Harbour (Runaway Home #1)

by Penelope Louleas

  "What are you doing?" He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  "I didn’t want to get the files dirty. It’s okay; it's kinda like a picnic." I shrug and take a big bite of my delicious, cheesy slice.

  He grins, grabs his slice, walks over and sits next to me on the floor. "I've never sat on the floor in my office; it’s a very different view from down here."

  He smiles and takes a bite of his pizza slice. I watch his mouth as he slowly chews then runs his tongue out around the corner of his lip. Damn, it’s hot. I’m suddenly feeling embarrassed to eat in front of him. We’d had lunch last week, but that was different. Then he had someone else to focus on; this time, it’s just us. I need to break this tension.

  "So, Mr. Whitmore, apart from the basic information you shared with me on New Year's Eve, tell me something about yourself."

  "Call me Lincoln, please." He clears his throat before continuing. “My life is pretty much public knowledge, Har, I'd rather hear about yours." He called me Har, and it makes me smile. I love hearing him be so casual.

  "I’m not very interesting. You know the basics: born and raised in Melbourne, Australia. I studied Business Administration at Melbourne University, and I love music and the beach."

  "Wow! You like beaches but you moved to New York? A concrete jungle?"

  "Hey, I love New York! It reminds me of Melbourne. It’s very similar."

  "I thought the same thing last time I was in Melbourne." He smiles at the memory. "The people, the buildings, they’re very similar. Some of the best food I’ve ever eaten was in Melbourne. It has better pizza than Italy." He lets out a small laugh and I just smile. I’ve never been to Italy so I wouldn’t know. He continues to talk while I finish off my slice. "I love the beach, any water in fact. It relaxes me; I try to get away from the city any chance I get."

  "Well, the Caribbean sounds like a great place to get away to, if you love water."

  His expression falters and he looks down. Did I say something wrong?

  "I really needed an escape, and it had to be somewhere I could really get away, you know?"

  "Trust me, I know." I say as I roll my eyes.

  "What's your story, Har? Why move thousands of miles away from your family and your beloved beaches?" I can't tell him I broke up with my boyfriend who got a little stalker-ish in the end, because then he might ask questions and honestly, I'm embarrassed that I ever dated Derek. "I needed a change. I wanted to travel and see the world, and this way I'm closer to the action."

  I smile, but it doesn't reach my eyes, and from the way he's looking at me he knows that's not the whole truth.

  "I hope one day you'll trust me enough to share your story. In the meantime, Australia's loss was our gain." He closes the pizza box and stands.

  I don't know how to respond. I'm so confused. He wants to get to know me, but he just had Savannah in here negotiating the terms of their potential "temporary" arrangement. I smile awkwardly and mumble a "thanks," and stand to get back to work.

  At nine p.m. we call it a night. I’m thankful, because I'm mentally and emotionally drained. Just two more nights, I tell myself. I've been biting my lips so hard due to Lincoln's close proximity that I think I can taste blood. Why does he do this to me? How does he do it? I promised myself I would never date or even think about dating a coworker, but Lincoln has completely fogged my brain with unwelcome emotions. Why did I have to be so attracted to a man who is not only unattainable, but emotionally scarred? He obviously still hasn't recovered from his break up. I could see it in his face at lunch last week when Rachael was mentioned. She hurt him bad. I guess we have something else in common: our fucked-up exes.

  He thanks me for my help and I leave the office. I'm too tired to even walk to the subway so I call for a cab from the phone on my desk.

  "What are you doing?" Lincoln asks as he locks his office door.

  "Just calling a cab. I'll be a second" he leans over, grabs the phone, and hangs it up.

  "I’ll drive you." it’s not a question.

  "No, it's fine, really. I don’t live very close, I really don't mind . . ."

  "Get in the elevator, Harbour." He sounds slightly angry. I don't argue; I just thank him and we head to his car. It's like my body and mind are at wars.

  My head is telling me to run and get in the cab while my body is begging to spend another fifteen minutes with him.

  The drive home is silent other than the purring of the car’s engine, and when we stop outside my apartment block I see the disdain in his eyes that tells me clearly he does not approve of where I live.

