Waiting for Prince Harry (15 page)

I pull out my purse, drop my phone back in it, and put it away. I pause in the employee restroom and stare at my reflection. The tenseness is out of my face after texting with Harrison, and the thought of seeing him tonight.

I see the color in my cheeks and the way my dark brown eyes are sparkling. I look different when I connect with him, even if it is through a simple exchange of text messages. Radiant. Happy. Confident, even.

You’re changing me, Harrison Flynn
, I think, peering in the mirror.
I’m already different because of you.

I turn to go out on to the show floor and undo all the hideous work Mona has done yesterday. It’s so weird. Harrison is not the kind of man I ever envisioned having in my life. Ever.

But now that he’s here—and even though Harrison has only been a part of it for a short while—I can’t imagine my life without him in it.

Luckily we’re on the same page as seeing where this could go. Harrison isn’t playing a game with me. And last night only strengthened our bond. We match intellectually. We see each other’s gifts and support each other. And our physical chemistry is off the charts . . .

I drag a stool over to a mannequin and begin to take off the summer clothing on it.
No, we are building a future
, I think excitedly. These are the first steps toward something really wonderful and amazing and with a man who makes me feel absolutely complete.

And there is nothing,
absolutely nothing
, that will derail that.

Chapter 18

The Pop Quiz Question:
Your man is visiting you at work. How do you feel about this?

A) Work is off-limits.

B) As long as it is brief, I’m good with it.

C) Seeing him here is definitely the brightest spot in my day.

The day is absolutely crawling by.

I glance at my watch. Only one-thirty in the afternoon. Harrison is going to meet me at my place tonight so we can start sketching out renovation ideas for the current project, and I’m going to take all his papers for both house projects and organize them for him.

If we can manage to focus on work
, I think, my cheeks growing hot.
Because all I can think about is kissing him—among other things—right now.

I slip a black tank top over a female mannequin, adjusting it carefully at the bottom, taking the fabric and scrunching it around the stomach area. It’s amazing, but after texting Harrison this morning, the anxiety of the paparazzi just fell away. I have this buzzing, electric feeling inside, and all I can think about is seeing him again.

It’s like Harrison is my favorite song, stuck on a loop in my head, every detail of him etched in my mind. His voice, his spicy vanilla scent, his laugh, the way he touches me—

KNTF.
Kylie Needs To Focus
.

On something other than Harrison. 

I clear my throat and go back to work. I layer the piece with a lightweight ivory cardigan, perfect for the College Launch display. I’m just adjusting the sleeves when I hear heels clicking against the tiled floor.

I glance over my shoulder, expecting to see a customer.

But instead I see Laurel leading Harrison over to me.

I turn around, my pulse skyrocketing at the unexpected sight of him.

Laurel gives me a knowing look as they reach me.

“Here she is, Harrison,” Laurel says, a tone of irritation creeping into her voice. She cocks her head to one side, her long, jet-black hair cascading over her shoulder.

“I don’t think I like that cardigan,” she says pointedly.

I stare at her, wrinkling my brow. What? Is she kidding? She didn’t say that when I showed her the outfits I planned for College Launch this week.

“In fact, it’s rather uninspiring,” Laurel continues, cocking her head to the other side, as if she’s seriously debating the merits of my selection. “Boring, actually.”

Suddenly I get what she is doing. She’s making me look stupid in front of Harrison.

You’re such a bitch
, I think, staring at her.

“I’ll change it,” I say, not even bothering to defend myself. What’s the point? She’s the manager, right?

“Good,” Laurel says. Then she gives me a fake smile. “And, Kylie, you’ve already had your lunch break, and your afternoon break is later, so let’s not spend more time off the clock with drop-in visitors, okay?”

Then, before I can say anything, she turns and strolls away.

I feel my face turn red in embarrassment. I glance at Harrison, who is standing next to me. He’s pissed. I can see it in the way his jaw is set and his eyes are burning into the back of Laurel’s head. And before I can even say a word, Harrison jumps in.

“Laurel?” Harrison says.

Laurel turns around, her brow creased. “Yes?”

“Yesterday I dropped nearly $1,000 in this boutique. I will be spending close to another $5,000 to $6,000 to replace my formalwear after my house was damaged. Pretty nice numbers, don’t you agree?” Harrison says pointedly.

Laurel blinks. “Um, yes, we greatly appreciate your business, Mr. Flynn.”

