Page 17 of One Wrong Move

“And besides, we’re friends. Always were.” I incline my head toward the painting we’re standing by. “Not to mention, you’re invaluable to my private interests. I couldn’t possibly lose that kind of asset just because of a breakup.”

Harper laughs a little. “Of course. Right.”

“Now come on. I think the artist himself is here somewhere.”

“What? Really?”

“I heard he might show up around… yeah, around eight to give a speech.”

She smiles. It’s wide and happy, and her eyes dance with excitement. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. That I’m here. This is incredible.”

“Believe it,” I say quietly. I want to make her smile like that again.

Harper turns, and her curls brush against my shoulder. I catch a scent of her perfume, of something floral with just a hint of spice.

Her voice is soft. “Look, see those people over there? By the sculpture? The woman in red is a legend in the British art scene. I’ve heard such cool things about her.”

“Go say hi.”

“I can’t.”

I nod. “Yes, you can. Go. Say hi.”

“She would?—”

“What do you have to lose?”

Harper digs her teeth into her lower lip again, but then she nods. Resolve enters her eyes. “You’re right. I have every right to be here.”

“Of course you do.”

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

My phone buzzes in my suit pocket. I wish I could chuck it across the room. It’s the second call tonight, and there was a reason I didn’t pick up the first one. But I also know that I can’t let it go too long without a response, or he’ll keep calling, and at the worst possible moments.

“Go ahead. I’ll join you in a bit.”

She nods and walks in a straight line toward the art legend she wants to speak with. I watch her go, taking in her familiar form.

I answer my phone without looking away. “Hey.”

“Nate,” Dean says. “How’s London?”

“It’s good. Same as always.”

“Great. Look, I know I’ve been… Did you do what I asked you to do?”

I look at Harper. She’s made contact with the lady in red. She nods a few times, her curls bouncing. “Yes. I spoke to her at her work.”

“And?”

“She’s fine. She’s doing well here.”

He sighs on the other end. “Good. It’s so fucking frustrating that she won’t… anyway. Good. Thanks for checking up on her.”

“Yeah,” I say. It’s the one thing I agreed to do when he called and told me the wedding was off, and that she was heading to London.

And now that’s done.

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