Never Yours Again Mr Cole

Summary

I showed up to the Met Gala after-party in a backless, slate-gray silk gown, completely unaccompanied.

The press pen was a gauntlet of flashbulbs. A red-carpet reporter shoved a microphone toward my face, her voice pitched with eager curiosity: "Harper, darling! No Harrison Cole tonight? Did the prince of Wall Street let you walk alone?"

Before I could summon my practiced red-carpet smile, a ripple of shouting tore through the barricades.

I turned toward the curb.

A black Maybach had just pulled up to the velvet rope. Harrison stepped out into the glare of the flashing cameras.