𝕲𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝕳𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝕯𝖎𝖆𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖉𝖘

ᏒᎥᏋᏝ

"I need a date," I complain to Rina.

It's been around a month now, and the good Dr. Diaz is clearly not going to call me. I can't believe the jerk took my number, and not even text me.

"I already have someone in mind," Rina says. "How do feel about guys outside your race?"

"I don't know," I answer. "I can appreciate a man from any race, but dating them is a different question."

"Riel," Rina sighs. "You're no longer in the backwoods of Connecticut. You're in New York, so drop the small town mentality, and be open to all the different flavors of men." She grabs my shoulder, as if she could shake what's she's saying into my head.

"Fine," I laugh, taking my coffee from the Tim Hortons' barista. "I guess . . . I won't knock it until I've tried it."

She gets her coffee, and we leave shop to head back to the office.

"Now, that you've agreed to diversify your dating pool," Rina says. "I can finally set you up with my really cute next door neighbor."

"What is he like?" I ask her.

"He's bit of a nerd, but charming," she lists off the top of her head. "He might be wearing a cardigan when you meet him, but trust me, you won't be disappointed with the body it filling out. And, you'll get to distract yourself from that thing you've for our boss."

I pause at the foot of the pedestrian crossing. "I don't have a thing for our boss." I tell her.

"Hmm," Rina smirks.

"I don't have a thing for Mr. Harlow." I lie, knowing full well that the only reason I'm even considering dating is to convince myself to stop having the hots for the man.

"Okay," she smirks. "You don't have a thing for Mr. Harlow. And, you're totally not blushing just thinking about him."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I tell her.

"You can't deny it," she sings, skipping into the office building.

"I'm not listening to you," I say to her.

"If you say so," she grins. "But I'm starting a support group for all the girls and gays in this office suffering from one–sided love for Shaw Harlow. You should join."

"Shut up," I laugh in turn.

Rina is walking close at my side, when a frantic man rushes through the tight space between us. He yells a what's troubling as he exits the office. "I don't know how anyone can work with that man."

"Isn't that the quality assurance specialist Harlow just hired?" Rina asks.

Before I know could answer her, a bunch of employees are crowding out of the elevator in a panic.

"What's happening?" I ask Hank, one of the guys that works on the product design team.

"Harlow isn't happy with the new line of fragrances for men," Hank sighs, "he's firing anyone that comes a feet near of him. Even the execs are hiding." Hank scrams

to his desk.

"I don't think I should go up there," Rina pauses at the foot of the elevator. "I can't afford to get fired. This job is putting too big a dent in my student loans for me to lose it."

She follows after Hank.

I think to go into hiding with the rest of the flock, but my phone starts flashing Harlow's number across the screen.

"Hello?" I answer the call.

"Where are you?" Harlow breathes into the phone.

"In the elevator," I answer.

"You'd better find yourself off the damn elevator, and in my office," he yells before the line goes dead.

I can't believe the audacity this man has yelling at me, after I fed him soup with my own two hands.

I take a slow, steady breath, reminding myself that I want him to be my angry boss and nothing more. His anger creates a safe boundary between us. In his anger, he'll throw a sharp word or two my way, and I'll use the sting to cover up these pesky affections I have towards him.

I take a quick glance in the elevator's mirror, nerves buzzing. Hair—check. Teeth—good. Outfit — sharp.

I smooth out an imaginary wrinkle, tilt my head, and try a smile that doesn't look too forced. I should look effortless, like I'm not overthinking every small detail. One last deep breath, and I do a one–eighty, hoping I look the right amount of "accidentally prefect".

"What's wrong with you?" I ask myself, as I spin back to face my reflection.

I'm acting like a middle schooler who's about to go in front of their crush.

Everyone in the office is running, and hiding from this man. And, I'm heading in his direction with a million

chrysalides in my stomach, ready to hatch into adult butterflies the very moment he takes a glance at me.

"No warm feelings," I couch myself. "You're going to go into that office, and take Shaw Harlow to task. He can't just fire hardworking people on a whim."

Scold him now, swoon over him later.

With my pep talk in mind, I walk into his office.

"Why did you just fire twenty percent of the people in this building?" I ask him, while his back is turned to me.

"Because they're stupid," he grumbles. "And, stupid people can't produce the results I need."

