Chapter 120
Aria's POV
The Uber pulled up to a modern suburban house with clean architectural lines and large glass windows. I checked my reflection in my phone's camera one last time, adjusting my hair to hide any evidence of my earlier disappointment at Devon's penthouse.
I dialed Jeremy's number. "I'm outside your house," I said when he answered.
"Be right out," he replied, his voice sounding slightly strained.
When Jeremy emerged from his front door, I winced at the sight of his injury. The cut on his lip had worsened since I'd last seen him, now swollen and showing signs of infection around the edges. A reminder of how he'd protected me and my property from those thugs.
"Sorry I'm late," I said as he slid into the seat beside me. "Some things came up this morning. We should get that checked right away—it looks worse."
Jeremy touched his lip gingerly and shrugged. "It's just a small cut, but I'm touched you actually came. Not many clients would personally escort their architect to the hospital."
I instructed the driver to head to New York General, then turned back to Jeremy. "You took that hit defending my beach house. It's the least I could do."
During the ride, Jeremy studied my face with an intensity that made me slightly uncomfortable. "You really don't remember meeting me before, do you?" he asked suddenly.
I frowned, searching my memory. "I'm sorry, but no. Have we met somewhere before hiring you for the beach house renovation?"
"Sometimes memory is selective," he said with a cryptic smile that didn't reach his eyes. Then, abruptly changing the subject: "So what's your relationship with Devon Kane?"
My fingers instinctively curled into fists in my lap. "We're just friends. Why do you ask?"
"Just trying to assess my competition," he replied with a half-joking smile that made my stomach tighten.
"Jeremy," I warned, keeping my voice steady, "that's not funny. Let's keep this professional."
At the hospital, I insisted the doctor perform a thorough examination. "I want to make sure there's no concussion or internal injuries he might not be aware of," I told the physician while Jeremy watched me with amusement.
"Worried I'll sue you for damages?" Jeremy teased, but his tone was warm. "Or that I'll become your permanent responsibility?"
The doctor eventually confirmed what Jeremy had claimed—aside from the infected cut on his lip that needed treatment, he was perfectly fine.
"See? I told you it was nothing serious," Jeremy said as we exited the examination room. "Since we're already out, how about lunch? We could discuss some design refinements for the beach house."
I hesitated, but my growling stomach made the decision for me. "That sounds reasonable."
We found a high-end bistro near the hospital, where Jeremy spread architectural drawings across the table after we ordered. As he explained his vision for restoring certain original elements while modernizing others, I found myself impressed by his expertise and passion.
"Your understanding of architectural heritage is impressive," I commented, studying a particularly elegant sketch of the oceanfront facade.
"I bet we've crossed paths before," Jeremy said, returning to his earlier theme. "Care to make a wager on that?"
I smiled politely. "I'm not much for gambling," I replied, my thoughts drifting to Harper Group's financial struggles and how I'd need to find other avenues of support now that Devon had refused.
Just as Jeremy was explaining a particularly complex structural element, a familiar voice cut through the restaurant's ambient noise.
"Jeremy. What a surprise."
My head snapped up to see Noah standing beside our table, his expression tight. And behind him, Devon, whose gray eyes instantly locked onto mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
"You shouldn't be out with that injury," Noah admonished Jeremy, who remained silent, tension radiating between them.
"Miss Harper," Devon acknowledged me with a slight nod, his gaze flickering between Jeremy and me. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Since we're all here, why don't we join you?"
It wasn't really a question. Before I could formulate a response, Devon was already signaling a waiter to rearrange the seating. Minutes later, we were seated at a larger table, Devon directly beside me, Noah opposite Jeremy. The architectural plans had been neatly rolled up and set aside.
"So," Devon said once we'd ordered, his voice deceptively casual. "How did you two end up here together?"
I cleared my throat. "Jeremy got injured protecting my property yesterday, so I accompanied him for his medical follow-up today. He is my architect and I have to be responsible for him."
"Actually, Aria and I have known each other for over a decade," Jeremy interjected smoothly.
I turned to him, genuinely confused. "What? We have?"
Devon's fingers began a slow, rhythmic tap against the tablecloth. "That's interesting," he said, his voice cool. "Aria has never mentioned you before."
I glanced between them, utterly lost as to how to explain the contradiction. The tension at the table was palpable, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
As the appetizers arrived, Devon's hand suddenly landed on my thigh under the table, his touch light but possessive. I stiffened, trying to subtly move my chair away, but his fingers only tightened slightly.
"So, Noah," Devon continued conversationally, as though he wasn't currently sending electric currents through my body, "how's the Tokyo expansion coming along?"
While Noah detailed some business venture, Devon's hand began a slow exploration upward. I tried concentrating on my salad, but found myself completely distracted. In desperation, I reached for the foie gras.
"Devon, you should try this," I said, placing a portion on his plate. "It's excellent."
He smiled at me, accepting the offering, but his hand continued its torturous path under the table. I could barely follow the conversation happening above the tablecloth.
Finally, when his fingers reached dangerously high on my thigh, I grabbed his wrist under the table. Our eyes met, and I tried to convey both plea and warning. Devon held my gaze for a long moment, then his lips curved into a small, victorious smile. He withdrew his hand, but the triumphant look in his eyes told me this battle was far from over.