Of Happiness (14 page)

The slamming of the driver door causes me to jump back, breathing heavily.

“Does this guy not see we’re busy?” Harris mutters, yanking me back to his side.

“Sorry?” the driver says hesitantly from the front seat.

“Nothing!” Harris barks, then takes a deep, unsteady breath. “We’re fine, thanks. We’ll just go to our next destination now.”

Pressing my face to his neck, I attempt to smother my smile.

“You think this is funny,” he says in his dark, teasing way.

“Kind of.”

One hand slithers around my lower back, reaching my ass and giving it a squeeze.

“Harris!”

“No laughing,” he growls, then captures my mouth in his, nibbling at my lower lip.  “You taste like cheddar cheese,” he mumbles against my mouth.

Placing my palms on his chest, I shove the playful Harris backward. “Where to next?”

“You’ll see.” He tugs his phone from his denim pocket and begins texting again.

“You know, Sarah said she’s with her family this weekend. She probably won’t have time to see us,” I tell him casually.

“Sure.”

“Are you listening?”

His head snaps up, one eyebrow raised. “Yes, you don’t think we’re going to see Sarah. I can neither confirm nor deny that assessment.”

“You can, but you won’t.”

My phone jingles again.

Sean: Are you out of the sex den yet? I want to hang out.

Eddie: Harris surprised me with a trip to D.C.! I’ll be back tomorrow. Maybe dinner on Monday?

Sean: D.C.! He’s obsessed with you! Monday works, love you, girly!

“Obsessed sounds like I’m on the verge on jail time. I prefer to think of this as demonstrating how precious you are to me,” Harris whispers into my ear. I shiver against the trail of his breath along the delicate skin. With a touch of his fingertip, he turns my chin, so we’re face to face.

My eyes flutter closed. “I know,” I say softly, my lips brushing against his as I speak. “Thank you for saying those words and showing me that you mean them.”

Tap, tap, tap.
Jumping back, I realize that the car has stopped and Patrick is lingering outside of the passenger door.

“This guy is not going to disrupt us again,” Harris snaps. He raises his hand to the column of my throat, cupping it lightly. “One more,” he demands, kissing me forcefully. There’s another tap to the window, making me break away bashfully.

Harris turns, and shoves the door open. “Do you understand the meaning of discreet?” he barks as he climbs out of the car.

“Oh, um,” Patrick stammers.

I scramble out my seat and join Harris outside in the oppressive heat. He’s at his full height, several inches over Patrick. “Our things were already delivered?” he asks the driver abruptly.

“Yes, sir,” Patrick says shortly.

“We’ll see you at seven tonight.”

“Thank you,” I call over my shoulder, offering a weak smile. “You can be very possessive,” I tell him as we travel through the wide double doors of a hotel. Before we enter the building, I glance at the plaque outside designating the North West Park Hotel. I’d heard about this property before I moved to Chicago; it’s a newly renovated, rebranded boutique hotel in the thick of the posh Georgetown neighborhood.

“And to think, it’s one of the things you like most about me,” Harris muses when we reach the front desk.

I swat his chest. “Right.”

“Mr. Grant, welcome to the North West Park,” a young man wearing a dark navy suit standing at the white marble desk says when we pause in front of him.

“Hello,” Harris says smoothly. “Edith and I are thrilled to be here.”

“Is this your first time in D.C.?” he asks eagerly.

“My girlfriend grew up here, so I have the perfect tour guide.”

“Well, if you need any recommendations—”

“As you know we’re only here for one night, so we don’t have time for too many superfluous activities.”

The man nods knowingly at Harris, though his eyes still sparkle excitedly. “You’re accommodations are waiting. You’ll be in staying in our penthouse suite.” 

“And our bags are waiting for us?”

“Yes, sir. May I show you to your room?”

“I’m sure we’ll find the room just fine.” Harris lays his credit card on the desk, drumming his fingers on top of it impatiently.

