𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐒 two years ago, my life changed forever. All it took was one night to alter the rest of my life. I wasn't sure about a lot of things however, there are two things that I was absolutely certain on: what I wanted to wear and who...
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The next morning, I wake up with the world's worst hangover. I'm like a zombie as I throw on my Carine Gilson camisole silk dress and trudge into the living area of the hotel room.
Thankfully, Heidi woke up the second her alarm went off not long after I went to sleep so she didn't wake me up, not sure anything could've woken me up anyways. She left me a note on my bedside saying that she's out for breakfast with a few of her friends and management and whatever.
I drag myself into the main area of the hotel room, a scream shattering my ears that I don't realise is coming from me till I wince. "Blake! Stop looking, pervert!"
Trying and failing to pull my little nightdress past the tops of my thighs, I give up, dive for the couch and put a big throw pillow over my lap instead. "Sorry, you're not a pervert—perverts aren't normally as good-looking as you are."
He lifts his head, eyebrows twitching. We stare for a moment. I then clock what I said. "Fuck—no, no. You're not good-looking, good looking but like, for a dad you're quite fit. I'm quite happy with your sons—son. Just the one. I—"
"Have some fucking coffee, Harper, Jesus." He blows out a breath, waves his hand toward the coffee cup on the table between us.
I've never been so happy to drink black coffee in my whole life. I hate black coffee but it's better than the poison I wish to down right now. An awkward silence settles over us. I don't know why he's here. My head hurts too much for me to really think about it.
"I don't think Matilda's here and neither is Albie so unless you stumbled into the wrong hotel room last night..."
Blake huffs, probably a bit agitated. "No, Harper, woke up in the right room this morning next to my wife," he flicks his eyes at me. I roll mine. "Matilda's out with Heidi and Albie is busy. I wanted to talk to you."
I spit out my disgusting coffee mainly because I hated the bitterness and also because why the fuck does he want to speak to me?
"Whatever I've done, it wasn't me. Wrong place wrong time," I hold up my hands.
Blake cocks his head. "What?"
"I don't know," I very nearly shout. "Why do you want to talk to me?"
"About last night—have you not checked your phone this morning?"
"No, it's dead probably, I don't think I put it on charge last night. God, I was very drunk, it—"
He cuts me off by shoving his phone into my head. I glance down, it's open on an article by TMZ. Hugh Lance is dead.
"Is this true?" He asks me.
My heart kind of stops but not fully because then I'd be dead but I do feel dead as I stare down at the screen. His face takes up most of it. The big words captioning it tattoo themselves into my brain.