He turns around, and the polo he's wearing tightens against the swing of his strong chest. I tug my collar, my temperature rising, as I remember groping that very same chest of his in Central Park.

"No one's stupid," I say to him . "You're just not giving them a chance to impress you, because you're too busy picking apart their mistakes."

"You're giving me advice on running my company?" He advances across the office. "Giving me a lecture on how to deal with the employees that I pay for ? "

I step back as he draws closer, and closer to me until I find myself pressed against the cold glass wall.

"No, that's definitely not what I'm doing," I tell him.

"What are you doing then?" He asks.

My heart is pounding, he's angry. Earlier, I had lied to myself — I don't want him tossing sharp words at me, I don't think I can brave that deep of a cut on my heart.

Harlow is short–tempered, and quick to throw around insults, but he's the same man that made me stain his thousand dollar shirt crying about my family. He's the man that said he would make the universe agree for my stake. I should stop. I'm putting his words in my own context. Fooling myself into thinking he's my knight in shining armor. He's engaged. He probably just sees me as some blundering PA that has gotten overly involved themselves in his life, and work. The only reason that I'm not in the twenty percent of people he just fired is probably just him being grateful to me for helping him to get back on his feet after the heart attack.

"I'm asking you not to take away people's jobs, because they make mistakes like the human beings they are," I finally answer his question.

Harlow takes hold of my hand, and I'm sure he is about to throw my ass of his office, but instead he is drawing

something out of his pocket, and closing it around my wrist.

"Okay," he says. "I won't fire them."

He walks back to his chair, nonchalantly like he hadn't just fasten a watch with actual diamonds on my wrist.

"Sir?" I lift my hand in his view. "You left this watch on hand."

He laughs loudly. "I didn't leave it. Left, implies that I lost it, and didn't it, I gave the watch to its owner."

"But I'm not its owner," I explain.

He has me confused with the person that could afford a watch with diamond for its numerals.

"You're," he says. "I bought it for you. So you own the watch now. That's how gifts work."

"Mr. Harlow," I say. "You can't give me this watch."

"Why not?" He asks.

"I'm your assistant," I remind him. "I'm not supposed to get gifts from you." I touch the buckle of the watch, thinking to take the it and give it back to him.

"Don't even think about it." He shouts, not looking up from the notepad he writing on.

"Sir," I exhale. "I can't accept it."

"Why?" He gets out of his seat, comes back over to me, and refastens the buckle of the watch so it sits snuggly on my wrist. "You don't like it?" He asks. "I should've kept it simple with a Cartier or Rolex instead of the Patek . . ."

"No," I say. "I like it – it's a beautiful watch. Thank you for even thinking about gifting it to me, but I just can't accept it."

"I'm not accepting you not accepting it," he leaves my hand, and goes back to his seat. "And, you don't have the time to argue with me about it. You've until the end of the day to help the people I just fired to correct their mistakes before they're out of a job permanently."

"But you just said you wouldn't fire them," I reminded him.

"Yes," he says. "And, I expect that by the end of today you'll convince me why that was the right decision."

He hands me the notepad, and I read the long list of the problems he has with the new product launch.

"Stop staring at the notepad," he groans. "I gave you a job to do — so go do it."

"Okay," I hold the notepad under my arm.

I won't be able to convince him about anything when he's already made up his mind.

"And Summers?" His call stops me before I leave out of his office.

"Yes sir?"

"Don't leave the office without telling me first," he says.

"Sure," I agree, just so I could get out of his hair.

Before a fifth of the employees in the building started emptying out their desks, I call an emergency meeting in the conference room.

"Why did you call us here?" Truman, the team lead for research & development asks me.

"I'd like to know as well," the rest of the employees join in a chorus of questions. "Some of us, have jobs to start looking for . . ."

"I know that Mr. Harlow has fired half of the people in here," I say. "But we have until the end of today to save everyone's jobs."

"Just how do you plan to do that?" Truman scoffs.

"If you'd let me talk," I hiss at him. "Harlow gave me a list of his issues with the new product launch. And I'm sure if all of us here put our heads together, we'll come up with the fix Harlow needs to let everyone keep their jobs."

"Us?" Truman laughs smugly. "You want the people in this room to work with you? We all have degrees from some of the best universities in the country, and you're asking us to listen to someone that doesn't even have a degree from a community college."

