CHAPTER SEVEN
HARPER SLOAN HARGRAVES looked up at the condo building looming before her. Nestled in the heart of Manhattan, the tall structure gleamed in the early morning sun of a warm September day. Black trim enhanced the grey brick exterior. Leafy green trees decorated the courtyard, along with topiary roses in enormous ceramic pots.
Well-dressed men and women ambled out of the wide, tinted-glass door and bobbed along the street on their way to undoubtedly prestigious jobs. Taxis, town cars and limos rolled by—quietly, to match the clean, subdued area around her.
Fighting the urge to glance down at her torn jeans and simple T-shirt, Harper tightened her fingers on the handle of her daughter’s stroller and gave it a quick push toward the door. It opened automatically, revealing the kind of lobby typically reserved for luxury resorts but borrowed for the rarefied world of New York City’s upwardly mobile. The tinkling of the falling-rain fountain in the center of the room greeted her. Gray-and-white-print area rugs highlighted black slate floors. A stainless-steel banister on the ultramodern stairway, steel elevator doors and steel window frames sharpened gray walls. Green plants sat discreetly in corners, while vases of red and purple flowers added pops of color.
“Can I help you?”
A doorman. Of course. She hadn’t expected otherwise. At one time, Harper had belonged in a building like this one. She’d grown up in an area so lush she’d taken luxury for granted and had rejected it. Then she’d married Clark Hargraves and fallen into the lap of luxury again, only to lose it all when he’d died.
She’d been rich, then poor, then rich again. Now, she had no idea who or what she was.
She walked up to the shiny black desk where the doorman stood staring at her. “I’m here to see Seth McCallan.”
Wearing a red sweater with the gray building logo in the upper left-hand corner, the doorman straightened. “Mr. McCallan will be leaving for work in a few minutes. Is he expecting you?”
She’d known seeing Seth wouldn’t be easy. He was one of the McCallans. Owners of enough Manhattan real estate to be unofficial royalty, though he’d been a penniless student when he’d met Clark. He’d renounced his family and their money and had been forced to move into Clark’s run-down apartment with him. Two years after they’d graduated, Seth had persuaded him to start an investment firm together. Five successful years later, he’d gotten Clark accustomed to being somebody, then decided to help his brother with the family’s business and sold his share of the investment firm to Clark.
It all seemed so generous, except Clark had spent every cent he’d made keeping up the facade that he and Harper were as wealthy as Seth. He didn’t have the money to buy Seth’s share, so he’d leveraged the firm. And mortgaged their condo.
She’d had to sell both after he’d died to pay off the bank.
“He’s not expecting me, but I’m a personal friend.”
And he owes me, she thought, her chin raising. If he’d kept his share of their investment firm, not forced Clark to mortgage everything they owned, she wouldn’t be desperate right now.
Keeping his eyes on her, the doorman picked up his house phone.
“Mr. McCallan, you have a visitor. Harper Hargraves.” A pause. “Yes. I’ll be happy to send her up.”
The doorman motioned to the elevator. She headed to the shiny steel door, and he followed her. When the door opened, he directed her to go inside and walked in with her.
He was keeping tabs on her. Making sure the scraggly woman with the baby didn’t go anywhere else in the building.
Humiliation burned through her.
When the car stopped at the ninth floor, he didn’t accompany her out, but stood waiting in the elevator as she rolled her stroller to Seth’s door, then knocked.
The door opened, and Harper forgot all about the doorman watching her. Her husband’s former best friend stood before her in a pair of gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips, as he wrestled a T-shirt over his head. He yanked the thing down his torso, but it was too late. She’d seen the rippling muscles of his chest and stomach.
Shell-shocked, she stared at him. He was taller, sleeker, more muscular than he had been five years ago. But with his perpetual smile and tousled black hair, he was the same heart-stopping handsome he’d been when they lived in side-by-side apartments. And those eyes of his. As black as the soul of a condemned man, they nonetheless had a strange light. Almost a knowing. As if the years had taught him to be careful...wise. Though he’d been a nervous nerd when he’d lived with Clark, he seemed to have found his confidence as a man.
It was easy to see why the tabloids gossiped about him being with a different woman every few weeks. Confident. Rich. Handsome. Built. He had everything—
Which she shouldn’t be noticing. She’d had the love of her life. Their marriage had been fun, perfect. She missed Clark with every fiber of her being.
“Hey, Seth.”
His gaze ran from her short cap of black hair down her simple T-shirt, along her worn jeans and back up again.
“Harper?”
She tried to smile. “It’s me. I know I look a little different.”
“A little different” didn’t hit the tip of the iceberg. Since Clark’s funeral, she’d had a baby, cut her long black hair and lost weight. She was suddenly grateful for the supercilious doorman. If he hadn’t announced her, Seth might not have recognized her.
He gestured awkwardly. “I’ve never seen the baby.”