I want to laugh.
Ha
, she’s calling him Mr. Flynn now!

“Then I suggest you let me have a few minutes with Ms. Reed,” Harrison says firmly. “Or you’ll be explaining to the owner why I wrote her a letter detailing all the purchases I made at Neiman Marcus instead of at Boutique Dallas.”

I watch as Laurel’s face begins to take on a nice shade of pink.

“Um, yes.”

“Glad we’ve this cleared up then,” Harrison says, nodding at her.

Laurel doesn’t say anything, but just slinks away. Then Harrison turns to me.

“Don’t let her fuck with you like that, Kylie,” Harrison says quietly. “If you push back, she’ll stop this shit.”

I exhale. “I know you’re right but—”

“But you can’t do that yet, can you?” Harrison interrupts.

“I just can’t. Not right now.” Then I shake my head. “But what are you doing here? You’re still coming over tonight, right?”

“Yeah, but I wanted to talk to you about something,” Harrison says. He looks down at his iPhone, swipes a few things, and then turns it around so I can see it.

It’s a picture of me from this morning, when the paparazzi were snapping my photos as I walked to work.

I swallow hard as I see them. Oh God, they’re already out. I study myself, looking very serious and miserable in these pictures. My stomach lurches as I look at the image captured on his phone. I’m sure the Flynnbabes have deemed me a boring, pinched, sad persona who is not worthy of Harrison Flynn based on these awful photos.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this, Kylie?” he asks, confusion in his voice.

I stare up at him and see nothing but concern etched on his handsome face. I clear my throat and speak from my heart. “You had enough to deal with this morning,” I say softly. “It wasn’t worth bothering you about.”

Harrison puts his hands on my shoulders. “No. Not true. I told you to tell me when things bother you, Kylie. That’s paramount to us building something together. You
have
to tell me when you’re upset. Please, promise me you’ll do that. Promise me.”

“Harrison, it wasn’t bad,” I lie. “I’m . . . I’m just not used to it.”

“Your face tells a different story,” Harrison says. “You . . . you look terrified.”

I swallow hard and avert my eyes from his.

“Were you scared? Did they get aggressive? Because if they did, I will fucking shut down on the media,” Harrison says, his words coming out quickly, almost as if he’s afraid of what I’m going to say. “Two can play this game. And if they bother you, I will become the most un-accessible asshole athlete on the face of the fucking earth.”

I turn and look at him, and I know he’s serious. Harrison would totally trash his reputation—his hard-won, well-known persona as an accessible, fun, intelligent interview—to protect me.

And I won’t let him do it.

“I’m fine,” I say, moving my hands to his chest. “It’s done. And next time I’ll remember to smile.”

Harrison’s deep green eyes search mine. I can tell he’s trying to make sure I am telling the truth. That I’m okay.

And as I’m here, with his arms now locked around my waist, I’m telling him the truth. I’m okay right now. He doesn’t need to know anything else.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say, smiling at him. “So are you still coming over tonight?”

I see Harrison visibly relax. He grins at me, that beautiful smile that he shares only with me.

“Are you kidding? Of course. I’m dying to see how you are going to color code and organize my life with dozens of files and twenty different-colored markers.”

I begin laughing, and he does too.

“I’m seriously going to do that, you know.”

“Oh I know. I’ve seen your room, remember?”

I laugh. “Wanna come over around six? I can make dinner.”

Harrison cocks an eyebrow. “Can you?”

“Okay, so maybe I know a really good place where we can order Thai takeout.”

Harrison laughs. “Wicked good.” Then he gives me a peck on the lips. “I’m going before I have to spend $10,000 to keep talking to you. Not that I wouldn’t do that, of course.”

I really do forget that Harrison could drop $10,000 in a clothing store and not even notice the money is gone. While I get excited if I find a $5 bill left in a pair of jeans when I’m doing laundry.

“No, no need for that,” I say, although the idea of him hanging around longer is very, very tempting.

“All right. I’ll see you tonight,” Harrison says, taking my hand in his and squeezing it tightly. “And remember, if something bothers you—”

“I’m to tell you,” I finish for him. “I will, Harrison.”

“Okay, I won’t bring it up again,” Harrison says, flashing me a blinding smile that makes my heart jump. “Later, Gorgeous.”

“Bye,” I say. I watch him walk through the store, my heart pounding inside my chest.

