Off The Record Ch. 03

A little more background before we really get into it with these two.

I promise the slow burn will be so worth it :)

All characters are over 18.

***

Jab, cross, hook. Reset.

Jab, cross, hook. Reset.

Harper completed the punch combination for what felt like the thousandth time. With the way her brain had turned off dozens of reps ago, entering a sort of flow state, she wouldn't be surprised to learn that she had been at it for hours.

Harper felt the force of her punch travel from her glove up her arm, feeling adrenaline course through her.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Harper threw another jab, putting her full body weight behind the movement this time, but she stumbled when her momentum carried her forward, her fist missing contact with the bag entirely.

Regaining her footing effortlessly and straightening back up, Harper threw a glare at Cam. "What the hell?"

Cam's big dark eyes peered at her from behind the punching bag where she had grabbed hold of it, keeping it from swinging back into Harper's relentless melee.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Cam said, narrowing her eyes at her. "You're about to knock my bag off its brackets."

Harper blew a stray strand of hair out of her face, raising her arms and planting her feet. "Come on," she said, breathless. "I was in a groove." She motioned for Cam to release the bag, impatient.

"More like a trance," Cam said, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. "If you keep going at that pace, you're bound to overextend your joints." She nodded toward the benches a few feet away. "Let's take a short break."

Harper squinted against the droplets of sweat burning her eyes. "I don't need a break."

She hated the petulance that she could hear in her own voice, knowing that Cam didn't deserve to be the victim of her personal frustrations.

Cam's thick, sculpted eyebrows rose slowly toward her hairline. "As your personal trainer, I'm telling you to take a break."

Harper dropped her arms, the fight going out of her. "That's not fair," she grumbled.

"Life's not fair," Cam said, sounding so much like their mother that it made her cringe. "My gym, my rules." She smirked, like she knew she won.

It had been like that ever since they'd been kids. For all of Harper's best efforts, Cam was older and usually came out on top in all of their disagreements.

"Seriously, Harper, what is up with you today?"

When it became clear that Cam wasn't going to let this go, Harper let out a grunt of frustration, moving toward her locker.

She pulled off her boxing gloves, tossing them into her gym bag before she started unwrapping her hands.

"I'm perfectly fine," she mumbled, knowing that her tone wasn't very convincing. "I just needed a more intense workout this morning. Lots of excess energy to burn before I spend the majority of my day sitting at a desk."

It wasn't technically a lie; Harper preferred to fit her daily workout into her early morning routine so that she didn't get antsy during her days full of interviews and being stationary in front of a computer screen.

She drew her arm across her forehead while she caught her breath, plastering the fine hairs that had come loose from her ponytail to her sweaty skin.

"Okay, that was good," Cam said. "Now, try again, but this time how about you tell me the truth?"

Cam finally let go of the bag and made her way over to Harper, arms crossed tightly across her chest. She raised one eyebrow at her silently, employing a tactic that had always made Harper fold when they were younger.

Even now at twenty-seven years old, Harper couldn't help but squirm with discomfort under her older sister's knowing gaze.

"Spill," Cam said, the single syllable a firm command that had Harper cracking under the pressure.

With a sigh, she swung a leg over the bench and plopped down, straddling it.

"I'm fine, Cameron," Harper said pointedly, knowing that using her full name would annoy her. "It's just work stuff."

Cam settled on the bench next to her. Harper could feel her sharp eyes burning into her, but she kept her gaze firmly trained on the wood of the bench. "What kind of work stuff?" Cam prodded, her voice soft and soothing.

Harper picked at a loose thread on her shorts, only hesitating briefly before she answered her. "Deadlines, mostly."

Cam hummed, obviously not buying it.

Harper heard her blow out a long breath. "I just want you to know that you can talk to me," she said gently, as if she thought that speaking too loudly or quickly would spook Harper like a wild animal. "I want to give you your space, but you've been acting strange all week, meeting me here hours earlier than usual, working yourself half to death. I don't mind opening the gym early for you, Harper, you know that. It's just that the last time you withdrew into yourself like this was when your bio mom reached out to you and--"

Harper snapped her head up, her stomach twisting when she saw the worry creased into the lines of Cam's flawless chestnut skin.

