Page 52 of Emergency Exit
“Oh,” said Harper. “I guess that explains all those bags of shirts he donated.”
Stephanie glanced over her shoulder, and Harper followed her look to where Mason Richland was talking to Ash a few clusters of people away. Mason matched his wife in black, and Harper tried to decide if his shirt sleeves were folded back in a casual style or if he was intentionally trying to display the large watch on his wrist.
“Well,” drawled Stephanie, pulling Harper’s attention back to herself, “I hope you enjoy the clothes. It’s always nice to keep a little something when a relationship ends. Which it will, of course. I do hope you understand that. I’m not trying to be mean. I’m just not sure you understand the facts. Ash’s insistence on acting like he’s some sort of everyman is sweet, but he’s one of the wealthiest individuals on the West Coast, and you are… what now?” Harper opened her mouth to respond, but Stephanie held up her hand. “It doesn’t matter. The point is that you work for a living.”
“Ash works—”
“Ash creates investment opportunities. Our kind of peopleproduce money and jobs. You work for someone else. We are not the same. You can wear whatever designer you want, but everyone knows you don’t belong in the room.”
Harper had never heard anyone spell out the differences between the haves and the have-nots quite as clearly as Stephanie. The attitude was pervasive in Harper’s family. The unemployment of her mother and sister was a status symbol for the men in their lives, and working was an embarrassment. Cooper had said repeatedly that his wife also wouldn’t work. Until after the baseball game, Harper hadn’t realized that he had been talking about her. Harper had never been able to delineate where the lines were or why they existed. She only knew that she didn’t fit in. And now, thanks to Stephanie, she knew she never would—she liked her job and independence too much.
“Oh,” said Harper. “Thanks for explaining that.”
Stephanie blinked. “Glad I could help,” she said, then stared at Harper another moment. Harper stared back, not knowing what was expected of her. Stephanie gave a soft snort and stalked away.
Harper hurried toward Ash, suddenly anxious to leave, but slowed down as she approached. Mason had his arm around Ash’s shoulders, pulling him away from the crowd. Ash was twirling his phone by the pop socket attached to the back, which Harper knew meant he was uncomfortable.
“Look, Ash,” said Mason, and Harper hesitated. They weren’t looking at her, and now it felt like she was eavesdropping. “I know things have been awkward since you and Emma broke up.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry,” said Ash. “I just didn’t want to put you in the middle.”
“I appreciate that, but bros before hos or whatever.”
“What?”
“Sorry, I’m on my third glass of shitty wine. What I’m attempting to say is that just because you and Emma broke up doesn’t mean we’re not friends. And it also doesn’t mean that you need to delete me from your contact list.”
“I haven’t!”
“Really? Then why am I just now hearing about the Miller Project? You know that’s totally in my wheelhouse!”
“I’m not sending that one to anyone. It’s strictly vetting.”
“Well, send me the research! You know I can help. I’ve got three grad students this year. I’m barely grading anything. I’ve got loads of time.”
“Uh, well.” Ash’s phone made another flip. Harper didn’t know what the Miller Project was, but Mason was making Ash epically uncomfortable.
“And to be honest, this thing with Steph’s Dad is putting us in a bit of a bind.”
“Hey, baby!” said Harper.Babywas their code word. They both hated the nickname. Ash thought it sounded basic, and Harper thought it weird to refer to a romantic partner as an infant. If one of them used it, the other was supposed to immediately offer to leave.
“Oh,” said Mason, looking her up and down.
“Smoak,” Ash said, stepping away from Mason. “There you are. Mason, you remember Harper?”
“Didn’t think she was here tonight.”
Ash snapped the pop socket closed on his phone with a sharp click as he dropped it into his pocket.
“Have you had it up to your eyebrows in the creative hors d’oeuvres?” he asked Harper, holding out his hand. Harper took it, and he gave her fingers a squeeze. “Time to make a break for it?”
“I think we’re closing in on our reservation time,” said Harper.
They never had reservations to anywhere. Ash usually just bribed his way into a table.
“Right. Mason, sorry, we have to run. I’ll call you next week.” He began to back toward the exit, pulling Harper with him.
“I’ll text Romeo,” said Mason. “I know you won’t remember.”
