Page 21 of The Truth of Us

She set her clutch on the kitchen island. “Should I be?”

“Yes.”

“That feels emotionally expensive.”

“What does?” I asked, holding my breath.

She turned to me, the cream-coloured silk looking like champagne, framed by the city glowing behind her. “Caring what everyone thinks about how you live.” She said without an ounce of humour.

I laughed under my breath to hide the direct hit, it felt like I had just taken and walked toward the bar. “Drink?”

“Water.”

I looked over my shoulder. “You are ruining my fantasy of bringing a beautiful woman home after a gala.”

Harper shook her head and turned back to the view. “I am not naive enough to think I am the first woman you brought home after an event and you invited me for work.”

“Right.” I said, my eyes trailing down her body, “Massive oversight on my part.”

I poured myself a scotch and grabbed her water, then walked over to where she was standing and handed her the bottle. I watched her move, watched her take the bottle from me. Every movement looked rehearsed and deliberate.

God, she was so fucking composed. It made me want to create problems.

Fuck, is that how Theo felt about Julian all the time…But she wasn’t Julian… She was something else altogether. Something familiar, and yet so foreign.

Harper moved toward the windows, heels quiet against the hardwood. The skyline reflected behind her, Chicago glowing around her as if the city had dressed itself up for her personally. She looked angelic. Her eyes met mine in the glass's reflection, a question there I wasn’t sure if she was going to ask.

“What?” I asked.

She turned, her eyes trailing over the skyline and then the open-concept living space. “You live very high up.”

“That sounded judgmental.” And it kind of pissed me off.

“It was observational.” She argued.

“Dangerous distinction around you,” I replied, feeling defensive.

She smiled faintly, then turned back toward the view. “You all live like this?”

I was confused for a second, but then remembered the reason she thought she was here.

“The guys?” I asked.

She nodded.

“More or less.” I answered.

She turned to me, saying, “And you all turned out emotionally dysfunctional, anyway. Fascinating.”

I barked out a laugh. “Jesus, Harper.”

“What?” she questioned.

“You say things like a therapist wielding an unlicensed scalpel,” I replied and took a healthy swig of my drink.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She said with a shrug.

I moved closer, leaning against the island. “Alright, Dr. Lane. Give me the damage report.”