Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 43239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 216(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 216(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
“And then?”
“Then add five years before saying shit to Jackson.”
“Just five?”
“You’re right,” he says. “Ten would be safer.”
THIRTY TWO
ELIZA
The ride back to the penthouse with Lance is a blur of headlights and quiet laughter.
He drops me off with a lingering hug and a warning not to “ruin my whole life over a guy with great bone structure.” I promise not to, and I rush upstairs to thank Harrison for making tonight special for me.
The following evening
I step off the elevator inside the Parker International Hotel, ready for the evening’s rooftop social—one of the first official events tied to this week’s conference.
The terrace is already glowing with string lights, rooftop fire pits, and a golden Manhattan skyline that makes everything feel cinematic. Sleek white lounge seating and tables are scattered around the space, and soft jazz drifts over the low hum of conversations.
My heels click softly against the tiled floor as I walk in.
Tonight’s dress is Tom Ford—backless, black, and made for sin. My hair’s pinned just right. And for once, I don’t feel like an imposter in my own skin.
A man steps into my path near the bar, offering me a drink with a charming grin. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a sharp suit and easy confidence.
“Hi,” he says. “Flynn.”
“Eliza.”
“I gathered that.” He smiles. “Tell me you’re not from New York, because if you are, every man in this city owes me an apology for not noticing you first.”
I smile, accepting the glass. “Born and raised in Tennessee.”
“Of course you are.” He leans in, voice like velvet. “No one from here would look me in the eye like that.”
I tilt my head. “Like what?”
“Like you could break me in half if I said the wrong thing.”
He’s not wrong.
We flirt. He brushes my elbow when he laughs, watches my mouth when I speak. But even with his charm, I feel it—that heavy stare from across the terrace.
Hotter than the rooftop fire pit beside us.
I don’t need to look to know it’s Harrison.
Still, I keep talking.
“Can I be honest?” Flynn asks, stepping a little closer. “You don’t belong in rooms like this.”
I raise a brow. “Excuse me?”
He smirks. “It’s a compliment. You’re real. These people?” He gestures with his drink. “They’re all glass.”
“And what am I?”
“Fire.”
Before I can respond, a familiar voice cuts in—low, smooth, and unmistakably territorial.
“She’s also taken.”
Harrison appears at my side like a shadow. Like he was summoned by the heat between us.
Flynn blinks. “Oh—sorry, man. I didn’t know.”
Harrison doesn’t correct him.
“I was just telling Eliza she doesn’t belong in rooms like this,” Flynn adds with a chuckle.
Harrison’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Funny. I was just thinking she’s the only reason I came.”
He turns to me, voice pitched low enough for my ears only. “You seemed busy.”
“I was,” I whisper. “You were watching?”
“From the second he handed you that drink.”
I take a slow sip. “You jealous?”
His gaze drops to my mouth. “Violently.”
Flynn clears his throat and steps back. “I’ll, uh… let you two talk.”
He walks off—thankfully without trying to reclaim the tension.
Harrison closes the space between us, his hand ghosting along the small of my back.
“You looked like you were enjoying yourself,” he murmurs. “Almost too much.”
“I was practicing my charm.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” He leans in, his breath brushing my ear. “If that was charm, you just weaponized it.”
A shiver skates down my spine.
He cups my jaw and gently turns my face toward his.
“I don’t share,” he says.
“So?” I lift a brow. “I’m not yours.”
“Not yet.”
And then he kisses me—slow, possessive, and completely unbothered by the twenty people watching us from behind champagne glasses.
When he pulls back, I’m breathless.
“Next time someone flirts with you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing my lower lip, “at least wait until I’m not in the room.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
THIRTY-THREE
HARRISON
The Night Before the Conference
Eliza is curled up against my chest.
Hair fanned across me, lips parted just slightly, her breathing soft and steady. In sleep, Eliza looks nothing like the woman she’s become over the past few weeks—the sharp-tongued, stubborn-as-hell force I didn’t see coming. She looks…gentle. And for the first time in a long damn while, my space doesn’t feel so cold.
I’m going to miss this...
I’d never admit it out loud, but the idea of waking up without her weeks from now makes my chest ache.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” she murmurs, eyes still half-closed.
“Because someone hogged the entire blanket and left me to freeze to death.”
She smiles lazily. “Liar.”
I lean down and kiss her temple. “Worry about your own sleep, Miss Hart.”
“Mmm.” She shifts onto her back, blinking at the ceiling. “I can’t stop thinking about tomorrow. What if someone sees through it?”
“Sees through what?”
“My elite-person cosplay.” She sighs. “What if they know I’m just pretending to belong?”
I brush a strand of hair off her face. “They won’t.”
“Because you trained me well?”
“No,” I say. “Because you’ll fit in better than most of them.”