Page 67 of The Final Draft

FORTY-THREE

JULIAN

“Babe, I’m about to come down your throat if you don’t stop.” I don’t want her to stop. Ever. The things this woman does to me has me twisted every which way. Harper on her knees is a fantasy come true. I’ve imagined those red lips around my cock more times than I care to admit. Combine that with her prideful grin and I’m done for. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me. Her mouth is ruthless, and I’m addicted. She takes my warning as encouragement, and holy hell, I want to yell her name, but I have an office full of people outside my door, and instead, I bit my lip.

When she licks her lips, it’s like any restraint I had is exhausted. I can’t help but pull her onto my lap and kiss her passionately. I want this mouth on me 24/7. Probably not reasonable or practical, but she scrambles my brain so hard that I want to live impractically.

“Gorgeous, you are my reward and punishment.” I stand her up and kiss the top of her head and make my way to mybathroom to clean up. I glance out the glass wall and say a little prayer that no one from another building saw us. I mean it when I say I don’t share.

When I rejoin Harper, she’s sitting at my desk, laptop out, and typing away. “What are you doing?” I put my head on her shoulder to get a peek at what she’s writing.

“Getting a few thoughts down while they’re fresh.” Her eyes never leave the screen. I’m amazed that she sucked me off and now acts like it never happened. How does she flip that switch?

I lean over her shoulder to remind her I’m still here and read what she’s writing. I can't help but chuckle at her intense focus as she recounts our recent playtime. Her eyes sparkle with excitement. “You really think Gavin Snow can string that many words together? Babe, he’s a hockey player. Words are not his strong suit. He’s better with his stick.”

Spinning in her chair, she glares at me in disapproval. “You’re saying your best friend, my brother, my roommate, can’t woo a woman with words?”

“Zac? Absolutely not.” I’m laughing as I open the door. “Thank you, Violet.” I take the delivery bag from her and close the door. “Come on, let’s eat and then work. I’m spent.” At that, she scoffs and rolls her eyes at me. And this is what I love about her. She doesn’t bat her eyes and kiss my ass. She gives it back to me.

Today, we’re writing the last few chapters of our book, and we don’t agree. Again. I’m glad she argues with me. She’s pushing me, us, to be better.

“Charlotte wouldn’t hide and lick her wounds,” she says. “She’d stand tall and kick him where it hurts.”

I swallow and almost choke on my sandwich. I gulp down my water and compose myself. Harper is unphased by my almost near-death experience and takes another bite of her salad. I give myself an internal high five that she didn’t change it or pickanything off. I pride myself on being a quick learner, but every time I think I’ve cracked her code, she throws me a curveball.

Case in point, this discussion about Charlotte. Harper’s my muse, so any character trait for Charlotte she corrects is often a piece of my Harper puzzle I’m working to complete. Once I can breathe again, I look at her for signs of teasing. There aren’t any, and I’m on high alert because I’m about to unlock a new insight into Harper. “What does that mean, exactly?”

She shrugs. “She’s a woman who knows what she brings to the table. That’s not conceit, but she’s not riddled with self-confidence issues. It also means she’s not afraid to fight. She’s not rolling over.” She pulls out her phone, searches for a song, hits play, and goes back to her salad.

Another fun Harper trait I admire is her connection to music. She has a song for almost every occasion or feeling at the ready. Some people communicate in movie quotes, Harper uses songs. I swear, her secondary communication style is music lyrics. She’s created a running playlist for our book that evokes the feelings or mood for each scene, chapter, or overall story. I tease her she’s creating a Broadway jukebox musical to accompany our book. I glance at her phone and see this song is called “Revenge.” This Pink song makes me want to protect the jewels.

I listen for a minute, trying not to get distracted by her humming along. The song is fun and poppy until you listen to the lyrics. I guess I’m grateful it’s not “Goodbye Earl.”

“What are you saying?” I can’t picture my sweet, champagne drinking, giggly girl fueled by revenge. It’s a contradiction. Again.

“I’m saying she’s going to go scorched earth for them. If it means she has to get loud to make him pay attention, well, then she’ll do it.” This woman excites me and terrifies me at the same time.

We work through the last few chapters, continuing to disagree about the ending. We’re both passionate and argue for what we want. I’m loving the give and take. Life isn’t perfect, although this feels pretty amazing right now. We’ll argue and fight in the future. That’s real life. But the growth happens when you work through it. And there I go, focusing on the future. Because when I look at Harper, that’s what I see.

We can’t settle on the ending. Harper wants a happy-for-now ending, and I want a solid happily ever after. No questions about whether they’ll be together in the future. Their story should be forever. I’m willing to wait her out, to see it my way. After all, I’ve got that forever perspective.

“I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we both write the last chapter, and we’ll let Professor Daniels decide?”

She bites her bottom lip and considers my proposal. “Maybe. Let’s swap first. Your words can be pretty persuasive. If we don’t agree, we’ll let an outside party decide.”

A knock on the door interrupts our discussion. “Mr. Decker, it’s time for your appointment with Logan Swindell.”

“Thank you, Violet. Will you have him wait in the conference room for me? I’ll be right there. Patrick can keep him company.” After nodding, she walks away, leaving the door open. She’s improving, but she’s still jumpy and always looks scared. I want to ask who hurt her, but I’m afraid that will freak her out.

“Well, Mr. Decker,” Harper mocks. “Looks like my work here is done. I have some writing to do before our flight tomorrow.” She packs up her laptop, and this parting feels very formal.

“Come here.” I tug her toward me.

“Your office. People can see,” she mumbles.

“Good, I want them to see how fucking happy you make me.”

CHAPTER

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