The Allure of Dean Harper (The Allure #2)(56)
He offered the crowd a small, tight smile and then walked off stage after the shortest speech of the night. The pretty announcer trailed after him, trying to keep up with his quick pace. He disappeared behind the stage and I moved to follow after him. I was in a floor-length gown I’d borrowed from Jo, and I’d spared the time to do my hair and makeup. No one batted an eyelash at me as I swept the curtain aside and stepped into the depths of the opera house. The belly of the building was nothing compared to the ornate detailing in the auditorium. Backstage consisted of a narrow black hallway branching off to separate rooms every few feet. One sign pointed me in the direction of the stage and another directed me to a women’s changing room. I passed a few nondescript black doors and then I heard Dean’s voice over the sound of running water.
Another voice seeped through the door, but I couldn’t make out the conversation. I pushed my ear to the door and tried in vain to hear through the thick wood. It was no use—unless, of course, they were actually saying “geri hrjt hempjrh ggfffnj.” In which case, I could hear them perfectly.
A moment later, the water cut off and footsteps echoed on the other side of the door. The handle turned and the door swung out. I jumped, swiveled, and tried to flatten my body against the wall like a pancake, but the door came straight for me. I held my foot out and caught it just before it broke my face.
Dean’s cologne hit me first, rolling a wave of nostalgia over me. The last night I’d slept with him, he’d pinned me to his bed with his face pressed to the crook of my neck. We were so close it was suffocating and I’d inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with the scent of him until it overwhelmed me. Maybe if I’d known that would be my last night in his bed, I would have breathed in a little deeper, tried to fill my lungs until they burned.
His profile slipped past me and I caught sight of his strong jaw, straight nose, and furrowed brows. He was a vision in his black tuxedo. His broad shoulders filled out the jacket and his black pants tapered down his long legs.
He didn’t see me as he passed. He was already halfway down the hallway by the time the door fell closed with a heavy thud.
It was a few minutes later, as I told myself I had to move, that I realized his chest had been bare.
He’d left the medal in the bathroom.
Why?
Chapter Forty-Seven
From: Dean Harper
To: Lily Black, Julian Lefray, Zoe Davis
Subject: Ivy & Wine
Seems Hunter retired from the restaurant world for good. I put in an offer on the building where he was planning to open Ivy & Wine. The construction team is already halfway through building the restaurant we designed. Maybe we should send him a thank you basket?
D. Harper
From: Julian Lefray
To: Lily Black, Dean Harper, Zoe Davis
Subject: Re: Ivy & Wine
Wow. Lily’s plan actually worked. And all it took was turning my girlfriend into an escort! ;)
-J
From: Zoe Davis
To: Lily Black, Dean Harper, Julian Lefray
Subject: Re: Re: Ivy & Wine
I just went by the building!!!! Hunter actually ended up helping us a ton. That space will be finished in a few months. If we buckle down we could open early next year.
Zoe
From: Dean Harper
To: Lily Black, Julian Lefray, Zoe Davis
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Ivy & Wine
Is everyone available to meet this week? I have a list two miles long of shit we need to get done.
D. Harper
From: Lily Black
To: Julian Lefray, Zoe Davis, Dean Harper
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Ivy & Wine
Glad we got the space. I’m under the weather, so could someone take notes and email me what y’all discuss at the meeting? Thanks.
-Lily Black
…
Lily
“Pretending you’re sick so you don’t have to see Dean will only work for a few days,” Josephine said as she pushed off the back of the futon. I slammed my laptop closed and shot her a glare.
“Jeez. Snoop much?”
She shrugged and went back to the kitchen, where she was halfway finished making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Apparently my typing had distracted her from her lunch.
“Julian says Dean is—”
I held up my hand to silence her. “I don’t care what Julian says Dean is. I don’t care if Dean is dating Miley Cyrus or jumping off skyscrapers because he wants to win me back. I. Don’t. Care.”
She smirked and eyed me over the jar of peanut butter. “I don’t think suicide is the best avenue for regaining your affection. It’s kind of counterproductive, don’t you think?”
I groaned and slid down so I could shove my head beneath the pillows. “Please stop talking about Dean! Do I need to remind you about the Dean Jar again?”
She laughed and I knew she was glancing over at the giant empty cheese puff container I’d labeled “DEAN JAR” a few days ago. It worked like a swear jar: $1: Referring to the likeness of Dean in a way.
$2: Discussing Dean in this apartment.
$5: Making me watch a TV show with an actor who looks remotely like Dean. Examples include: Men with blond hair. Men who wear suits. Men who live in New York City. Men who are lovable in a rough-around-the-edges sort of way.