"You  really don't have to work with me," I show him the door. "You're welcome to leave."

I try not to let Truman's insult shake my nerves, and move on with the meeting.

"Harlow has a long list of problems," I tell the others. "And we only have a few hours to find the solutions."

I keep everyone in the conference room past lunch. Job offers aren't exactly going to be falling at their feet if Harlow goes through with firing them.

Somehow, I'm managing this meeting without falling completely out of my depths. Truman is right, I don't have a degree, and it's pretty obvious since most of the things being said in this meeting fly over my head.

I take a moment to stop looking at computer screens to let my eyes rest. I stare outside the conference room's glassed walls right into Harlow's eyes.

Everyone else is too busy to see him. But it's good that they don't see him, his presence would only send them in a panic. I try not to see him, to pretend that his gaze isn't affecting me, but his eyes held me to him. It's like I'm outside of the room with him. Even with the walls sealing me away from him, I could his warmth on me.

For a quick minute, I thought he might just walk past the conference room, but he comes to the door.

I run to the door to stop him from coming in.

"Sir," I whisper. "You can't come inside. We're making progress, but it will stop the moment you come in here and make everyone nervous."

"Okay," he chuckles. "You'll come outside, then."

He lays hold of my crossed arms, and slips me quietly out through the door.

"Hi sir," I say as I fall under his towering height.

"We haven't had lunch," he says.

"You gave me a deadline," I remind him. "So I skipped lunch to strengthen my odds of meeting it."

'We?' He said. Why hasn't he had lunch?

"Forget the deadline," he says. "We're having lunch."

"Sir?" I ask him. "Why didn't you have lunch?"

"Because you didn't," he whispers. "And, it's our thing to have lunch together."

"Our thing?" I can feel my smile holding up my lips.

His fingers tightens on me, as he tugs me close behind him. "Yes," he answers.

As much as I would love to get lunch with my boss, and feel things for him that I shouldn't. I couldn't leave the others to the work that I started.

"I can't have lunch with you," I  insist. "I can't leave the others to work while I'm out eating."

"I'm taking you to lunch," he says. "You're not going to argue with me. We're walking into a restaurant, and you'll have anything you like from the menu."

"But– I,"

"No buts," he groans. "If it helps your conscience, I'll treat everyone to lunch."

"How about treating them to their jobs?" I ask him.

It makes him chuckle. "You're funny, but you're not going to convince me to give anyone back their jobs with your jokes."

Dammit.

He's so freaking mean, but I still can't stop the sparks when I'm this close to him.

Safe to say, I didn't convince Harlow to let me skip out on lunch.

"Will you let me choose the restaurant?" I ask Harlow as we get into the car.

"Whatever makes you happy," he says.

Whatever makes me happy?

Soul food makes me happy, so I give Tom directions to the closest restaurant that didn't have Foie gras on the menu.

Harlow says nothing about the restaurant I dragged him to. I think it's probably the first time he has seen food plated in a styrofoam box.

"You're not eating." I point out.

"I don't have a fork," he mumbles.

"Here's your knife, and fork." I hand him the plastic wrapped cutlery.

He takes them, but struggles to cut into his oxtail.

"Hmm," I giggle at his failed efforts.

"It's not funny." He grumbles.

"Maybe not to you, but it's pretty funny to me." I say to him. "And," I reach for his hands, and free the plastic knife from his palm, "this isn't a restaurant in SoHo. No one's judging your table etiquette."

"It's a force of habit," he whispers. "After my dad when bankrupt, he started overcompensating for his wealth by showing off his pedigree. He would keep me up at night as a boy, forcing me to learn how to never say or do the wrong thing. I'd get a real beating if I used the wrong fork, or if I didn't use my knife to cut the meat at dinner."

"Your dad sounds like a real piece of work," I squeeze his hand. "I'm sorry."

I could understood having difficult parents better than anyone.

"Don't be," he runs his fingers in small circles along the back of my hand. "I haven't thought about my father in years."

We stay at the restaurant long after the food finishes.

And, I wasn't rushing to let Harlow know that he still has my hand in his.

"You should get back in there," Harlow pauses as we're back outside the conference room. "You've a deadline to meet."

He opens the door for me, and I sneak back amongst the others in the room.