The attendant appears surprised by Harris’ snappy behavior, then quickly arranges his features into a neutral expression. “Of course.” He swipes the card on a device attached to the computer monitor, murmuring something about incidentals. Quickly he creates two magnetic keys and slips them into leather holders.

Harris face relaxes into a grin. “Sorry to be abrupt. I’m anxious to spend time with my girl.”

The front desk man nods knowingly, now smiling at us. “No problem, Mr. Grant. The elevators are behind you and to the right. You’ll need to use the key in the elevator to access your floor.”

“Thanks.” Harris accepts his credit card and the key holders, and we turn away from the desk and cross across the wood plank floors to the wide elevator bank.

“Mr. Grant, traveling with you is like being with a celebrity,” I goad him.

Harris shakes his head with a smirk twisting his lips. He steers me into the elevator, leaning down to nip at my neck.

“Stop!” I gasp, laughing.

“Play nicely,” he teases. Harris presses the button next to the top floor, then slides his arm around my waist. I lean my head against his shoulder, inhaling a relaxed breath.

The elevator dings and the doors glide open, revealing a dimly lit hallway flanked by large, colorful paintings. At the end of the floor is a tall, royal blue door. “Modern, hm?” Harris comments.

I slip my hand into his pocket and steal the keys. With my hip, I nudge him out of the way and use it to open the door.

“Hey,” he mutters, wrapping an arm around my waist and lifting me off my feet. “That was my job.”

 I erupt in giggles as he pushes open the door, carrying me over the threshold. He releases me and then twirls my body around.

“You have two choices,” he says gruffly. “Take a nap or go for a walk.”

“Only those choices?” I ask huskily, clasping my hands around his neck and brushing my chest against his.

 “Promised myself I wouldn’t keep you hidden in this hotel room all day, and Jane’s appointments for you will be here in three hours.”

“There’s a lot we can do in three hours.” I kick off my sandals, wrapping a pointed toe around Harris’ calf. His hands fall to my hips as if drawn by magnetic force.

“Baby,” he groans with a pained expression, pressing his forehead into mine. I wiggle my hips closer to his when a vibrating cell phone cuts into the moment. He releases my body and digs into his pocket to answer the buzzing device.

“I’m sorry, baby, this is about our plans for tonight,” he explains as he stalks across the room and accepts the phone call. While he talks quietly, I can hardly hear what he’s saying; I survey our surroundings. The room is decorated in shades of blue and gray, down to the bright blue drapes covering the windows. There’s a large living room and dining area with windows overlooking the outside city. Harris perches next to a window, studying the city as he speaks. I continue my exploration, finding a bedroom with a gigantic blue platform bed. There’s no sound indicating Harris has ended his phone call, so I begin to unpack our suitcases, which are already at the foot of the bed.  By the time I’ve hung his suit, my cocktail dress, and lined our shoes up in the closet, he’s still unavailable.

The bed reminds me how little I slept last night. I decide to wait for him in the middle of the lush duvet. When he’s off the phone I’ll take him to my favorite frozen yogurt shop, just a few streets away. I crawl into the center of the mattress, lie down on my side, and tuck my hands underneath my cheek. Several sleepy blinks later and I drift off into a relaxed slumber.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” His gravelly voice pulls me from the comforts of my nap.

“Harris?”

A fingertip traces the apple of my cheek, sliding down the length of my neck and the curve of my shoulder. “It appears that I’m not letting you get enough rest.”

My eyes drift open lazily. Harris leans across the bed, gazing down at me with unmasked affection.

“I wanted to show you around a little. Do we have any time?” I raise my arms above my body in a languid stretch.

He wraps his long fingers around my exposed ankle, tugging me closer to him.

“I couldn’t wake you; you looked too peaceful.”

I push myself up into a seated position and pout. “So that’s a no?”

“There are two women dressed completely in black on the other side of that wall, waiting for you. I ordered food while you were sleeping.” He lifts his thumb and strokes it across my lower lip.

“Will you stay here while I’m getting ready?”