  "So you live here alone?" He sounds nervous.

  "Yeah, it's nothing like I'm sure you're used to, but it has everything I need." I feel like I need to defend my one-bedroom, shitty apartment. It's hard; I hate it too.

  "Do your parents know you live here?" Is he serious? His tone is starting to sound condescending, and I don't like it.

  "Thanks for the ride, Mr. Whitmore." I step out of his vehicle, but he doesn't leave until I'm safely inside. I hear him speed off like a bat out of hell. Obviously he's scared someone will try to steal his fancy car.

  I head inside my minimally-furnished apartment and sigh. My home in Melbourne was a palace compared to this. Before moving in with Derek, I lived with my parents and sister in a two-story house my dad built himself. We had large bedrooms, our own bathrooms, and a huge kitchen. Dad made sure the kitchen was the biggest and best feature in our home because my mum loves to bake and they both love to entertain. My current “kitchen” consists of a microwave, a small oven and stove top that looks like it was on Noah’s ark, and a small bar fridge. And it's pretty much in my bedroom.

  I sigh as I open my fridge, retrieve a half-drunk bottle of cheap wine and, like a lady, pull the cork out with my teeth and take a swig straight from the bottle. I change into my comfy flannelette pajamas, sit on my bed and finish the wine. I'm hoping that my nightcap will help me dream of anything other than Lincoln.

  ****

  The next day is just uncomfortable. I dread having to spend more time alone with Lincoln tonight. As if reading my mind, he keeps his distance, and only spends about an hour in his office with me. I wonder where he keeps disappearing to, but at the same time I'm thankful because I just feel awkward around him. He has been very cold towards me, leaving his answers and explanations short and to the point. After a silent dinner of Chinese, he leaves again, only to return at nine p.m.

  "We're done for tonight. I’ll take you home."

  Again, my brain and body argue, but I'm too exhausted to decline his offer. My body wins once more, but for different reasons.

  It's Friday, and thankfully my last night of overtime with Lincoln. I receive a text in the morning from Simon asking me to join him and the crew at a local bar for drinks tonight. I know I won't be out until nine p.m., but I really need to let loose a bit. I hesitantly reply with an okay and he sends me the details. I rummage through my clothes for an outfit that will be bar appropriate, and take it to change into later.

  The day doesn't drag like a normal Friday. Lincoln has been friendlier, and even brought me a latte from our favorite coffee shop.

  "Wow, thank you. You’re funny; you have two assistants, Mr. Whitmore. If you keep getting your own coffee, our jobs will become obsolete." I giggle and he smiles down at me.

  "Your jobs entail more than collecting coffee, so I think you're safe." He winks and strolls back to his office like a model on a runway. Apart from being completely thrown by how sexy he looks when he winks, I wonder what happened to lighten his mood so drastically. Maybe he likes Fridays? Or maybe he got laid? The thought irritates me, but my reaction disgusts me. I need to get over him.

  Tonight. Preferably not with Simon, though; I'm doing a pash-and-dash with a stranger. I'm not ready to have sex with anyone yet, but tonight I'm definitely getting kissed.

  At five p.m, I dutifully make my way to Lincoln’s office. He begins explaining the work for the evening w
hen there's a knock at the door and Simon’s head peers around it. "I'm sorry to interrupt; I was hoping to quickly speak with Harbour?"

  "Go ahead." Before I can stand to leave, Simon enters.

  "Just wanted to let you know we might be heading to a club just up the road from O’Malley’s at about ten, so if you're running late let me know and I’ll wait for you. I'm happy to come past the office and pick you up, if you like."

  "That won't be necessary. I'll make sure she gets there safely."

  Do I get a say in this? "I can walk on my own. Thank you both for your concern, but O’Malley’s is literally up the road. I'm a big girl; I’ll be fine."

  Simon nods and heads for the door. "I'll see you later, Harbour. Have a good weekend, Mr. Whitmore."

  The door closes, and I can feel the tension emanating from Lincoln. I try to ignore it and get stuck into our last lot of files.

  "So, you're going out with Simon tonight?"