She reached out and took one of Cam's hands in hers, squeezing it reassuringly. "It's not like that, I promise."

Had she really been so unlike herself recently that Cam had been this concerned about her? She could admit that maybe she'd been a little bit distracted, but it wasn't even close to the nuclear fallout that came with a bio mom spiral.

She shook her head, biting back the unhinged laughter threatening to make its way out of her throat. The last thing Harper needed was to cackle like a maniac while trying to convince Cam that she wasn't having a mental breakdown.

But in the grand scheme of things, what was actually bothering her was completely absurd, compared to what Cam had, apparently, been fearing about Harper's current mental state.

It could hardly even be classified as a problem--unless problems had beautiful blue eyes, a dangerously disarming smile, and legs for days.

She closed her eyes. "Okay," she said. "Do you remember the woman I told you about a few weeks ago?"

Cam simply gave her a look, and Harper rolled her eyes, her cheeks beginning to grow hot with embarrassment. As if Cam could possibly forget how Harper had talked her ear off, gushing to her about Morgan for over an hour during their nightly phone call debrief when Harper had returned home from Lavender the night she'd met her.

"Hmm," Cam teased, tapping a thoughtful finger against her chin. "Do you mean mysterious Morgan? The woman who apparently swept you off your feet and nearly into her bed?"

Ignoring her, Harper took a long swig from her water bottle, using the condensation from it to cool the back of her neck.

"I saw her again," she said.

"You finally called her?" The edge of excitement in Cam's voice grated on Harper's nerves, because it was exactly the kind of excitement that she wasn't allowing herself to feel about this absolute clusterfuck of a situation.

"No," she scoffed. She looked up to meet Cam's questioning gaze, the confusion clear in her expression.

"I don't understand. What's the prob--"

"She's Edward Sterling's fucking defense attorney."

Cam blinked at her, head tilting as her brow furrowed while she connected the dots, her gorgeous black ringlets of hair falling across her shoulder.

Her mouth opened, closed, and then opened again. "Edward Sterling. As in...?"

Harper nodded aggressively. "Edward Sterling, as in the man who is about to be retried for the murder of his wife. Edward Sterling, whose case I was recently asked to cover."

Cam nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "And Morgan is...". She trailed off again.

"His lawyer," Harper filled in the blank, the sharpness of her tone giving away the irritation she was feeling. "She works with Joel, and she's the woman I'm going to be interviewing face-to-face multiple times over the course of the next several months. The woman I'm supposed to maintain a purely professional relationship with so that I can write about the trial in an unbiased manner." She dropped her head into her hands. "The woman I met at a club and practically begged to kiss me after talking to her for all of thirty fucking minutes," she mumbled.

God, it was so humiliating.

Harper had been on cloud nine when she'd gotten home that night, daydreaming about Morgan like she'd been struck by Cupid's arrow.

But the next morning, when Harper had had enough time to truly unpack what had happened between them, the mortification had rapidly set in.

She had all but thrown herself at Morgan, who had probably just been expecting to have an exploratory conversation with a woman at a bar and not...whatever the hell had been happening in the shadowed privacy of that booth.

For all she knew, Morgan had faked an emergency to get away from the desperate, horny woman who wasn't content to just talk and get to know one another. She had come on way too strong, regardless of whether Morgan had seemed into it.

Swallowing her pride and deciding to just do them both the courtesy of not using Morgan's number, Harper had been willing to write the whole night off as a loss.

But in a cruel twist of fate fit for the romantic comedy that was Harper's life, Morgan had, of course, turned out to be the lawyer she was expected to work closely with throughout the Sterling trial.

Harper didn't think she could have written better fiction if she tried.

And the worst part was that Harper had been ecstatic when Joel had reached out to her detailing the offer. It was simple -- Harper would be the defense team's first point of contact for all pre-trial interviews, coverage of the court proceedings, and post-trial wrap-ups so that Sterling's representation could streamline the false information that was bound to be thrown around amidst the chaos of the trial.

