Never Yours Again Mr Cole
Language: en
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. Then,…