Chapter 8 8

Harper was just stepping out of the consignment shop, the bag heavy in her hand, when a sleek black sedan pulled up to the curb, cutting off her path to the subway.

The rear window rolled down.

Julian sat there, looking impeccable and irritatingly calm.

"I told you I'd take the subway," Harper said, gripping the plastic bag tighter.

"And I told myself I wouldn't let you walk home in this neighborhood after dark," Julian replied. He opened the door from the inside. "Get in, Harper."

Harper hesitated. He had tracked her. Or he had been following her. The thought should have been creepy, but in the growing shadows of the street, it felt strangely protective.

She slid into the car.

The interior of the town car was quiet and smelled of leather. Harper sat as far away from him as possible, shoving the cheap plastic bag between her feet.

"Where to?" Julian asked.

Harper hesitated. She didn't want to give the address.

"Brooklyn," she said vaguely.

"I know the borough," Julian said dryly. "I need the street."

Harper sighed. He probably already knew it anyway if he knew where she was shopping. She gave the address.

The car moved through traffic. Julian was watching her.

"That dress," he said suddenly, nodding at the bag. "Vintage?"

"Second-hand," Harper corrected. "There's a difference in price, if not quality."

"Resourceful," Julian said. There was no mockery in his voice, only approval.

"Necessity breeds innovation," Harper said, looking out the window.

"And desperation breeds risk," Julian countered softly.

Harper whipped her head around. "I'm not desperate, Julian. I'm focused. Don't confuse the two."

The anger flared in her eyes. It was real. It was raw.

Julian stared at her. He saw the pride. He saw the fear she was trying so hard to hide.

The "player" theory crumbled in his mind. Players didn't haggle for forty-dollar dresses. Survivors did.

His expression softened. The arrogance melted away.

"No," he said quietly. "I stand corrected."

The car pulled up to her building. It was a brownstone that had seen better days. There was graffiti on the door.

Julian looked at the building, then at Harper.

"You shouldn't live here," he murmured.

"It's what I can afford," Harper said. She snatched the bag back. "Thanks for the ride."

She opened the door and stepped out into the humid evening.

"Harper," Julian called out.

She turned.

"Wear the dress," he said. "You'll own the room."

She stared at him for a moment, then nodded and ran inside.

Julian watched her go. He waited until he saw a light flick on in a third-floor window.

He picked up his phone. "Paul. I need a security detail on 4th and Vine. 24/7. Invisible. If anyone bothers her, I want to know."

"Yes, Mr. Sterling."

Julian leaned back in the seat. He closed his eyes.

He was in trouble. Deep trouble.