “Well, it seems that I’m the reason that my ex is playing so horribly in the World Cup.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m going to need a bit more information.”
“Harry Brackman, my ex, I assume you know who he is, apparently, the UK tabloids are blaming me for his poor performance. We broke up last month . . . actually, I should say that he broke up with me—to focus on his game.” She handed me her iPad. “Knock yourself out. I’m the evil bitch who stomped on his heart.”
I read headline after headline, each one more hurtful than the previous. And I thought I was having a bad day with the tabloids.
“So, what brings you out here, Grady?”
Leaning forward I set the glass on coffee table. “I’m having some issues with the tabloids as well.” Scrubbing my hands down my face, I looked over to the window and stared out at the pool.
“More Heather drama?”
Healed by You Page 7