  Hmm, is that jealousy I detect in his tone? Interesting. "Yes, we're going for a couple of drinks with some people from the office."

  He runs his hand through his gorgeous brown hair and lets out a defeated sigh. I feel slightly bad for him. After all, no one invited him.

  "Would you like to join us? I'm sure no one will have a problem with you being there." Yes they would, he's the boss, idiot! I relax with the thought that he probably won’t come anyway.

  "I'd love to. I could use a night out. It's been a while."

  Shit! Simon won't be happy. I consider texting him to let him know, but decide the element of surprise might work in my favor. I could pretend he was dropping me off and decided to come in for a bit.

  "Great," I say, with the most enthusiasm I can muster.

  We get to work, finishing everything ahead of schedule and at eight thirty Lincoln tells me to get ready for our night out. I take my dress, shoes and makeup to the ladies room and put in a little extra effort on my appearance. Once I'm done, I like what I see. I feel sexy in my fitted, short green dress and black stilettos. I've taken my hair out of the chignon and it’s hanging around my lower back. I've reapplied my mascara, added some black eyeliner and red lipstick. One last check in the mirror and I’m happy with what I see.

  I make my way back to the office and Lincoln is leaning against my desk. He looks up and slowly unfolds his arms. His eyes widen; he's impressed. I blush under his intense glare and my heart skips a beat. I smile wickedly to myself, ecstatic that I’ve had an effect on this sexy, powerful man.

  He clears his throat. "Um, wow. You look lovely, Harbour."

  Lovely? Damn, I was going for hot.

  "Thanks. Shall we?"

  He walks over to the lift but lets me in first. I smile when I see his reflection in the mirror panels; he's checking out my ass. I want to do a happy dance!

  We exit on the ground floor and decide to walk. On the way there we don't speak but I can see his jaw ticking. He wants to say something, but he is hesitating.

  "Is something wrong?"

  "Are you planning on taking someone home tonight?"

  What? "Excuse me?"

  He runs his hand through his hair roughly, and sighs. "Are you looking to pick up? You know, take someone home with you? To fuck you?"

  What. The. Fuck?

  Chapter Nine

  I have no words.

  I slap my hand over my mouth and stare at him, wide-eyed, in shock. Did he seriously just ask that? We've stopped walking about one hundred meters from the bar and we are facing each other. I take a step back, put my hands on my hips and shake my head in astonishment.

  "Are you kidding me? You may be my boss, Mr. Whitmore, but you have no right to ask me something so personal." I'm really angry now; my face is burning and my voice is raised. "How dare you speak to me like I'm some kind of slut? I have morals! And even if I did plan on taking someone home with me, it's none of your concern. I'm a grown woman, damn it!" I take a step closer to him; I’m so close that I’m looking up at him. I poke his chest with my finger. "You men are all the same. You can leave with whoever you want, have friends with benefits, and all other kinds of shit and I’m not going to question you. You're a pig. I'm uninviting you. You can leave now. Maybe call Savannah and get started on your 'temporary arrangement.’ " I turn to storm off but he grabs my arm and pushes me into the brick facade of the shop were stopped in front of.

  "Are you done?"

  Is he serious? This guy is insane! "Oh, I’m very done! Release me, or I’ll scream bloody murder."

  "Just hear me out, please." He releases my arm and I remain where I am because I want to hear his excuse for his deplorable behavior.

  "I'm sorry, that didn't come out right."

  "No shit. You have terrible manners." I say sternly.

  "And you have a dirty mouth." he whispers.

  Think unsexy thoughts, Harbour. Get out, now!

  "Listen, how about we pretend you didn't just offend or manhandle me, and we go our separate ways. I have friends waiting and I'd rather not start my weekend by kneeing my boss in the balls. Have a good weekend; I’ll see you on Monday."

  As I walk off, he calls out, "Are you jealous or afraid?"

  What? I turn back to him and he closes the distance between us. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Exactly what I said. Are you jealous of Savannah and what you think is going on, or are you afraid if you act on your attraction to me I’ll hurt you like your ex?"

  I'm so mad that I'm seeing red. I hate what he's said, but I hate even more that he's right.

