“It’s fine ma’am,” the rent-a-cop called Andy said, pushing his co-working toward the entrance.
Behind me, the men started directing the crowd into organized lines, offering excuses I only half listened to as they ushered them through the doors. “Wow,” I said, watching how quickly the crowd dispersed. “It’s gotta be sweet to be rich and entitled.”
“Actually,” Harmony said, coming to my side. “It is.” She stood in front of me, blocking my view of the crowd and I rubbed my face, some of the worry and tension that had doubled up with the looming threat dying now that she’d handled things. “Nash, you look exhausted.”
“That’s because I am.” When the woman pulled my hand from my face and held it, I went still, not sure why I didn’t let her go, why I didn’t thank her for the assist and make an excuse before I left. But she smelled so sweet and her big, black eyes were bright with something that reminded me of the mysterious glint I’d first seen from her that day we’d met. Harmony pulled me right there in the lobby like she had in that restaurant with a smile that promised me no complications.
“Let me get you a drink and a break from all the bullshit.” She stood closer, squeezing my hand. “Yeah?”
Nothing was confusing about the smile she gave me or what she offered. There was no worry and stress tied up in a break from every weight weighing me down.
I nodded once, liking how that glint in her eyes sharpened, how it made her seem younger, excited. “Yeah,” I told her, squeezing her fingers back. “Let’s get out of here.”
She didn’t take me to a bar.
Harmony Shannon was smooth. She was skilled and, it seemed when she wanted something, she knew how to work some magic. The spell she wanted to weave was me and her alone in her apartment with the New York skyline behind us and a fire going in her den. The place was tight—lush and expensive. There were thick carpets and rugs all over the place. Crystal chandeliers hanging in the lobby and gold accents on the white furnishings. Felt to me like some kind of modern wet dream and I was right in the thick of it.
“You want another one?” Harmony asked me, holding a bottle of Cristal between her fingers. She was barefoot, leaning on the open door of her balcony, the button of her shirt loosened and threatening to open. I suspected that might have been her plan. “It’s so delicious.”
“I thought you’re only supposed to drink champagne when you celebrate.”
“That’s what we’re doing.” She didn’t wait for me to refuse.
The champagne spilled over my glass, and onto my hand before I said, “Nah, I’m good.” But I played it off, grinning when Harmony laughed because I didn’t want to seem like an asshole.
“So, ah…” I cleared my throat, steadying her when she hopped onto the balcony railing. That shit made me nervous. We were fifty-five stories up and this woman sat on the railing like she could lay back and relax in the open air. “What are we celebrating?”
“You… being away from the bullshit.”
“Ah… yeah.” She hadn’t been wrong. Until she mentioned it, the little champagne party had worked its magic. I hadn’t thought about the dreams or Willow embarrassing me or how demanding Duncan was being for the last hour. The champagne went down smoothly the more I drank, and it continued to work on me. The tension eased in my limbs. My shoulders eased, my neck loosened and there was a nice, easy hum moving in my head. This shit had never worked so quick on me before, but then, I’d never had the good stuff.
“Nash,” Harmony said, her voice reminding me of a cat purring. She moved her long leg, pulling me closer, guiding me between her legs. “So handsome. So smart.” That sweet scent came closer when she leaned closer, running her nails up my neck, teasing the back of my head. “Drink up.” Harmony looked down at my glass, pushing it toward my mouth with the tip of her fingers and I obeyed, eyes closing as I downed it. “Good… so good.” She rewarded me with a kiss against my neck that I leaned into, my head weighted now, all thought and worry absent.
“Bitch!” I heard, then a loud, squealing laugh.
“Oh my God! What are you doing here?”
Harmony pulled me into her apartment, left me navigating through the wide sofa and gold tables to get inside. She stood hugging two girls at the same time, all three women doing that weird shit some chicks do: stand and hug and jump and laugh when they greet each other.
“Oh, God you guys, this is Nash Nation. He’s about to blow up. My uncle is investing in his company.” She pulled me closer, her arm around my shoulder. “He’s going to make Zuckerberg look like a fucking pauper.”
“He is yummy,” the tallest with the blonde hair said, running her hand over my chest, which Harmony slapped away.
“Hands off,” she said, her smile tight. “Now. Who wants drinks?”
“We should call Callie,” I heard. Followed by a squeal of “Oh my God, and Matt!” and two hours later, I was drunk or loaded from the contact high I got just walking from the den and onto Harmony’s balcony, while at least fifty people I didn’t know drank and danced and made out in every conceivable corner of this bougie ass apartment.
My head felt so heavy I wasn’t sure I could lift it from the sofa. Instead, I leaned back on it, watching Harmony dancing on top of a large coffee table in the center of her living room wearing nothing more than her skirt and a bra. I was pretty sure it cost more than the security deposit of my first apartment. The music was low and sexy and came from the guy in the corner of the room; a rocker type strumming a guitar plugged into an amp. I’d seen the man on T.V. a few times, thought I might have heard a thing or two about him and his cousin getting into scrapes in bars when they were on the road, but I wasn’t sure and was too damn drunk to ask anyone.
What I did know was that Harmony moved like an angel—with horns. Every man in that room watched her. She swayed and dipped, touched her stomach, cupped her breasts and when she turned away from the crowd, that beautiful woman caught my gaze and held it.
Harmony pulled her hair up off her shoulders, holding it off her neck, her mouth full, her eyes open, wide as she watched me. Then, the song ended, the rhythm quickened and that beautiful woman stepped off the table and stood in front of me.
“Come on, Nash.”
Something else guided me. Not my head, for damn sure. I felt myself walking. Watching how she kept looking over her shoulders, how she bit her lip, how the light around us got darker and darker the further down the hallway we went. Then, Harmony moved through a door, shutting it behind me, pulling me into the center of a dark room and pushed me onto a bed.
That scent was mixed now with liquor and sweat but she still smelled sweet, still threatened to make me drunker than whatever had been in the glass she’d given me.
“You could have all of this,” she promised, nodding to the lush, expensive room, to the ornate fixtures and the designer bedding. She moved closer and I had to blink to keep her in focus. “You could have this every night; this life. These people would do anything you want them to do.” Then Harmony leaned me back, straddling my hips, her skirt fanning over her legs. She leaned over me, that thick hair brushing my face, her lush, wet lips against mine as she whispered, “You could have me. Every night. Every day.” She sat back, unclasping her bra, the silk and lace material slipping down her arms uncovering her pale skin. “You could have this.”