I’m so wrapped up in the strange, impromptu moment that could only happen in a place like New York City, and in a building that houses a slew of magazine offices, I almost don’t recognize the man leaning against a column in the lobby until Chloe grabs my arm, forcing me to stop.
My breath hitches when my eyes fall on Julian. He looks rather dashing in the charcoal gray suit he makes casual by foregoing the tie and leaving the top few buttons of his shirt undone. Sunglasses obscure those deep blue orbs that are permanently ingrained in my head, but I can still feel their heat. Everything about him is so effortless, so confident, so compelling. It’s no wonder everyone passing him pauses to look. A few women even giggle, probably wishing they were lucky enough to spend time with him. But I’m the lucky one. I think…
He pushes off the column and walks toward me, lowering his sunglasses. “Guinevere…”
The way my name rolls off his tongue is incredibly erotic. Even more so now that I’ve been treated to a taste of his bedroom voice.
“Julian.” I straighten my posture, doing everything to make it appear as if his presence doesn’t have my stomach in knots.
“Do I want to know what caused that impromptu rendition of ‘Rocket Man’?”
“Definitely not.” I can only imagine his reaction if he were to find out Chloe and I reduced what happened on the verandah to aeronautical terminology.
“I didn’t think so.”
I attempt to slow my racing heart as we stare at each other. I hadn’t expected to see him again until Friday morning when I’m to head back to the Hamptons to attend a charity art auction aboard some heavy hitter’s ridiculously large yacht. At least I didn’t think I was supposed to see him. Perhaps I overlooked something.
“Good to see you, Chloe,” Julian says, finally acknowledging I’m not alone.
“You, as well, Julian. To what do we owe the…pleasure?” She discreetly pinches my side. I bat her away, struggling to maintain my composure.
“I came to collect Guinevere.” He shifts his gaze back to mine, a mysterious aloofness about him.
“Did I forget about something?” Frantic, I reach into my commuter bag to retrieve my planner, where every event I’m set to attend has been written down and color-coded. “I could have sworn—”
A hand reaches out, forcing me to let go of my planner, my life. Glancing up, I’m met with Julian’s smirk.
“Put the calendar away. You didn’t forget anything.”
I blink, swallowing hard at the intensity in his stare. “I didn’t?”
His lips turn into a playful smile as he shakes his head, slow and flirtatious. “No.”
“Then—”
“I stopped by to see if you wanted to do something.”
“Chloe and I were planning on dropping by Nora’s yoga studio—”
“But I was just telling Evie how exhausted I am from a crazy weekend,” Chloe interrupts, faking a yawn before winking conspiratorially. Squeezing my arm, she passes me a sly grin, then leans toward me, her voice a low whisper. “Don’t think. Enjoy the ride…on his rocket.”
I snort out a laugh, then instantly cover my mouth.
“Bye, you crazy kids!” Chloe calls out, waving as she heads off.
Once we’re alone, Julian returns his attention to me. “So it’s settled. We’ll do something.”
“What about the itinerary?”
“The itinerary?”
“Yes. The itinerary.” Passing him a coy smile, I bat my lashes. “That was part of our deal. You promised we’d only have to see each other during pre-approved times.”
In an instant, his playfulness disappears, his expression turning impassioned and carnal as he closes the distance between us. When his hand palms my back, forcing me against him, I gasp. My legs weaken as every synapse in my body fires at the same time.
It’s official. Julian Gage is the most potent drug known to man. He should be regulated and come with a warning to all females…and perhaps a few men.
Side effects include wet panties, labored breathing, and irregular heartbeat. May cause multiple orgasms upon even the slightest touch. Consult a doctor prior to repeated use.
He leans toward me, his voice a heady growl. “Fuck the itinerary.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Fuck the itinerary indeed.
Over the next several weeks, that’s precisely what Julian and I did. I still accompanied him to the myriad of events that seemed be the hallmark of summer in the Hamptons, where he continued to try to convince many of the power players that his project was worth them investing their time and connections, but we also spent time together away from the Hamptons.
On more than one occasion, he made the trek back to the city to take me to dinner, or for a walk through Central Park, or to see Hamilton…after I’d mentioned I’d yet to see it and doubted I’d ever be able to score a ticket. He claimed he needed to come into the city for work anyway, but the fact that he seemed to spend many work hours with me made me believe otherwise.
When I wasn’t with Julian, I worked tirelessly on getting more of a feel for who August Laurent truly is. Now I know why Viv was so eager to green light this story. He’s incredibly tight-lipped. Yes, over the course of our phone conversations and email exchanges, he’s given me some insight into what he does and why, all revolving around the theme of empowering women and making them feel beautiful during a difficult time. But the article is missing something. No matter how many times I’ve written and rewritten it, it’s not the gripping exposé I’d originally envisioned. Not without more than he’s given me.
I tried to press for details about his clients, even asking if I could talk to a few with a guarantee of complete anonymity, but he denied my request instantly. Without any other option, I asked if the rumors about him and Sonia Moreno were true. I thought perhaps that would encourage him to open up more. I may have overplayed my hand because an entire week has gone by without so much as a response to any of my emails.
Before Viv approached me regarding this promotion, I’d always enjoyed my work. Writing for the sex and dating columns has been one of the least stressful jobs I’ve ever had. Yes, there are deadlines and Viv can be particular with how the articles are worded and presented, but after a while, I learned what she liked and adjusted my style to match her preference. Now I can’t help but feel like a complete failure, like I’m not cut out for this. Maybe my parents are right. Maybe I’m better suited to teach.
When Julian picks me up on the second Friday in August for my obligatory weekend in the Hamptons, I try not to let this roadblock affect my mood, but it’s obvious something’s bothering me. The instant I’m in the front seat of his Porsche Spyder…or as I’ve affectionately renamed her, Monday…Julian notices.
“You okay?” He steals a glance at me as he merges into traffic.
I float my eyes from the trendy buildings that make up the East Village, forcing a smile. “Of course.”
“Are you sure? You seem…off.” He shifts into third as he continues up First toward the interstate.
“I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yes. Fine.”
“Hmm.”
“What?” I tilt my head.
“During his lifetime, Mr. Price offered a great deal of advice, most of it regarding operating and building a successful business. But he also gave me real-world advice.” Licking his lips, he glances at me, our eyes locking before he returns his attention to the road. “One of the things he told me was if a woman ever says she’s fine, I should run for cover.”
I laugh softly as I gaze at him, a nostalgic twinkle in his eyes.
“You’re not fine, Guinevere. Remember what I said at the beginning. No lies. It’s the only way this will work. Tell me what’s bothering you.” His voice is soft and comforting as he grasps my hand in his.
“I thought we weren’t going to do the whole sharing of our sob stories?”
“Is it a sob story?” he asks hesitantly.