Marek
The driver is still waiting for me outside at the valet station when I walk out with Harper at my side.
“We have an extra bag to stow in the back,” I say, hefting it in the air as the driver comes around to the rear of the vehicle, popping open the cargo area and taking the bag from my grasp.
“No problem, Mr. Talbert.” Then he turns to acknowledge Harper. “Welcome back, miss.”
I open the back door and gesture inside. “Your carriage awaits, mademoiselle.”
Harper chuffs out a laugh. “Thank you, but you can drop the formalities. I grew up on a farm, not in France.”
She settles in the back seat, and I close the door after her, circling around to the other side and hopping in through the door the driver left open.
When he gets in the front seat and starts the car, I confirm our destination. “I believe you have the address for the Forest Glen residence?”
I’m careful not to divulge who lives there in the name of privacy, even though the driver probably already knows, if he’s a fan of Chicago sports. After DeMarcus left Louisville, he played in Chicago and ended up retiring from basketball here. I’ve offered him a job on my staff countless times in the past, but he turns me down with a laugh. He and his wife, Tamika, love their life here. When he’s not supporting the local inner city youth basketball camps and being touted as the hometown hero, he and Tam travel the world. They own multiple homes on various coasts, along with the seven-bedroom mansion Harper and I will be staying in this weekend, and they enjoy their retirement.
When DeMarcus learned I’d be in town for the Combine weekend, he offered up his home at my disposal, knowing exactly how tiring it can be living out of hotels. I said yes, of course, but was disappointed I’d miss spending time with D and Tam.
The driver nods his head in confirmation of the address, making eye contact through the review mirror. “Yes, Mr. Talbert. We’re all set. Should take less than ten minutes.”
“Sounds good.”
Harper remains relatively quiet as we weave through the downtown traffic, thick for a Friday afternoon, her focus out the window, silently observing the cityscape pass by.
I check my phone, responding to a few texts, and ask the obvious question.
“Have you ever been to Chicago before?”
She looks over at me, her cheeks flushing with what could be excitement.
“No. This is my first time. It looks like a cool city.”
“It is. You should have some time to explore around downtown tomorrow in between events. If you like shopping, there’s the Miracle Mile. We’re not too close to the Pier, but you can always take an Uber.”
Her expression changes to a dismissive frown and I laugh.
“Not a shopper then. Got it. Well, there’s always Wrigley Field, Wrigleyville, or Centennial Park,” I hedge.
This gains me a smile that lights up her face. In fact, I’m mesmerized by it, noticing that when I’m up this close, I can see she has a small dimple that pops out on the right side of her mouth.
It’s not that I haven’t noticed how beautiful Harper is before during our previous conversations, because I have. But during those interviews she conducted, she’s been guarded and reserved. She has her game face on while doing her job. This side of Harper—the lighter, effervescent side—reminds me how much fun it is to be in the presence of a beautiful young woman again.
“While all that sounds great, I’m here to spend as much time as I can at the Combine. That’s my job and the sole reason for my trip. Which is on your dime, by the way.”
“True. I guess that’s what I appreciate most about you, Harper,” I offer, the compliment made with all sincerity. “You’re very dedicated to your job. With that attitude, you should go far in your career.”
I watch as she folds her hands in her lap, her thumbs tapping together.
“I sure hope so. I’ve been trying for a promotional transfer to Seattle for a while now.”
I cock my head. “Oh? Are you looking for a new role?”
Her eyes meet mine and the emerald green color swims with glistening tears. Harper swipes a finger over her eyelashes.
“Sorry,” she sniffs. “It’s been difficult the past few months. I have…family obligations I need to support. And the Spokane market and my role at the station aren’t quite making ends meet.”
Because this is clearly weighing on her, I reach out and place my palm gently over her hand. Her skin is warm and her hand delicate. She doesn’t pull away, so I leave it there for a moment.