When he exits, I exhale and turn back to my mannequin.
I did tell him the truth
, I think.
I will tell him if something bothers me.

But only if it is really serious and worth bothering him about.

And with that thought in my head, I get back to work.

“So what I have here,” I say, flipping open a binder I have created for Harrison’s home renovation project, “is everything to organize for the renovation project. This—”

“Where did you get this?” Harrison interrupts.

I furrow my brow. We’re sitting on my sofa, and I’m showing him how I’m going to organize both the home renovation and the home reconstruction projects.

“The binder? At an office supply store.”

“No,” Harrison says, shaking his head. “This fabric. This is a Spanish print.” He taps the outside of the binder, which I have covered in a Spanish-tiled print fabric.

“Oh,” I say, smiling at him. “I found some Spanish prints online. I ordered it for the binder after I saw your house. Just to make it more personable, you know.”

Harrison’s eyes light up. “Funny, when you think of me you thought of Spain. Most people would have slapped a Dallas Demon sticker on the front and called it a day.”

I watch as he absently rubs his jaw line with his fingertips.

“That’s not who you are to me,” I say quietly. “That’s like the smallest part of you I know.”

“Well, you might not get to know that part this season at all, depending on the labor meetings.”

I pause. Harrison is bringing this up. I decide to tread into those waters and see how he reacts.

“Maybe you can look at this as an opportunity,” I say cautiously. “If you’re locked out, you can explore some things you are passionate about. Like psychology.”

Harrison shakes his head. “That ship has sailed, Kylie. I never even took the SAT.”

I pause for a moment. I can’t even imagine that, not taking the SAT because college just wasn’t going to be an option.
Everyone
I know has taken that test and gone to college.

But Harrison has a completely different life experience,
I think, studying his profile. This doesn’t mean it’s wrong, or that he has somehow underachieved, because nothing could be further from the truth. Harrison just took a different path to become the intelligent, generous, talented man sitting next to me.

“Good God, you really did color code this,” Harrison says, flicking through the binder tabs and changing the subject. “And there are pockets for documents, swatches—” Harrison raises his eyebrows. “I’m going to have to carry around swatches?”

I burst out laughing. “Yes. You’ll have loads of swatches. And paint samples, and countertop samples.”

Harrison picks up the other binder I did—in the same print, but the colors reversed, and flips through that, too. “Impressive work.”

“Thank you,” I say, happy that he likes everything I’ve done.

“I do have to say, however, that I find your second choice of fabric
uninspiring
. Boring, actually.”

I stare at him, and Harrison grins.

“You’re awful,” I cry in mock anger.

“Am I now?” He laughs.

“Yes!” I giggle. I reach over to push him on the arm, but he quickly closes his hand over my wrist and pulls me closer to him.

I inhale his scent, the warm spices and vanilla that linger oh-so-sexily on his golden skin, and gaze up into his eyes.

“I find myself suddenly
inspired
,” he says sexily, “to do this.”

Then his mouth is on mine, his lips easing mine open in a slow and sensual kiss.

Mmmmmmm. I never want to stop kissing this man. Never, never, never.

Suddenly I hear a key in the door lock. I immediately push myself back and rub my fingertips over my lips.

“Gretchen is back,” I say, picking the binder back up and shifting it on to my lap to look busy.

Harrison grins mischievously at me. “This is like being in high school. Should I give you a hickey so it looks like we were really going at it?”

“Shut up!” I cry, my cheeks instantly growing hot at the thought. Harrison starts laughing, and I toss a throw pillow at him just as Gretchen steps through the door. She is saddled down with canvas grocery bags and a look of surprise passes over her face as she sees Harrison with me.

“Oh!” Gretchen says, stopping. “Hi!”

“Let me help you,” Harrison says, getting off the couch and immediately walking over to her. I watch as he gallantly takes all her bags out of her hands. “I’m Harrison.”

“Gretchen,” she says, amazement seeping into her voice. “And thank you.”

“Sure.” Harrison easily lifts the heavy totes into our small kitchen. “Do you have more downstairs? I’ll get them for you.”

Gretchen nods. “I do, but really I can go get them—”

“Nah, I’ll be happy to get them for you. I hear you are responsible for feeding my girlfriend so it’s the least I can do,” Harrison says, flashing me a brilliant smile as he says “girlfriend.”

Oh God, I am so falling head over heels for this man.