"You're quite close with Mr. Harlow," Truman doesn't leave a moment to attack me. "Seems to me, you're not loosing your job anytime soon. There's some reason to Mr. Harlow is keeping the diversity hire around for so long. And, I'm going it find out."

"Knock yourself out."

I ignore Truman until we get to the end of the day, and I have give my report to Harlow.

I walk up to Harlow's office, hoping our ideas to fix the product launch would convince him not to fire anyone.

"Cutting it short aren't we?" He asks as I walk into his oversized office.

"I'm literally here a hour earlier than the deadline you gave me," I retort. "Here," I give him a presentation of the new product launch.

"Let's see," he takes the print out. "Huh," he skips the pages with an uncaring expression bold on his face.

"What's your verdict?" I grow tired of trying to read his mind.

"Not bad," he says. "I can work with this."

"Great," I cheer. "Does this mean you're convinced not to fire anyone?"

"Yes," he replies. "Everyone can keep their jobs, expect for Truman."

"I don't understand," I say. "Why are you firing him?"

"I heard about the things he said to you," he says. "So he doesn't have place in my company anymore."

"Sir . . . You shouldn't have to fire your senior–level employee for my stake," I whisper.

"Should I break his jaw instead ?" He asks me. "What do you want me to do to him?"

"Nothing," I insist.

"Shut it," he yells. "Don't tell me to do nothing about a man who thinks he'll just insult you, and I'll let him get away with it."

"Calm down," I beg him. "You're still recovering from a heart attack. Don't stress yourself over me."

Harlow doesn't listen to me. "Don't tell me what to do when it comes to you." He marches out of the office.

I run after him.

Before Harlow could turn the corner for the elevator. I think quick, pushing him into a janitor's closet.

"Calm down, will you?" I close the door behind us.

I didn't realize how dark it would be in here, or how cramped.

"You're stronger than you look," Harlow falls against a cabinet of cleaning products.

"I guess all the manual labor I've done paid off," I say.

"Seems so," he straightens himself up.

I swallow hard as I start feeling the friction of his body on mine.

"Why did you lock us inside coat closet?" He asks.

"It's not a coat closet," I sigh. "And, I didn't lock us in." I try turning the doorknob, but it doesn't budge.

"Summers," he breathes. "Stop moving, or we're going be in a very uncomfortable situation."

"What are you talking about?" I ignore him.

"Stop moving!" He grabs my shoulder and holds me in place. "Just stay still for a few seconds."

"You're making me nervous," I whisper.

"Don't be," he says. "I just give me a minute to make it go away."

"Make what go away?" I ask him.

"You're so naive," he breathes. "I'm talking about the lizard on your shoulder."

"I'm not afraid of a lizard." I brush my shoulders, but there's no lizard.

I have a seeking suspicion that there was no lizard.

"I can't believe you locked us in here to save Truman's ass," Harlow complains.

"I don't care about Truman's ass," I yell at him. "I care about you not ending up in the hospital again."

I turn, even though it's being pretty dark , I could feel his eyes on me.

"Don't worry," he says."I don't plan on ending back up in the hospital."

I drop my forehead on his chest. "Then why can't you try not raise your blood pressure for once?" I hug him fiercely, my arms looping around his smooth, muscled

torso as if I could protect him from his own temper.

"I'll try," he says. "I promise."

"Good." I sob, pulling away from him.

"But my blood pressure isn't going to get any lower if I've to keep seeing Truman's face in my company," he groans.

"Whatever," I sigh. "Whatever, stops you from giving yourself an aneurysm."

I hear twisting, and the janitor unlocks the door.

"Mr. Harlow?" the man gasps. "And Riel?"

Heat gathers in my cheek.

I can only hope my whereabouts with my boss doesn't make it to the office's rumor mill.

"Find your own damn closet," Harlow slams the door in the man's face.

"Do you realize you probably just ruined our one shot of getting out of here?"

"I'll just kick the door down," he says.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

It's Saturday night, and I'm dancing to 90's love songs around my apartment. I never expected that having a place for myself would be this freeing. Sure it's not the most charming place to live in, and not to mention my landlord is breaking several health code violations. It's

honestly healing to not to be living with my family.

"The boy is mine. You need to give it up." I sing along as Brandy's & Monica's song reshuffles to the top of my playlist. "Had about enough. It's not hard to see, the boy is mine. I'm sorry that you seem to be confused. He belongs to me. The boy is mine . . ."

