The look on Harry’s face suggests he doesn’t. That’s no big surprise to me because he has yet to figure out who I am.
“No clue.” Harry straightens the lapels of his jacket.
With my heart pounding in my chest because this night is going straight to hell at breakneck speed, I pick up my drink and swallow it in one gulp.
The bartender taps Harry’s credit card against his palm. “Does the name Morgana Wheller ring a bell, asshole?”
I glance beyond Harry to see Kerry on her feet with her mouth agape. She’s not the only one staring in our direction. Everyone who is here celebrating my birthday is looking at us too.
Harry scratches his jaw. “I can’t say that it does.”
“You bastard.” The bartender drops a fist against the top of the bar sending a dull thud into the silence. “She dumped me for you.”
My gaze jumps to Harrison’s face. His chin is tilted slightly as he studies the face of his accuser.
I’ve been in enough pubs in London to know when a fight is on the horizon, so I clear my throat as I push back from the bar. “I think this is a good time for me to call it a night. I’m leaving.”
Harrison reaches for my arm. “You’re not going anywhere. This guy will do the job he was hired to do and get us each another drink before he settles the tab.”
“Like hell I am.” The bartender scoffs. “You fucked my girlfriend, Keene. You stole her and fucked her.”
“I don’t steal women.” Harry laughs. “You clearly weren’t giving her what she needed. Apparently, I did.”
A chorus of “ouches” and “oohhs” echo around us as everyone in the bar bears witness to Harrison Keene being a raging jerk.
“Shut your mouth.” The bartender leans over the bar. “Shut your fucking mouth.”
Harrison chuckles. “Get me another drink.”
“Go to hell.” The bartender lunges forward.
Before I can react, Harrison has the front of the guy’s torn black T-shirt fisted in his hands. “You’re better off without her. Do you know how I know that?”
The bartender grits his teeth as he tries to free himself of Harrison’s grasp. “I told you to shut the fuck up. Don’t say another word about her.”
“She was forgettable.” Harry sighs. “I can’t remember one damn thing about her.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ava
“This is so messed up,” I whisper as the cool evening air hits me.
My arms jump to cross my chest to cover the outline of my perked nipples. I’m freezing, and it’s not just from the light wind whipping its way through Manhattan.
“Jesus, London,” Harrison says as he steps in place next to me on the sidewalk outside Dunfoy’s. “I had no idea that asshole would toss my drink at you before the owner threw us out.”
No one needed a crystal ball to see that on the horizon.
As the argument between Harry and the bartender escalated, the owner came out from a back room.
That’s when the bartender reached for Harry’s drink and tossed it at him. His aim was shit, though, because it landed all over me.
The owner laughed, ordered us out, and high-fived the bartender once Harry let him go.
My friends all hurried out, including Kerry.
I look to the left to catch a glimpse of the skirt of her green dress as she slides into the back seat of a taxi.
Dammit.
There goes my chance to grab a shower and a change of clothes before I head back to Declan’s apartment. I don’t want him to see me looking like a drowned rat and smelling like a bottle of scotch.
I glance around looking for a hotel. I can figure out the clothing situation after I’ve showered.
“Are you all right?” Harrison asks.
Is he serious?
“No,” I spit out. “I’m not. My dress is wet. It’s late. I have nowhere to go, and you ruined my birthday party. You completely ruined it, Harry.”
A smile ghosts his lips. “Again with the Harry.”
A frustrated sound escapes me as I turn to walk away. “I’m leaving.”
“You said you have nowhere to go,” he points out as he falls in step beside me. “Come home with me.”
I stop and glance up at his face. “What?”
His eyes lock on mine. “Come home with me, London. I’ll get you cleaned up.”
I laugh at the suggestion. “I can’t go home with you.”
“You can.” His tone is firm and seductive, as if there’s an unspoken promise hidden within those two simple words.
“Harry,” I whisper. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
I stare at his face. It’s changed since he was twenty-three. All of him has changed. His body is more muscular, there are small lines around his eyes, and the smile that was always on his lips isn’t there anymore.
I’ve caught glimpses of it, but a serious façade is what he presents to the world now.
“Why don’t you have a place to go?” His gaze burns into me. “Where do you live?”
“I live in London. I’m staying with my brother for a few more days.” The words tumble out of me without thought. “If I show up at his apartment looking like this, his head will explode.”
His left eyebrow arches. “Then spare him the head explosion and come with me. You said I ruined your birthday party, so let me make it up to you.”
I should confess that I’m Sean’s sister or at least run in the opposite direction, but I do something I know I’ll probably regret.
I nod. “I’ll go home with you.”
Harrison’s home is a sight to behold.
When the Uber driver pulled up to the curb in front of a grand-looking red-bricked brownstone on the Upper East Side, I was impressed.
I grew up in a home very much like this.
That home is currently under renovation while my parents soak up the sun in Florida. When I initially planned my birthday trip to Manhattan, I thought I could crash in a small corner of that mansion for a few weeks, but my mom told me to steer clear of it since almost every square inch is undergoing a major revamp.
“You have a beautiful home, Harry,” I tell him as he flicks on a light switch that bathes the foyer and the formal living room in soft light.
His gaze catches mine as he drops his phone and keys on a rectangular table. “Thanks, London.”
An uncontrollable smile coasts over my lips. “London is not my name.”
Scanning my face, he scratches his chin. “I know, but for some reason, you have yet to reveal your true identity to me.”
“It’s not as though it’s a secret,” I whisper.
He slides his suit jacket from his shoulders. “In the elevator the other day, you said I know your name. Do you work for one of my companies?”
I struggle to hold in a smile since the question comes out as a not-so-humble brag. “I don’t work for you.”
Taking his time, he hangs the suit jacket over the back of an armchair. He adjusts the shoulders, ensuring the garment is level before he turns to face me. “You mentioned it was your birthday, and I’d be remiss in not wishing you a happy birthday.”