Page 9 of The Final Draft

My calendar is relatively light tomorrow. A quick message to Violet and now it’s all clear. It’s times like this that I relish being my own boss.

It’s late, but now that I have a free day, I want to keep my momentum going. The only way to do that is to get to know Harper better. After all, she’s my muse and if I want to nail this character, then I need to know her inside and out.

Coffee with me in the morning?

Twenty minutes later, she responds.

I don’t drink coffee.

Who doesn’t drink coffee? I can’t imagine starting my day without my morning caffeine.

How do you function without coffee?

I manage.

Can I take you to breakfast then? No coffee, but maybe some orange juice?

I only drink orange juice if there’s champagne in it.

I can’t take it. Her texts are coy and maddening. This is why I prefer old-fashioned verbal conversations. Texts require interpretation. I don’t know if she’s serious or teasing me, but I find myself smiling despite it all. Maybe it’s her sass? It’s not often I find a woman who challenges me. It’s contrary, and I kinda like it. But she hasn’t said yes to meeting me tomorrow, either.

I know this magnificent cafe that serves the best mimosas in the city.

Oh, do share.

I will. Get ready for an awesome breakfast tomorrow!

Sorry, I’ve convinced Zac to try yoga with me, and his first class is tomorrow. I need to be a good role model.

She does yoga? My dick appreciates the vision of her in the perfect downward dog. Bet she’s flexible and bendy, and I picture how that translates to other parts of her life.

I didn’t realize dog walker job descriptions included yoga consultations. I may have to get a dog.

Not the first time I’ve heard that tonight! Harvard wants a dog so I’ll keep cooking for him.

Harvard? Cooking? It’s like she’s talking in code, and I need the key. Was she on a date tonight? Is that why she said no to me? But she cooked? All I know is I want to keep her talking. Texting. Whatever. I want more Harper.

I have an unexpected day off tomorrow. Let’s drink champagne and I’ll show you around the city.

The dots appear and disappear for the next five minutes. The anticipation for her response rivals sitting through a draft with my clients. I don’t get it. Why is she indecisive when it comes to me? And why am I one hundred percent certain about her?

You had me at champagne.

Yes! I do a fist pump in the air. My yell echoes in my penthouse and catches me off guard, acutely aware of the quiet. I want to change that.

Should I come to you to avoid another subway mishap?

If I had it my way, she wouldn’t ever ride the subway again, but I can’t be overbearing. I’ve learned that from my younger sister, Ashleigh. Girls with overprotective brothers don’t seeprotection as an attractive quality. Keep them safe without them being acutely aware of your intentions. It’s a difficult balance that I’ve worked on for years with Ash.

Sure. I’ll send you the address. I have yoga and work to do in the morning. Noon?

Great! Noon it is. See you then.

I’m not surprised her Tribeca apartment building has a doorman. Lawson would prioritize her safety because she isn’t affording this place on a dog walker’s salary, that’s for sure. I give the doorman my name, and he informs me I’m not on the list. Harper probably isn’t used to building protocols, so I shoot her a text.

I’m here. You didn’t leave my name with the doorman.

The phone rings at the desk, there’s a quick conversation, then I’m directed to the elevators and the sixth floor. I knock, the door opens, but it’s not Harper’s sexy smile and painted red lips greeting me. Instead, I’m facing a scowling, shirtless hockey player.

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