I don't why I have suddenly become so obsessed with this song — it's not like I have boy or man that's mine.

The song pauses, and see my mom's call. For the first time in the months of me moving away from home, she is using my phone number.

"Mom?" I answer. "How are you?"

"Are going to pay this month's mortgage or not?" She asks. "Your dad, and I can't keep waiting to figure out whether or not you left the family with a roof over our heads."

She doesn't greet me. She doesn't ask about me. She doesn't try to learn about my job. She goes straight to guilting me.

"Don't worry," I tell her. "The family has a few months to start packing before they repossess the house." I cut the call on her.

No one was coming to kick them out the family house. I already paid the bank like I have always done since I was fourteen. But, I could make my family sweat a bit.

I fall on my couch. I must really hate myself, because I can't seem to find it in me to hate my family even after the horrible things they've done to me.

I'm about just settling in with bowl of ice cream, with the TV on reruns of the first seasons of Grey's Anatomy

when a loud ruckus comes from outside my apartment, followed by an insistent knocking on my door.

"Who's it?" I shout at the door.

I wasn't expecting company for the day.

"I'm Isabel March," a female voice answers. "I'm here to dress you for the FitzAlan Estate Gala."

"You've the wrong apartment," I tell the lady. "I wasn't invited to any gala."

Either this lady had missed the turn side for the Upper East Side, or she's going a bit too heavy on the crack.

"I don't have the wrong apartment," she retorts. "Shaw Harlow hired and sent me here to you."

"Okay, give me a minute . . ." I go to get my phone from the side of the bed.

There's a recent voicemail from Harlow on my phone.

"Summers," Harlow's voice blows out of the voicemail.

"You should've already learned, working for me means always keeping your phone next to you in case I end to call you. I'll forgive you, but stop missing my calls."

Doesn't he understand the definition of a day off?

I sigh, but keep listening to voicemail. "I was invited to a last minute event by an old friend from college, and I need you to come with me. I'm sending a car, and some lady named Elizabeth March or something like that to bring you a suit. I'm busy trying to bail my sister out of some trouble, so I won't be calling back until the plane is leaving."

Why do I have to go to this stuffy sounding rich people event with him?

Reluctantly, I accept that I had to do my job and open the door for this Isabel March.

"Hello Mr. Summers," Isabel shakes my hand. "Nice to meet you. Meet my assistants."

I don't even get to catch her assistants' names, before the other two women are wheel a freestanding closet into my apartment.

"There isn't much time," Isabel says. "So we'll have to rush the process a bit. Mr. Summers, we've five brands to choose from; Tom Ford, Zegna, Armani, Canali or Dolce."

"I like this one," I say, pulling a Zegna marked hanger with an oversized cashmere jacket from the rack.

"Good eye," Isabel praises me.

"Yeah," I say. "I can choose my own clothes."

She doesn't pay me any mind, and turns to one of her assistants. "Go get the Daniel W. Fletcher shirts from the office. He's about the size as the models, so he'll fit into something off the runway."

I'm truly grateful that years of my family's neglect paid off in me having a model's body.

The assistant that's left measures my waist. "We'll have to take in the pants at the waist."

"Let me see your hair," Isabel motions for me take off the silk scarf wrapping my head.

I pull the scarf away from my head, and let my hair fall to my shoulders. Hopefully, my week old curls are still alive.

"You're very beautiful for guy," Isabel tells me. "Rich men do have the finer things in life."

"I don't like what you're implying," I say to her.

"Sorry," she apologizes. "I shouldn't have kept that to myself."

"Yes," I reply. "And, you can leave my apartment the next time you feel free to comment on something other than clothes."

"Of course," she smiles weakly. "Let's see what shoes you should wear."

Sometime after a shower, I get fitted into the outfit.

"You wear the outfit much better than the model." Ava, the assistant that didn't stick me with the pin, whispers in my ear.

"And for the final touch," Isabel brings me a light blue watch box. "Billionaires seem to think that diamonds go with every outfit."

She lifts the cover off the suede box, giving everyone a good look at the watch that's set entirely in diamonds.

"Damn," the ladies gasp.

"Who is he dating again?" Ava's coworker asks her.

"I'm not dating anyone," I say in a harsh whisper.

I scoot Isabel March and her two associates out of my apartment, saving my the brain the hurt of trying to convince them that my boss wasn't my secret lover.

