Harley 💘
Harley
Being the youngest Pembrooke came with two very different assumptions.
The first was that I could have anything I wanted.
The second was that I'd never have to earn it in any capacity.
Neither had ever been true...
People looked at our last name and saw buildings, magazines, films, luxury brands, and enough money to solve almost any problem.
Key word: ALMOST.
They rarely looked at me. Or knew me as a person. They didn't care to.
Not really.
In a family known for producing remarkable heirs, I'd somehow become the disappointing one.
Not because I wasn't capable.
Because I wasn't obvious.
Winter could walk into a boardroom and have investors agreeing with her before she'd finished her presentation.
Our cousin Halina Pembrooke could negotiate deals people twice her age couldn't.
Everyone had a thing.
Mine just didn't sound nearly as impressive.
I pay attention. I noticed people.
I noticed body language, potential problems...
The conversations that happened after meetings instead of during them.
The story no one thought was worth telling.
The tiny details everyone else stepped over because they were too busy chasing bigger ones.
I was good at connecting dots other people didn't even realize existed.
I just wasn't sure that counted as intelligence.
No one had ever called it that.
So I usually didn't either.
Still...
I liked my job.
Working for Pembrooke Global wasn't glamorous. It was production schedules, budgets, meetings, and enough emails to make anyone question whether technology had actually improved our lives.
Most days, I genuinely enjoyed it.
Today wasn't one of those days.
After answering approximately seventy-three emails—all of which could've been summarized into one sentence—I decided a change of scenery was necessary.
Naturally...
I relocated to Winter's office.
Without permission.
---
She didn't even glance up from the wedding seating chart spread across her desk.
"...Why are you here?"
"I wanted a change of scenery."
"You have an office."
"I wanted your scenery."
She sighed.
Not an annoyed sigh.
An older-sister sigh.
The kind that said she'd accepted years ago that trying to stop me was a waste of everyone's time.
"We were thinking about getting married where Emiliano and I had our first date," she said, moving another name card. "Or somewhere that feels...fairy-tale."
I leaned back in my chair.
"You know..."
I tapped my chin thoughtfully.
"I'd probably choose Rome."
Winter slowly looked up.
"...It's not your wedding."
"I know. But now that we're discussing me—"
"We aren't."
"I'd also appreciate it if nobody expected me to wake up before nine."
She blinked.
"...Again."
"I like planning ahead."
"I'll let you know when I find a wedding that revolves around your sleep schedule."
I pressed a dramatic hand to my chest.
"Thank God."
---
My attention drifted to the stack of production folders sitting neatly in the corner of her desk.
"So..."
She looked up.
"So?"
"This whole nature thing we're doing..."
She nodded.
"We've never made a nature documentary before."
"No."
I frowned.
"I don't dislike nature."
She waited.
"I just think it belongs..."
Another pause.
"...outside."
Winter laughed.
It had all started after Winter found her way back to the stage.
Emiliano had found his way home after his injury.
Two childhood best friends rediscovering the dreams they'd nearly abandoned somehow changed the direction of an entire company.
Theatre became productions.
Productions became documentaries.
Stories about real people suddenly mattered just as much as the fictional ones.
Apparently audiences loved authenticity.
I preferred climate control.
Nature could be beautiful.
From a respectful distance.
Through clean glass.
In high definition.
Ideally narrated by someone else.
"I actually wanted to ask you something."
I smiled.
"If this involves hiking, my answer is no."
"It involves documentaries."
"...Marginally better."
"I want you to lead one."
Silence.
Then I laughed.
"That's funny."
Winter didn't smile.
She must really be stressed.
Poor sister.
"You're so funny, Winter. Wedding planning is really getting to your head."
"I'm serious."
"...Oh...oh no."
