Page 31 of The Final Draft

“What does that mean?” I know what it means, but I need him to spell it out.

“He plays hockey and fucks. Occupies his time with an occasional video game to break the monotony. Not a lot of drama. I think he has a thing with his dog walker. You know, typical hockey player.” Well, fuck. Harper.

“Yeah, I get it. Good guy, though?” Tell me she’s safe, at least. Then again, Lawson wouldn’t let her be in a bad situation, would he?

“Yeah, a decent kid. His team’s leadership likes him. Teammates like him. On the goalie weird scale, he’s closer to normal.”

“Thanks, John. That’s all I needed. If I can do anything for you, just let me know.”

We hang up, and I pace as I think about what he said. If I was smart, I’d step back, but I can’t. Not until she tells me to, that is. I’m definitely not smart when it comes to Harper. She’s got me taking risks and doing stupid things like pursue a relationship when I need to be focusing on this writing project.

My phone vibrates with a series of texts, breaking me out of my over analysis.

Phone is fine. Thanks for checking.

The flowers are incredible, but unnecessary. Thank you.

Dinner sounds great. Pick me up at 7:30.

Yes! I spin in my chair and do a fist pump in the air. My worrying immediately vanishes with her response. She used a laughing emoji. She’s amused. I’m good with that. One more thing to do before I head home for the day and get ready for my evening. I need to respond to Priscilla.

JB: Can’t tonight. I have plans with my muse. Later this week?

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

HARPER

I blink once. Then twice. Did I read that correctly? No. Certainly not. I tilt my head in confusion.

JB: Can’t tonight. I have plans with my muse. Later this week?

Muse? Is that what I am to him? He’s using me for inspiration. All his flirting was to get reactions so he can create a character. My stomach sinks when that realization hits me. I feel foolish because I fell for his charm. Now my defenses are up, and I remind myself to keep my heart under lock and key.

It’s fine. Really. Totally my fault for having expectations. He warned me more than once things aren’t as they appear. His pursuit of me included. Damn. It stings, but I’ll work through it. Turnabout is fair play. No reason I can’t use Julian for character inspiration too. After all, Gavin is a charming playboy who needs to change his ways if he’s going to get his girl.

You know what? This is good. I needed this reminder of what’s important here, and that’s the book we’re writing. If he needs a muse, I’ll be his muse because his success is my success. With that resolved, I look at my clock. Crap. I need to hurry to get everything done before he gets here. Tonight, he’ll meet the “fuck around and find out” side of Charlotte Jackson.

I zip up my boot when I hear Zac and the boys come home. Perfect. I want to get the most bang for my buck with this makeover. I went for shock value. Julian wants a muse for Charlotte, then I’ll give him one.

Luckily, if you want a new look, then New York is the place to make it happen. After a few brief hours, I don’t even recognize myself. I needed a little me time, and this afternoon checked that box.

The new outfit is tasteful but hella sexy and not my typical conservative look. But I’ll own it because I’m pretending to be Charlotte. I convince myself it’s a costume in my real-life drama. I’m playing the part.

My white bodysuit is low cut in both the front and back. The blousy sleeves and pleated front, with their delicate fabric, subtly soften the harshness of the overall design. The black leather miniskirt is a little shorter than I’m used to, but the thigh-high boots give me the confidence to pull it off. When the makeup artist saw my clothes, she understood the assignment. I feel like a Taylor Swift lyric come to life with my perfectly drawn cat eye. I’m ready to slay. At least I hope so. My blonde tresses are down in sexy, fuck-me waves. He wants a muse, I’ll give him a muse. A confident, kick-ass version of Charlotte Jackson stares back at me from the mirror.

I touch up my ruby red lips and tuck the lip stain into my studded clutch. I’m ready to take the stage. There’s a commotion in the den, and I hear a light knock on my door.

“Hey, Harper, it’s Connor.” He sounds timid and afraid, and I can’t help but smile at the thought of this big hockey player afraid of bothering me. “Um, Julian Decker is here, and he and Burnsy are, well, you might want to come out here and… I dunno. I thought I’d come and let you know.” His voice trails off as if he’s questioning his actions.

I open the door, and he gasps and clutches his pearls. I reach up and pat him on the cheek. He really is adorable. “Thanks, Jetsy. I’ve got it from here.” With a little wink, I walk past him, as he stays frozen in place. My heels click on the hardwood floor, a cadence for my grand entrance. Unfortunately, no one is paying attention to me except Jetsy. Zac and Julian are standing near the door in some kind of standoff. With arms crossed, they stare at each other in utter silence. It’s ridiculous. I’m about to end this male posturing by resetting the game.

Mac sees me, does a double take, drops his game controller, and his mouth falls open. Harvard catches his reaction, looks at me, and does the same thing. The voice from the TV says, “game over.” I can barely contain my pleasure. Yes. Yes, it is. It’s the perfect soundtrack for my entrance. I walk up to the two men locked in a pissing contest and act badass as I struggle to contain my grin.

There’s absolute silence in the apartment, adding to the tension. Even Noodle is in his bed.

I kiss Zac lightly on his cheek, leaving a perfect set of lips. After all, he started the goodbye kisses.

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