Harlow isn't my lover. And, I don't want him to be my lover. He's my boss, and that's all he should be to me.

I need Mr. Harlow to get married soon so I can put an end to the endearments I experience when it comes to him.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Mr. Harlow made good on his promise, and he didn't ring my phone until I was close to the airport.

"Are you coming, or not?" His frustrated voice spills from my phone's speaker."I mean you have to come. You said it's your job to make my life easier. You with me at this party makes my life easier."

"Did you mix your meds?" I question him. "I already told you that your heart medication isn't a chaser for scotch. And if you would just breathe for a second, and look out the window, you'll literally see me."

I move my gaze the to the plane's window as one of the shades hoists, and Harlow presses his head against the window.

"Seeing me?" I ask him, still over the phone.

"Yes," he says and I could see him nodding.

"That means I'm coming," I explain to him.

He goes mute, and let his stare drifts to mine. And with one glance of those dreamy blue eyes of his, I realize I won't be able to stop myself from falling.

Miles away from the states, the rolling green hills and expansive wildflower fields of the English countryside washes New York City's concrete and metal scent from my nostrils.

"I'm breathing actual fresh air," I say to Harlow in an excited tone.

"What were you breathing in New York?" Harlow asks in me a laugh.

"City air," I tell him. "The air quality is better here."

"Ahh," he considers. "Then I guess, I'll have to take you out of New York more often."

I cast him a sideways glance.

"For work, of course . . ." He adds.

"I didn't think it would be for anything else." I say, my lips faking a smile as I collect my jacket from the car.

I give the sting of disappointment its time to steep into my psyche. I should never forget that I'm just another one of Mr. Harlow's employees.

"It's so big," I whisper to Harlow, sticking close to him we gain access to the real life birthplace of Sir Winston Churchill.

Although, my jaw was hanging, I neatly sidestep guests in designer gowns, black–tie tuxedos, and impressively elaborate jewelry.

"Stop gawking, or you'll get lost in crowd." Harlow says as cluster of guests thickens around us.

I squeeze through conversations, and people admiring the gardens. I couldn't stop my gawking, and would fail to keep with Harlow's pace every now and again.

I had just turned my head to admire the fireworks like everyone else when I see Harlow slip his fingers behind him, hand open and waiting in the space between us.

Not knowing how to respond, I freeze.

He can't possibly expect me to hold his hand, because my heart would become light and I'll start having the wrong ideas about the my purpose at this event. And, what if I take his hand and he spurns me, because I'm his idiotic assistant that thinks he would want to hold my hand in front of his peers?

"Your hand?" He demands, stretching his arm further back to me.

I slip my hand in his, my fingers interlacing with his as naturally as breathing. His thumb brushes gently over my knuckles. I'm glad that I can't go red in the cheeks, because I would have turned into an over ripe tomato.

"I won't sneak a ring on your finger." He chuckles, and pulls me to walk at his side. "So don't get too shy."

"Sir," I retort, "I wouldn't let you come close to getting a ring on my finger."

"Funny, I'm pretty close right now." He smiles.

"I'm sure your fiancée wouldn't appreciate you putting a ring on anyone's finger expect hers, much less on a guy's at that," I tell him.

"Fiancée?" He asks me, as if he forgot that he had one.

"Mallory," I remind him.

"I know her name," he snaps at me. "She's the woman that I'm going to marry after all."

"Sir, are you ok– ?"

"Yes," Harlow cuts me off in a faint voice. "I forgot my phone in the car, I should go get it."

He drops my hand.

"I'll get it for you," I tell him.

I curl my fingers into my palm, closing the hand that Harlow had been holding. It's a strange ache, the way your hand misses someone. Somehow my palm feels colder, so aware of the absence of Harlow's warmth.

I awkwardly push my hand down my pocket, thinking that I'm batshit crazy to think my hand has feelings.

"No," he says. "Just enjoy the party, I'll get it myself."

"Okay," I mumble.

I watch Harlow walk away, even catching a glance at his phone peeking from his side pocket. But, I decide not to call him back. It's pretty clear that he had just lied to me about forgetting the phone.

I can't understand why the mention of the woman he's going to marry, puts him in a sour mood. Why marry the woman, if he can't even break a smile at the sound of her name ?