With a firm kiss to my forehead, he pulls me to my feet, leading me toward the door. “Yes, catching up on emails.”

Two young women (one in a dress, one in pants and a tank top) have set up a makeshift salon around the six-person silver dining room table. An array of hair tools and products are laid on one end of the table. Next to the hair supplies is a plate with a sandwich and fruit salad like Harris promised, and a chair facing a giant mirror hanging on the wall. On the other end of the table, the makeup artist spread out dozens of compacts, applicators, and brushes.

“Hi,” I say tentatively as I cross the room. “Eddie.” I offer them both a short handshake.

“I’m Morgan and I’ll be doing your hair,” says the girl in the black dress.

“And I’m Cora, makeup,” the one wearing pants informs me after we’ve shook.

“We’ll start with hair,” Morgan informs me, immediately taking charge. “What did you have in mind?”       

“Um, I don’t really have anything in mind.” I shoot a look to Harris who is buried in his emails. As though he feels my gaze, his eyes flicker up to mine and he smiles reassuringly. “I’ve never had my hair or makeup done professionally.”

“Then we are going to have the best time,” Morgan gushes as she eyes the length of my body.

“Can we see what you’re wearing?” Cora asks enthusiastically.

“Sure,” I murmur, slightly overwhelmed by their energy and my post-nap mental cobwebs.

They follow me into the bedroom and I extract my outfit. The dress I selected at Claude’s shop is a deep green, A-line style. The neckline is a high halter and the back fabric drapes down the sides of the gown, gathering at the top. It’s elegant, but flirty with a short hemline. Later I’ll pair it with a pair of beige sandals and leather clutch.

“Stunning!” Morgan enunciates, so it sounds like she split the word into two.

“Deep green.” Cora crosses her arms over her chest, studying the dress, then my face. “I know just what colors will compliment.”

Back in the living room, Morgan seats me in the chair facing the mirror. I pluck the fork off a folded napkin and begin nibbling at the fruit. Morgan pulls the elastic out of my braid, freeing my hair around my shoulders.

“It’s sort of kinky; I didn’t have time to do anything with it when I washed it this morning.” I lift a hand to the sloppy tresses.

“That’s fine. With that dress, a messy updo will work, unless you prefer to wear your hair down?”

“You’re the expert. I trust you,” I say, meeting her gaze in the mirror. She grins back, friendly. She springs into action, running a brush through my hair and clipping several sections. Cora plops down into the chair adjacent to mine; she crosses her legs.

“Where are you guys from?” she asks as Morgan wraps strands of my hair around a curling iron.

“Actually, I grew up in Arlington. About a month ago I moved to Chicago.”

Morgan pauses mid-curl, studying me with concentrated effort. “This probably makes me sound like a stalker, but you look so familiar.” She resumes curling for a few moments. Then the question bursts out of her, “I know! I think we may have met at a birthday party once. Did you date Jared Gordon?” As soon as the words are out, Morgan’s face morphs into a chagrined expression.

My instantaneous reflex is to jerk my body around and catch Harris’ reaction, but I keep steady in place because I don’t want to get burned with the iron. I watch my cheeks turn a rosy red in the mirror. Jared’s not my or Harris’ favorite topic.

“For a little while.” I try to kill the conversation by lifting the sandwich and taking an enormous bite, but the makeup artist cuts in.

“Morg,” Cora hisses, “manners much?”

“I don’t know why I brought that up. I’m so sorry,” Morgan apologizes, her hands hovering above my head.

Harris chuckles from somewhere behind us, “My girlfriend loves alliteration,” he says conversationally. After a pause he adds, “Luckily for me, she got rid of the ex-boyfriend.”

Morgan noticeably relaxes and begins placing curls into my hair again.

Cora drops the volume of her voice, “This is totally unprofessional of me to say, but your boyfriend redefines the word hot.”

I don’t lower my voice. I keep it at a normal level, so Harris can hear me, if he’s listening. “And he’s all mine.”