Too Late Mr. Sterling: You Lost Me

Archer bristled, puffing out his chest. "I don't need parenting advice from a stranger."

Just then, the glass doors of the bridal salon burst open. The manager, a woman who usually moved with glacial dignity, was running. She was pale.

She practically skidded to a halt in front of the group. She ignored Harper. She ignored Archer. She bowed her head deeply toward the stranger.

"Mr. Van Der Bilt," she gasped. "I had no idea you were in the building. We would have cleared the elevators."

The name landed like a grenade.

Van Der Bilt.

Julian Van Der Bilt.

Harper froze. Everyone in New York knew the name. Old money. The kind of money that built the city. The kind of money that owned the bank Archer was begging for a loan.

Archer's arrogance vanished instantly. His eyes went wide, pupils dilating in sheer terror. He looked from the manager to the tall man, his face draining of color.

"Mr... Mr. Van Der Bilt?" Archer stammered, his voice cracking. "I... I apologize. I didn't expect... I mean, it's an honor. I'm Archer Sterling. Sterling Ventures. We have a proposal on your desk..."

He extended his hand, desperate, fawning.

Julian didn't look at the hand. He looked at Archer's face with bored contempt.

"I know who you are," Julian said softly. "You're the man who leaves a lady injured and unattended in a public hallway."

Archer pulled his hand back as if burned. He laughed nervously. "Ah, well, business calls. You know how it is. The grind."

"I know business," Julian said. His eyes flicked to the lipstick mark on Archer's collar. "And I know that isn't it."

Archer's hand flew to his neck, instinctively covering the stain. His eyes darted around in panic.

Julian turned to the manager. "Ms. Quinn has injured her ankle. Bring her a pair of flats. New ones. Put it on my account."

"Yes, sir. Immediately." The manager vanished.

Julian turned back to Harper. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a card. It wasn't flashy. It was a thick, ivory cardstock with a subtle texture, the kind that whispered of centuries of wealth. There was no logo, no company name. Just "Julian Van Der Bilt" and a number embossed in charcoal ink.

"If you need anything," he said, handing it to her. "Anything at all."

Harper took the card. Her fingers brushed his. His skin was warm.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Why would she need anything?" Archer interjected, his voice shrill with jealousy and fear. "I take care of her."

Julian looked at Archer one last time. It was the look a lion gives a particularly annoying fly.

"Do you?" Julian asked.

He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and walked toward the elevators, his entourage falling into step behind him. The doors closed, cutting off the sight of his broad shoulders.

Archer stared at the closed doors. He was trembling.

He whipped around to Harper, his fear turning instantly into aggression. "How do you know him?" he hissed. "Did you plan this? Are you trying to embarrass me in front of the biggest investor in the city?"

Harper looked down at the ivory card in her hand. The letters caught the light.

Julian Van Der Bilt.

"I don't know him," Harper said, clutching the card tight enough to bend the corner. "But he treated me with more respect in five minutes than you have in five years."

"Respect?" Archer laughed, a cruel, sharp sound. "He's a shark, Harper. He eats people like us. Don't get ideas. You're out of your league."

Harper looked at her fiancé. "Maybe," she said. "Or maybe I'm just in the wrong league."