While the job would be demanding, it was a no-brainer for Harper. It was the type of gig that put investigative journalists on the map. If she delivered in covering this case, Erin might finally trust her to do more hard-hitting stories rather than fill the gaps with columns of meaningless bullshit. She had been practically buzzing with energy when she'd walked into Lorenzo's the other night, ready to turn on the charm and make a good first impression--

Only to realize with a jolt that it wasn't a first, but a second impression that she would be making.

To say that Harper's body and brain had been paralyzed by the complete and utter shock of seeing Morgan sitting at that candlelit table, her hair a halo of silken curls under the soft glow of the extravagant chandelier above, would be an understatement.

The only thing that had stopped Harper from cutting and running had been the fact that Morgan had been just as thrown off balance as she was. Because for all of Harper's teasing, it was abundantly clear that Morgan hadn't been expecting to see her that night.

It was in the way those cobalt eyes had widened in disbelief when they'd made eye contact for the first time, her unfairly plush lips parting in surprise as she'd taken in Harper's appearance. The staggering confidence that she had worn as a second skin when Harper had met her at the club had faded considerably, replaced with a discomfort that seemed foreign to her.

And when the conversation had inevitably turned to the topic of that fateful night, Morgan had been so visibly nervous that Harper had felt her own rigidness thaw considerably, her awkwardness overcome by her desire to calm an uncharacteristically and adorably flustered Morgan.

The night they'd met, Morgan had been hot--like mouth-wateringly hot--in that short blue dress that brought out her eyes and showed off her curves. But at dinner, Morgan had looked elegantly beautiful in a way that had made Harper's chest constrict.

She had worn a much more conservative dress--a forest green, sleeveless, boatneck style dress that flared out slightly at her waist, adorned with a cute belt to complete the look. But she had been stunning all the same.

And it might have been possible for Harper to move on from their interaction at the club if Morgan had simply been pretty. Maybe she could have buried the attraction she felt deep enough that their professional relationship wasn't strained during the trial.

But Morgan was wildly attractive in so many more ways than simply how she looked.

And that was a problem -- the problem that had Harper working out with Cam at five o'clock in the morning, pushing herself close to muscle failure every day for the past week.

It was a problem that it had taken approximately thirty seconds of conversation for Harper to realize that Morgan was incredibly intelligent and well-spoken, not to mention charming and funny.

It was a problem that, once the initial misunderstanding had been ironed out, the two of them seemed to have picked up right where they left off two weeks prior, flirting and volleying their playful banter back and forth.

It was a problem that Harper had climbed into her car, knowing that it was a bad idea, that being in close quarters with her would only make the magnetic field that she'd been drawn into tighten its grip on her.

It was a problem that Morgan had stared at Harper's lips for what felt like an eternity when she'd pulled up to her apartment building.

It was a problem that Harper had wanted Morgan to kiss her, regardless of the repercussions they'd both face.

It was a problem that Harper couldn't stop fucking thinking about her.

Every time she opened her eyes, every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was Morgan's perfect face or one of those little smirks that Harper always wanted to kiss right off of her.

Harper tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling. "You don't understand, Cammie. This girl is--she's--" she broke off, grunting in frustration. "She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life, and I've embarrassed myself in front of her twice now."

"Is it possible we're being a tad dramatic?" Cam asked.

Instead of answering her, Harper swept her phone up from the bench in front of her, holding up an index finger to tell Cam to wait one second while she pulled up Morgan's Instagram account. Because yes, Harper had absolutely stalked her. Several times.

Not surprisingly, every photo on her page was flawless, like it had been taken and edited by a professional photographer -- not that she needed editing of any sort.

Harper handed her phone to Cam and watched as her eyes narrowed on the screen before they widened considerably. "Okay, sure, maybe she looks like a supermodel," Cam said. "But so do you."

Harper didn't even dignify that with a response.

"Are you sure this isn't a bot account?" Cam zoomed in on a photo, one of Morgan smiling into a glass of wine, showing off her perfect teeth. "Morgan Monroe? Even her name is sexy."

"I know," Harper groaned, lying back on the bench, wallowing in her own self-pity.

"When do you have to see her again?"

Harper flinched, glancing at her watch. It was already seven o'clock. "In about two hours."

Cam's head swiveled toward her. "What?"