I grab a glass of champagne from a waiter that brushes near me, and downed it in one gulp. I move close to the corner of the garden that has a live opera chorus.

Wandering around, I make my way into a hedge maze where the sounds of the everything happening in the gala muffle into a soft green silence as towering walls of nicely trimmed hedges close in on both sides of me.

I peep at a few guests bidding on jewelry at the silent auction. And, decide to make an effort to rub shoulders with the one person that seems to be around the same age as me on the palace grounds.

"I don't like being stared at," the boy that has everyone turning to look twice at him, tells me.

"Sorry," I gulp. "I didn't mean to stare, I was just trying to talk with someone in this party who isn't myself, or my boss. I'm Riel."

I stretch my hand for him to shake.

"Ashton," he's reluctant at first, but eventually he gives me a firm handshake.

"I know who you're," I tell him. It might sound like I'm fangirling. "I work for Shaw Harlow, he does business with your brother, Andrew."

"Oh, that's nice," Ashton mumbles. "Did you want to make a bid ?" He steps away from the display stand to show me a bracelet with diamonds in multiple shapes and colors.

I sneak a look at the bid sheet that has his name at the top with a bid for 325,000 actual US dollars.

"I'm afraid you would need to lend me your trust fund for that to happen," I blurt.

Ashton narrows his eyes at me, surprised by my reply. I'm certain he is going to insult me for being penniless assistant, but he laughs instead.

"That's not going to happen," he chuckles. "But, I think there's a pretty good chance for you to leave here with this bracelet, if you want it."

"How?" I ask him. "Is it free all of sudden?"

"Of course not," he voices in serious tone. "The money that buys this bracelet, goes to helping LGBTQ+ youths

get out places that aren't safe for them."

"Oh," I whisper.

"I'm assuming you're ?" He raises his eyebrow.

"Yes," I nod. "I'm apart of the community."

"Great," he whispers. "You can help me find someone else to make bid on this bracelet. Unfortunately, most of the people here lean more conservative, and won't give their money to a charity like this one."

"I don't think I can help," I tell him. "It's not like the people here will listen any better to me than you."

"They won't, but he might." He nudges me to look at Harlow at the entrance of the maze. "The man hasn't taken his eyes off you. And, I'm calling him over here to buy it in your name."

"Don't," I say between my teeth. "That man is my boss. You can't make him buy that bracelet in my name."

"I'm sorry," he whispers, "but in the spirit of charity, I'm going be a total jerk, and ignore what you just told me."

"No!" I tell him, but it's too late and Ashton is already waving Harlow in our direction.

"Shh," he shushes me. "I'll talk. You just stand there, and act shy."

Harlow actually comes over at Ashton's signal, which is particularly weird since he doesn't normally answer to anyone's beckon.

"Summers," Harlow pushes past Ashton, and comes in front of me. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong," Ashton comes between us, holding my arm. "Riel, and I were just discussing how much he likes this bracelet. The profit will go a good cause, so I thought that you might be up to bidding on it for him."

Harlow's eyes crinkle at the corner, and he extends a gentle smile my way.

"I'll buy it for him," Harlow tells Ashton. "I mean ... it's for charity."

Why does he sound nervous ?

"Yes for charity," Ashton says with a smirk. "I'm all for charity too, so you'll have to out bid me." He hands the bid sheet, and pen to Harlow.

"You've him down bad," Ashton whispers in my ear.

"You don't what you're talking about," I whisper back.

"Here," Harlow hands back the bid sheet to Ashton.

Ashton takes a look at it, and shows me briefly.

"We can do better than that," Ashton says, even though Harlow had increased his last bid by twenty grand.

Ashton raises his bid on the bracelet to 350,000 and hands back the bidding sheet to Harlow.

How much disposable cash does this kid have to give a man like Shaw Harlow a challenge?

"Final offer," Harlow says, writing something down in a temper, and showing Ashton his new bid.

"And charity thanks you," Ashton smiles. "I'll go find someone to package this up for you."

Ashton leaves me with Harlow.

"Why would you spend that much money just because he told you I liked a bracelet?" I ask Harlow.

"I wanted to," he tells me. "And, this is a philanthropic event."

"I can't accept anymore gifts from you," I say nervously under my breath.

"Don't worry about it," he touches the display that the bracelet is in. "I'll keep it for the day you're willing to accept it."