***---Garret---***
The second Harper walked out of my office, the door clicking shut behind her, I dragged a hand over my face. Christ.
I'd fucked up.
She hadn't deserved that. None of it. She'd been standing there with a tray, after bringing the coffee I'd snapped at her for. Like she was part of the furniture. And I'd used her as target practice. Venom meant for someone else, for something else, but I'd thrown it all over her.
"Jesus, Bannen."
I looked up. Elliott Sinclair glared at me from his chair. The lead singer of Pain-Tryn Sayntz, and the man currently going through a very public and very messy breakup, was staring at me like I'd grown horns. "What the hell was that? She didn't do anything wrong."
"She was standing there." I muttered, throwing myself back in my chair.
"She was standing there holding a coffee tray. You fucking crucified an innocent woman, my guy."
I clenched my jaw. "I didn't…"
"You did!" He shook his head, grabbing his cup and tossing well over two fingers of whiskey in it. "I thought I was the one in crisis. You just chewed through your receptionist like she was the one who cheated on me."
I scrubbed my hand over my face again, hating how true it sounded when he said it out loud.
"She's not the problem." He added, leveling me with a hard look. "Don't make her collateral damage for your trust issues."
I should've argued. Instead, my phone buzzed.
The screen lit up, and my chest did that stupid little kick it had been doing all week. I unlocked it without thinking. A single line of text waited for me.
I shouldn't have smiled. Not here, not now, not when my best friend's heart was smeared across the tabloids. But I did. A tug at the corner of my mouth I couldn't stop.
"Unbelievable." Elliott rolled his eyes, watching me. "You're smiling at your damn phone while my life is burning down."
I shifted in my chair, heat crawling up the back of my neck. I wasn't going to explain Velour. I wasn't going to explain Crownless, or the way one line from her had me harder than anything had in years.
"It's business." I lied. "Keeping tabs on the mess."
"Business doesn't make you look like you're about to jerk off under the desk." He shot back.
I glared, but it lacked heat. He wasn't wrong. Every vibration of my phone made me want to check it again. Every word she sent lit me up in ways I hadn't felt in years.
"Handle your PR nightmare. You have bigger fish to fry than why I'm grinning at my phone." I shrugged, redirecting. "Let me worry about the rest."
He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "Fine. But do me a favor?"
"What."
"Don't unload on the girl again. She looked like you'd gutted her."
My stomach turned. He left not long after, complaining about rehearsals and silence strategies. I promised I'd take care of the press and the vultures, and when the door shut behind him, I exhaled like I'd been holding my breath for hours.
The quiet wasn't peaceful. It weighed on me, dragging through my own bullshit like an anchor. It left me alone with the memory of Harper's face. Wide eyes, lips parted, stunned like I'd slapped her.
I was restless, guilty. And before I could question it, I was out my door. She was at her desk, back straight, expression smooth. Too smooth. The kind of smooth you only get when you're hiding a wound.
"Harper."
"Sir." Her voice was flat, almost robotic. I wanted to fall at her feet and beg for forgiveness. Fuck.
"I was out of line earlier." I forced out. "That wasn't yours to carry."
She stood. Grabbed her bag. Her eyes didn't soften. "Noted."
"Harper…"
"Good night, Mr. Bannen."
And just like that, she walked away. The elevator swallowed her up, and I was left standing there with my apology hanging useless in the air.
I scrubbed a hand through my hair, swore under my breath, and went back to my office.
Hours later, I finally went home. The penthouse was dark, sterile, too quiet. I threw my keys on the hall table, kicked off my shoes, and collapsed back on the bed. The city glowed faintly through the glass wall, neon bleeding into my room.
I should've been drafting statements. Calling PR. Spinning lies into strategy.
Instead, I picked up my phone.
Her last message stared back at me, sharp and teasing. She'd pushed earlier. Poked the rules. Asked questions she wasn't supposed to ask. And I'd given her answers I wasn't supposed to give. She'd gotten under my skin. She was still there, hours later, buzzing under my ribs.
My thumbs hovered. For once, I didn't care about rules. I didn't care about control.
Axiom: Couldn't sleep even if I tried.
Three dots blinked almost immediately.
Crownless: Why not?
Axiom: You.
A pause. Then…
Crownless: Now who's breaking the rules?
Axiom: You'll forgive me. Friday.
The dots blinked again.
Crownless: You're supposed to be asleep.
Axiom: I'll sleep after you tell me what color you bought.
Another pause. My pulse jumped, waiting.
Crownless: Wouldn't you like to know?
Axiom: I would. In fact, I expect to.
The dots blinked, stopped. Came back.
Crownless: Black.
My cock twitched. Christ, this woman planned on being the death of me.
Axiom: Good. I'll make sure you remember me every time you see the color.
The dots blinked.
Crownless: You're insane.
Axiom: I'm not the one grinning at my phone in bed.
Her reply came slower this time.
Crownless: Maybe I am.
Axiom: Good girl.
I set the phone down for a second, dragging my hand over my face. What the fuck was I doing? Texting a stranger at midnight like a goddamn teenager. Hard just from words.
I picked the phone back up anyway.
Axiom: It's after midnight. One day left.
Crownless: One more day.
I locked the screen and lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. I'd fucked up with Harper today. I knew it. The sting in her eyes had followed me home, right into my bed.
But here, with Crownless in my phone, I could breathe.
And I wasn't ready to stop.