Upon further consideration, Harper had realized that they hadn't really discussed in detail the mechanics of exactly how this Sterling deal was going to work. It all seemed a bit quid pro quo, which worried her. She just wanted to make sure that everything was above board before they were in too deep.

That was why, a few days ago, she had pulled out her phone to text Morgan about her concerns, but when she'd opened their previous text thread and been reminded of just how blatantly suggestive her own messages had been, she'd felt so nauseous that she'd deleted the entire conversation and opted to write a much more formal, professional email asking if they could discuss the arrangement further.

Not two minutes after hitting send on her email did she receive a text from Morgan.

Morgan: Yikes, Cassidy. Your email is giving rigid serial killer. You could have just texted me if you had questions

Harper: I'd rather leave a paper trail where you're concerned

She'd thought for a moment before sending a follow-up message.

Harper: And rigid serial killer? Really?

Avoidant, awkward mess, maybe. But serial killer was a bit harsh.

Morgan: Yes, serial killer. Are you free Saturday morning around 9:00? You can come to my apartment and we can go over whatever concerns you have bouncing around in that brilliant brain of yours

Harper had stared at that message for what felt like forever.

It was a bad idea. She knew that.

It wasn't as though Harper had never conducted business meetings or interviews in someone's home before. Then again, she'd never done it with someone she was so painfully attracted to.

She would tell Morgan that they should meet in public, to avoid any awkward situations. And temptations.

Her thumbs didn't listen to her though.

Harper: What's your address?

So, now, here she was, stressed out of her mind about a meeting that she had to get to in less than two hours.

Suddenly, Cam jumped up from the bench. "You're meeting her at nine?"

The sheer urgency in her voice made Harper stand up as well. "Yes," she said slowly. "She only lives a few streets over. I have plenty of time."

Cam glanced at the digital clock on the wall above the line of treadmills. "No," she said, "you'd have plenty of time if you didn't smell like a high school football team."

Frowning, Harper glanced down at herself, noting that the entire top half of her tank top was soaked through with sweat.

"Harper," Cam said, enunciating each syllable of her name, "you absolutely cannot go and meet a woman who looks like that--" she broke off, gesturing to Harper's phone, "--looking like that." She waved her hand in a circular motion, indicating the entirety of Harper's being.

"Love you, too," she murmured.

Obviously, she planned on showering and dressing appropriately before she saw Morgan. Although, now that she thought about it, maybe showing up sweaty and gross would turn Morgan off so much that she'd want nothing to do with her, and Harper's problem would be solved.

Cam began fussing around the locker room area, gathering all of Harper's scattered belongings and throwing them into her bag.

"You need to get home as fast as humanly possible and get all hot in one of your preppy 'I'm a writer for the New York Times' outfits."

Despite herself, Harper laughed. Cam's impression of the uppity New York elite never failed to amuse her.

"Alright, alright," she said, moving toward the door even as Cam shoved her bag into her arms.

"Tell Aphrodite I said hi," Cam said, giving her a shit-eating grin.

***

Harper was ready.

At least that was what she told herself as she walked briskly down the hallway of Morgan's apartment building. Had she struggled to fall asleep last night because her stomach was in knots over just how embarrassing this entire situation had been so far?

Maybe.

But when Harper had woken up, having managed to catch a few fitful hours of rest, she had firmly decided to roll with the punches. She had dealt with worse things; if controlling herself around a beautiful woman was the biggest problem she had, then she definitely needed a reality check.

She took a moment to double check the apartment number that Morgan had texted her earlier in the day. Confirming that she was at the right door, she raised her fist and gave it three sharp knocks. She took a deep breath. She was ready.

When the door swung open fifteen seconds later, Harper's mouth went dry. What she had not been ready for was how Morgan looked when she opened the door for Harper, smiling that stupidly gorgeous smile.

Harper knew it was a Saturday and hadn't expected Morgan to dress the way she would if she had been going in to work, but she certainly hadn't expected her to be wearing a pair of paint-spattered overalls with holes in the knees that hugged her curves in all the right places, the denim at her ankles cuffed to show a few inches of her well-muscled calves. Harper bit back a groan as she took in Morgan's bare shoulders and arms, a significant deal of smooth skin showing around the thin sports bra she wore on her torso.

Report