Un-Tying the Knot {h.s.}

Chapter 7

Later that morning, I climbed into the town car, shivering a bit from the feeling of the chilly winter air mixed with the cold leather seats touching the back of my bare thighs. Harry was lagging behind, slowly folding his lanky frame into the car with a sigh. It's then that I realize something is amiss.

I studied his facial features slowly, taking in his tense jaw and his apathetic body language. He was stoic and focused, his hands grazing through his hair restlessly. I couldn't quite place what was going on with him. His face was blank, watching the window as we pulled away from the curb and hit midday traffic.

Maybe it was just my no-nonsense, no-flirt behavior earlier this morning. Maybe he was still adjusting to our "strictly professional" protocol I was inflicting to save my own ass.

After we got settled in, I buckle my seatbelt quickly and pull out the leather portfolio that held Harry's schedule and all the prep notes I had made on the folks we were meeting with.

"Today, you're going to meet with Shannon White, Harold Winans, and Caleb Greenspan," I started.

I pulled together Shannon's file, which had photos paper-clipped to a bio sheet I had put together on each person.

"Shannon is the head of marketing, recently promoted and looking for his first big win at the label. His wife's name is Carole. He went to Pepperdine University. They don't have any children."

"Olivia?" Harry asked, running a hand over his face out of frustration. "Why are you telling me this?"

I paused, looking up at him confused. "Prepping you for your meeting."

I fingered the notes I spent hours putting together as his eyebrows knitted together.

"Oh. You mean like that fake greeting bullshit? How are the kids? Did you enjoy your vacation in St. Bart's?" he asked with a scoff. "Something like that?"

"Yes," I nodded, a little unsure of myself.

He made a 'hmmph' sound. "Yeah. That's not really me." He turned his head away from me, using his index finger to draw a picture on the foggy window absent-mindedly.

His voice is devoid of motion as he finishes his thought out loud, more to himself than anyone else. "Eleanor is so much better at schmoozing than me..."

I can tell there's a strange sense of longing in his voice I've never really heard before, and I look down at my diligently prepared notes. Seems this was all for naught.

"Keep going," he muttered, dropping his hand into his lap.

"You sure?" I ask. I realized then that I was fulfilling the role of Eleanor's assistant, completely ignoring what Harry needed or how he operated. I realized maybe I didn't know much about him.

He nodded, turning to smile at me, but I could see the smile stopped at his cheeks, never quite reaching his eyes like usual.

"Okay," I smiled back, professionally. I continued to go through the facts I had prepared until we arrived at the restaurant, letting Harry repeat them back to make sure he had them right.

After arriving in front of the Ritz-Carlton, I packed up my things and gripped the seat to ready myself to slide across the seat and out of the car. Once we parked, I shifted to move, but quickly came upon a hard body that prevented my exit. Harry wasn't moving, his eyes stuck at the large glass doors and bustling valet. His face looked like a mask.