“Motherfucker,” he mumbles to himself and tosses his phone with gusto onto the desk.
“Hi,” I whisper, not wanting to startle him. “Are you okay?” He stares with intent, not saying a word. “Harrison? What’s wrong?”
He holds out his arms, so I quicken my step and settle on his lap, pulling my legs up and resting my head under his chin so he can hold me tight and use me as a stress relief.
“Talk to me. Is it because of your fight with Sebastian?” I mutter.
“There’s too much going on at the moment and not enough hours in the day to deal with it all. We just lost a major international client because of my employee’s lack of fucking brains.” He shakes his head, frustrated. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”
His computer screen is lit up with an invitation to a summer white party.
“You’re going to the Hamptons next week?”
“We’regoing to the Hamptons next week,” he corrects. “I hope you’re ready to be introduced into the fucked-up world of the rich and famous.” He laughs sardonically.
“You’re not making it sound very appealing,” I mumble into his chest.
“It is what it is. It’s my life, and I need you by my side.” He lifts my chin so I can look up into his eyes. “You ready to show the world you’re mine?”
I gulp down my unease and nod. “What I’m not ready for is them digging up my past so that I have to relive it over and over.”
“It’s easier to stop the pictures and stories when it comes to Claud since she’s a child, but I’ll try my hardest to get whatever I can taken down.”
“Okay. I’ll ask Mom if I can get the days off.” Knowing I’ll kick and scream like a child until she does.
I may not be happy about the stories that will be published, but that doesn’t mean I’m not giddy with joy over the fact Harrison Davenport is mine, and I want to scream it to the world.
“I’ll call her if she doesn’t,” he says, and I laugh, thinking he is joking. “I’m being serious. There will be times I need you, Juliette. No questions asked. I will hire someone for the bakery if they need coverage. But next week, I need you there.”
I reach up, cup his cheek, then playfully pucker my lips so he’ll lean down, and I can reach him. “Okay, H. I’ll be there.” I kiss him harder, feeling the stress radiating off him.
The curtains billow from the night breeze, catching my attention, causing me to glance over his shoulder toward the open door leading to the small terrace off his office.
I climb off his lap and walk toward the door, opening it wide while holding out my hand.
“What are you doing?” he asks skeptically. “Where’d my kiss go?”
“Trust me. I’ll help you forget for tonight.”
“Mmm, I like the sound of that.” His firm mouth lifts into a smirk before he’s up, prowling toward me, a man on a mission.
I laugh out loud. “Not that you, fiend. Grab your phone.” I point toward the desk, and then we walk out into the beautiful summer night, where the city is quiet and the air feels fresh.
I take his phone from his hand, unlock it—which still blows my mind that he trusts me enough with the password—and turn on Dad’s and my song.
Thankfully, I don’t need to worry about the volume since the neighbors and Claud’s bedroom have soundproof windows.
“Dancing in the Moonlight” by King Harvest begins to play over the speakers while I take his hand in mine and press my body to my chest. Naturally, he takes the lead, and we sway to the beat of the music.
Just like I did all those late nights with my dad.
“When I was a little older than Claud, my dad would sneak me out of my room and take me to our forbidden rooftop to dance under the moonlight. It was always when I had a bad day at school or a silly fight with Becks. And when I was older, it was the nights I came home stressed about dance, boy problems, and even when I found out he was sick. He would play this song, and we would dance the night away without my mom ever knowing. It was our secret.”
He leans down and kisses my forehead, then a quick peck behind my ear, on my beauty mark. “Why this song?” he murmurs.
“Dad told me that the writer Sherman Kelly wrote it while getting over a traumatic experience. He envisioned an alternate reality, the dream of a peaceful and joyful celebration of life to get him through it.” I pause, giving myself a moment with the memories of my father. “He would say,Juliette, when you dream about happiness, it will get you through anything.”
Harrison’s hand, splayed across my lower back, creeps up my body and tugs at my hair, angling my face toward his.
