The ride home was suffocating. Archer's Porsche Cayenne was parked at the curb. The valet held the door open.
As soon as the door cracked, the scent hit her.
Black Opium. Heavy, sweet, cloying.
Harper paused. She had smelled this before. Dozens of times. On Archer's jacket, in the car, even on her own throw pillows. Archer always said it was the detailing spray, or the new air freshener, or a client's perfume. Harper had believed him. She had forced herself to believe him. But now, with the veil lifted, the scent didn't smell like vanilla or cleaner. It smelled like Mia.
Harper stopped on the sidewalk. Rain soaked her hair, plastering it to her skull. She was wearing the flats the manager had brought out, her wedding dress bundled awkwardly under her black coat.
"Get in," Archer snapped from the driver's seat. "You're getting wet."
"It smells like her," Harper said. She didn't mean to say it out loud.
"What?" Archer looked panicked. "It smells like... the car wash. New air freshener. Vanilla."
"It smells like a brothel," Harper said.
Archer slammed his hand on the steering wheel. "Get. In. The. Car."
Harper shook her head. "No. I'm taking a cab."
She slammed the door before he could argue. She turned and hailed a yellow taxi, diving into the backseat.
When she got back to the penthouse, she stripped off the wedding dress and threw it in the corner of the guest room. She didn't hang it up. She hoped it wrinkled. She hoped it rotted.
She sat on the sofa in the dark, holding Julian's card. She traced the lettering with her thumb.
An hour later, the front door opened.
Archer walked in. He was holding a massive bouquet of flowers. Red roses. Dozens of them.
He put on his "apology face." The puppy dog eyes. The slump of the shoulders.
"Babe," he said softly. "I'm sorry about today. I was stressed. The meeting... it was intense. I shouldn't have snapped at you."
He thrust the flowers at her.
Harper stared at them.
"I'm allergic to roses," she said flatly. "The pollen makes my throat close up. We've been together seven years, Archer."
Archer froze. He looked at the flowers, then at her. "Right. Right. I... I forgot. I just saw red and thought of love."
"You saw red and thought of damage control," Harper said.
Archer dropped the act. He tossed the flowers onto the coffee table. Water from the stems spilled onto the expensive art book.
"Look, Harper. Julian Van Der Bilt gave you his card. That's... that's an opportunity. If we can get an in with him, if you can just talk to him, smooth things over..."
"You want me to use the man who humiliated you to help you?"
"It's business, Harper! You don't understand these things. It's about leverage." He sat next to her, reaching for her hand. "Do this for me? For us? Imagine the life we'll have if Van Der Bilt backs the IPO."
He was using her. Again. He didn't care that another man had held her. He only cared about the man's wallet.
Harper pulled her hand away. "I'm going to bed."
"Harper!"
She walked away, leaving him with the roses that made her sick.
