Page 4 of The Final Draft

“Are you okay?” I check her out from head to toe for injuries, but also because I can’t resist. Her dark eyes look up at me, and her expression fills with panic. She blushes and appears embarrassed.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m sorry.” She pulls her notebook to her chest and hurries away.

“Hey, do I know you?”

CHAPTER

THREE

HARPER

My meeting with Professor Daniels was what I expected. Mostly. He’s an older, white man with a Ph.D. in Literature and Creative Writing, like so many of my professors from my master’s program. Typical. He told me I’d be working with him and his assistant professor, Ms. Spector.

But it’s his description of this program that has me reeling. It’s intense, which I knew it would be, but it didn’t prepare me for the assignment. Write an entire book in twelve weeks? It took me almost a year to write one, and I’m still not happy with it. I’ll need to treat this like it’s my full-time job, and it’s going to involve a lot of overtime. And focus.

The other part I hadn’t factored in was a writing partner. I’m not sure how I feel about that, but Professor Daniels assures me it’s necessary for my growth. For most authors, writing is a solitary, isolating process. They lock themselves away with their characters and write the story they want to tell. To collaboratefeels unnatural, but I’m willing to trust the process. I want to improve my skills and create a story readers will love.

Overwhelmed by all the new information, I’m so frazzled that, while reviewing my notes as I walk, I slam into someone. This must be how Lawson feels when he’s checked into the boards. Strong hands grab my arms to keep me from falling backward from the sudden collision. My hands land on his firm pecs as I steady myself and hold on to my notebook. I look up into a pair of familiar aqua eyes and gasp.

Julian Decker. I know he lives in New York, but what are the chances of me literally bumping into him? One in eight million, give or take. Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket today.

Shit. I feel my cheeks warm and heat creep up my neck and down to my core. He’s one fine man. I need to get out of here before I die of embarrassment. Straightening my glasses, I do my best to look indifferent about this collision. I step back, turn, and take several quick steps down the hall, my heels clicking on the polished tile.

“Hey, do I know you?” he calls out.

I stop in my tracks. Moment of truth. Do I remind him we have mutual friends, including his sister, and we met briefly at a party last summer? Or that my brother and his best friend are roommates? Or should I act like we haven’t met and go about my day?

Because, of course, he doesn’t remember me. I’m a nobody compared to the circle he runs in. He always has a model or actress on his arm. He’s met so many women, we all probably blend together.

Decision time. With a deep breath, I slowly turn around and take him all in. He’s wearing fitted, dark jeans and a no-logo polo shirt, which means it probably costs a fortune. Casual but professional. His dark blonde curls are perfectly styled. The slight beard on his chiseled jaw gives an appearance like heforgot to shave, but I’m sure it’s a totally intentional look. He doesn’t forget things like that. His perfect lips curl into a smile as he notices me checking him out. But what’s captured my attention are his captivating deep blue eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes.

“I know you, don’t I?” His head cocks to the side, like a puppy trying to figure out why you’re yelling at them. Granted, an adorable puppy that melts your heart and makes you forgive them for eating your favorite shoe, but still.

Apparently, he’s decided for me. I wince before giving him my casual, I-do-this-all the-time-look.

“You probably don’t remember me.”

“I never forget a face.” He studies me, his gaze noting my every detail as he tries to piece the mystery together. I’m so overwhelmed by the intensity, I could swoon. “But sometimes a name,” he confesses. “Help a guy out?”

Despite my desire to remain aloof, I can’t contain my giggle. “Your charm is unnecessary, Julian. I’m not one of your past conquests.” He’s taken aback by my comment and almost looks offended. I didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable.

“I’m Harper Cartwright.” He’s racking his brain trying to place me. I give him the last clue. “Lawson Cartwright’s sister.”

Relief fills his face. “Oh my god, yes! Ashleigh’s friend.” He puts his hands to his head and grabs his hair, mussing it a little and making him sexier, if that’s possible. “I’m so sorry. You look different. And out of context and I didn’t put it together.” His posture relaxes, and he drops his guard.

The fact he remembers me as his sister’s friend warms my heart. I’m often known as Lawson’s sister, Harper. It’s rare I’m known outside of his persona, and I admit, I like he sees me this way.

“I heard about Lawson. Shitty move by Atlanta, but their loss. What are you doing in New York?” He shifts into casualconversation with ease. No doubt, his conversational skills make him a successful sports agent. His open posture is disarming, and I let my guard down too.

“Would you believe dog sitting for Zac Burns?”

He throws his head back and laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damn, I need to talk to the Havoc management. He must have one hell of a contract if he can get Lawsy’s sister to move across several states to be his dog sitter.” As he chuckles at his own joke, his face lights up with a smile that’s easygoing and friendly. He’s casual and confident, but not cocky, and it’s a seductive combination.

I shrug. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for Noodle. He’s irresistible.”

“Lucky Noodle,” he mumbles. “Listen, let me give you my number, and if you need anything, reach out. I mean it. Ash would have my head on a platter if I didn’t watch out for her friends.”

He holds his hand out, waiting for my phone. Without consulting with my brain, I hand it to him. He holds it up to my face to unlock it, flips it around, takes a quick selfie, and enters his number. He sends himself a text, and now he has mine.

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