  "Don't flatter yourself. You may be the focal point of many women's fantasies, but not mine. You're damaged goods. Your ex fucked you up good, and you're not even over her. As for you and Savannah, I think you make a lovely couple. She's a bitch, you're an asshole—you suit each other." I poke him in the chest with my index finger and finish my rant. "And you don't know shit about my ex, so don't you dare EVER mention him again."

  I storm off in the direction of the bar. I need shooters. Lots of them!

  ****

  I walk in the bar and notice that Lincoln didn't follow me. Regret instantly fills me, crashing into me like a freak wave. I just called my boss an asshole. I am so fired.

  Six tequila shooters later I'm grinding up against Simon on the dance floor. I need to forget. I try to drown out the horrible thoughts filling my head. Instead of picturing that douchebag Derek fucking that chick, all I can see is Lincoln and Savannah. Or Lincoln and the model. Goddamn it, all I can see is him!

  And tonight, I called my boss an asshole and most likely lost my job, my only source of income. My head is cloudy and I'm wobbling in my heels.

  "I’ll be right back," I yell into Simon’s ear and turn to head for the ladies room. Instead, my feet take me to the door and I leave the bar. I take a deep breath of cold air and slowly make my way home. I try to hail a cab, but the only one I see speeds straight past me.

  I rehash the conversation with Lincoln in my head. What have I done? I wish I could replay the night and not invite him to come. If I hadn't, none of this would be happening.

  A drunk guy stands too close for comfort, and I move away from him.

  "Hey baby, wanna share a cab?"

  "No thanks." I'm on high alert as his hand grabs my ass roughly.

  "You can't be out dressed like this and heading home alone? That's not right. Let’s go back to my place and you can show me what's under this . . ." He's slurring his words and reeks of beer and stale cigarettes. I turn quickly make my way back to the bar hoping he's drunk enough to not want to follow me. I'm suddenly being pushed into the wall and Drunk Guy is groping me and licking my mouth, his tongue trying unsuccessfully to gain entry.

  I bring my knee up into his groin, and as he releases me I hit him in the nose with the palm of my hand. He falls to the ground screaming, one hand on his balls, and the other clutching his bleeding nose. I quickly pull my heels off and run like the wind. I look over my shoulder and see him slowly get up and
take off in my direction. I'm panicking, running hard; my heart feels like it’s beating out if my chest. I look back again and he's gaining on me. I look around for anyone to help me, but there’s no one close. I grab my phone and dial nine one one but before I can press the call button I'm being grabbed from behind and thrown onto the hard concrete pavement.

  "You stupid bitch! You broke my fucking nose. You're gonna pay for that." I'm pulled up off the ground by my hair towards a laneway. My only lifeline is smashed and unusable on the ground.

  This is it. I need to fight with all I've got. If he gets me to that laneway I might not make it out alive. I grab my stiletto and hit the back of his head with the heel. He only flinches slightly. He's angrier and more forceful as he pulls my hair tighter and takes my right wrist. I scream, but no one hears me. I even yell, "Fire." Nothing.

  This can't be happening. Why did I leave the bar? I'm angry at myself for allowing this to occur. As we approach the laneway I spot a group of men walking down the street towards us. A blood-curdling scream erupts from within me and the men begin to run over. The drunk pushes me onto the ground and runs away like the coward he is. Two of the men chase him and two others lean down to help me. One of them calls nine one one, while the other sits me up. I'm crying, sobbing like a baby. The man beside me is asking me questions, my name, if I'm okay, what happened, and I can't respond. I'm in shock.

  Seconds later, I hear the wailing of sirens as two police cars stop in front of us. One takes off soon after, I'm assuming to catch the assailant. Two officers approach me and the men tell them what they saw. I still can't speak. What if they hadn't helped me? Where would I be right now? What could've happened?

  I turn away from the men and throw up the entire contents of my stomach. My face hurts. My whole body aches. I'm injured, and I am relieved when the ambulance arrives. I'm lifted onto a stretcher and placed in the back. I look up at the men and all I can manage is a weak, “thank you” before the doors slam shut and we race to the nearest hospital.