He froze.
There weren’t two bodies sitting at their table, but three.
The third occupier certainly wasn’t Elliot—he would be the most recognisable of them, with his wild hair, and besides, Elliot would arrive fashionably late.
He meandered towards them, trying to identify the stranger. He could only see the back of their head, but what hecouldsee was Cinn’s beaming smile, bright as sunlight, directed at the invader.
Julien slid into the empty seat next to Cinn, eyes snapping straight to the person Cinn was so captivated by.
Eric.
Fuck. His heart sank likea ship.
Eric’s laughter died in his throat. Darcy looked between the two of them, body twitching like she might get up and leave. Julien couldn’t blame her.
“Julien,” Eric said, voice light but eyes full of daggers.
All Julien’s usual energy for putting on performances disintegrated as he stared at Eric’s expressionless face. “What are you doing here?” he snapped flatly.
Cinn’s head swivelled towards him, but Julien didn’t glance his way, avoiding the shock that would be written all over his face.
After a scoff, Eric replied, “I was just checking in with your new friend here. I met him at the Nexus Towers elevators the other day. He needed help using them, given that it was his first day here. Funny how you accidentally walked him to the wrong tower, eh?”
Julien wanted to close his eyes. Why did his day keep going from bad to worse? And had he really walked Cinn to the wrong tower? He could have sworn Noir’s office was at the top of the Ivory Tower…
“Well, it was nice seeing you again, Eric. See you around,” he said, before he could stop himself, causing Darcy to hiss.
“Julien!” she directed at him, while darting her eyes towards Cinn. Julien was embarrassing her. Embarrassing himself.
Eric’s face darkened. “Fucking hell, Julien. After the way you ended things with me, I thought you were just deranged, but it seems like you’re a genuine cunt.”
Ouch. That one hurt. Just a little.
Cinn spluttered out some of the water he was drinking.
“Cinn, my offer still stands,” said Eric, now intently focused back on Cinn again. He reached into his rucksack, pulled out some paper, and scribbled a number on it. A number Julien had called himself a handful of times. “Let’s meet up at some point. I can introduce you to a friend who, a bit like you, was very late to discover she was moteblessed. Between us, we’ll make sure you have everything you need.”
“There’s no need for concern, Eric. We’re taking care of him just fine.”
Under the table, Darcy’s leg connected with Julien’s kneecap. He winced.
Eric leaned over the table, pressing the paper into Cinn’s hand before grabbing his forearm. “Honestly, Cinn, ring me anytime. It was lovely to meet you properly.” Eric squeezed his arm as he stood up, and Julien was tempted to grab the butter knife that lay on the table.
“Thanks,” mumbled Cinn, pocketing the paper. “I’ll give you a call.”
The hell you will.
As Eric ambled off, shaking his head, Julien fought back memories of Eric’s naked body under his hands—oh, how his body had seemed sculpted by angels, a sea of smooth skin and firm muscles that Julien had thrown onto his bed before pinning his hands down…
And the thought of Eric doing that to Cinn—
“Julien Montaigne, I am downright embarrassed to be associated with you sometimes. Scrap that—mostof the time, recently.” Darcy had brought out her most disappointed expression. That was okay. Julien deserved it. “It’s honestly no wonder you have a grand total of two close friends, if you go around talking to people like that.” She banged the table with her cup.
“What… what was that?” Cinn asked weakly.
Darcy turned to Cinn, and took great joy in explaining, “Eric is one of Julien’s many, many scorned lovers.”
Julien winced, the butter knife seeming appealing again.
