Chapter 2 - Blood on White Linen
Two weeks later, Harper learned that Damian Costa's dinners were not dinners.
They were negotiations with silverware.
Five men sat around the long mahogany table.
They talked about waterfront leases, union contracts, zoning permits, shipping routes, and money that officially belonged to companies that did not officially exist.
Harper poured wine.
She kept her eyes lowered.
Then Arthur Bennett slammed his fist against the table.
“You promised me that dock!”
The room froze.
Claudia's elbow struck Harper's wrist.
The wine bottle tipped.
Red wine exploded across white linen.
It splashed onto Claudia's crimson silk sleeve and spread onto the Persian rug.
Nobody breathed.
Claudia slowly looked at Harper.
“You clumsy, stupid bitch.”
Harper knew exactly what was happening.
The mistake wasn't hers.
But that didn't matter.
Claudia had found an opportunity.
“Get on your knees.”
Harper didn't move.
Claudia's voice hardened.
“Clean it.”
Harper looked at the rug.
Then at Claudia.
Then, for the first time, at Damian.
He was already watching her.
Not Claudia.
Her.
Harper lowered herself onto the marble.
She grabbed club soda and began blotting the stain.
Press.
Don't rub.
Rubbing would set it.
“You're useless,” Claudia said.
Damian's glass touched the table.
“The girl didn't spill the wine.”
Claudia turned.
“Excuse me?”
“Arthur hit the table.”
“But she—”
“She didn't spill it.”
Silence.
Damian looked at Arthur.
“You have until tomorrow morning to sign the lease.”
Arthur swallowed.
“And if I don't?”
“You'll lose more than the dock.”
Arthur left.
Harper finished cleaning the rug.
She stood.
Her cheek was still burning from Claudia's slap.
She picked up the bottle.
“Sorry,” Claudia muttered sarcastically.
Harper looked at her.
“No.”
Claudia's eyes narrowed.
“No?”
“You're not sorry.”
The room went silent again.
Damian's mouth almost moved.
Almost.
Harper walked away.
Behind her, Damian leaned back in his chair.
He had spent his entire life around people who lied to survive.
This woman didn't lie.
She simply refused to give him anything.
That interested him.
Three days later, Claudia summoned Harper to her dressing room.
Two hundred pairs of shoes covered an entire wall.
“Reorganize them.”
“They're already organized.”
“I don't like the arrangement.”
“Yes, Miss Claudia.”
Four hours later, Harper was still on the floor.
Damian entered.
He looked at the shoes.
Then Claudia.
Then Harper.
“What is this?”
Claudia smiled.
“The closet needed reorganizing.”
Damian's eyes narrowed.
He knew punishment when he saw it.
“Leave it.”
Claudia's smile disappeared.
“Damian—”
“Leave it.”
He turned toward Harper.
“Pack my overnight bag.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Harper walked past him, Damian spoke quietly.
“Next time she kicks a shoe at you, don't pick it up.”
Harper stopped.
“If I don't pick it up, I don't get paid.”
She kept walking.
For the first time in years, Damian Costa smiled.
Not because she had amused him.
Because she had challenged him.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, a dangerous thought began forming.
Harper Lane wasn't like the others.
She wasn't trying to get close to him.
She wasn't trying to impress him.
She wasn't even trying to survive him.
She was simply trying to survive.
And that made her unpredictable.
Unpredictable people were dangerous.
May you like
Damian had built his empire by eliminating dangerous people.
But for the first time, he wasn't sure he wanted this one eliminated.
