Two can play this game, Mr. Montgomery.
I headed toward the kitchen, feeling Julian's gaze on my back as I walked away. In the reflection of the glass walls, I caught Jake leaning down to whisper something to Julian, his expression a mixture of surprise and amusement.
In the kitchen, I took longer than necessary arranging drinks on a tray, giving them time to settle in. Through the open concept layout, I could see the three men in the living area. Julian had positioned his wheelchair at an angle that let him keep an eye on both the men and the direction of the kitchen.
Keeping tabs on me, or making sure I was okay?
I arranged sparkling water with lemon slices for everyone, adding some of those fancy little cookies Mrs. Chen had left on a plate. Playing house was easier than I'd expected, though the surreality of the situation hadn't faded.
Three days ago, I was hiding from my own mother. Now I was serving refreshments to billionaires in a penthouse that had my name on the lease.
Well, my new name.
When I returned with the tray, the conversation paused. I caught the tail end of something about "security concerns" before they smoothly transitioned to market projections.
"The view is spectacular," I commented to Jake as I handed him his water, deliberately keeping the conversation light. "I'm still getting used to waking up to it every morning."
"I imagine there are many things about living with Julian that take getting used to," Jake replied with a knowing smile. "His schedule alone is enough to drive most people mad."
"I've noticed," I said, returning his smile with one of my own. "I had to check his planner this morning to see if I was penciled in anywhere."
Julian shot me a look that might have seemed stern to the others, but I caught the hint of amusement in his eyes. "Connor exaggerates."
"I doubt it," Jake laughed. "I've known you since university, Julian. You once created a study schedule that accounted for how long it would take to walk between classes, including bathroom breaks."
"Sounds exactly like him," I agreed, settling into a chair close enough to Julian that our proximity felt natural but not overly demonstrative.
The meeting proceeded, with Michael occasionally glancing at his phone and Jake discussing something about chip manufacturing delays that went completely over my head. I nodded at appropriate intervals, but mostly I watched Julian.
In business mode, he was a different creature entirely—sharp, focused, commanding even from his wheelchair. His hands moved with precise gestures as he explained something about supply chains, and I found myself remembering those same hands on my body last night, equally precise but with an entirely different purpose.
Several times during the meeting, I caught Julian's focus slipping when I shifted in my seat or reached for my water. His eyes would track the movement for a fraction of a second before snapping back to the business at hand.
Each time, a small thrill ran through me at the knowledge that I could distract him even in his most professional setting.
After what felt like hours but was probably only forty-five minutes, the meeting concluded. Whatever urgent matter had brought them here had been resolved with Julian's usual efficiency.
"Well, this has been illuminating," Jake said as he stood, extending his hand first to Julian and then to me. "Both professionally and personally. Connor, it was a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to hearing how you two met—the full story, not whatever sanitized version Julian has prepared."
I grinned at him, liking his directness despite myself. "It's a tale worth hearing."
"I'm sure," Jake replied, his eyes twinkling with genuine amusement. "Julian doesn't do anything without careful consideration, so you must be quite special."
I felt heat rise to my cheeks, unsure how to respond to that. Thankfully, Michael chose that moment to step forward, drawing Jake toward the elevator with a murmured comment about their next appointment.
I walked with Julian to see them out, maintaining the picture of domestic harmony while my mind raced with the implications of what had just happened. I'd been introduced as Julian's husband—not his companion, not his partner, but his husband—to people who clearly mattered in his world.
After they left, Julian turned to me in the marble-floored foyer, his expression unreadable. "Let's go out for lunch."
I blinked in surprise. "What about your color-coded schedule?"
"Some things are worth rearranging it for," he replied, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my pulse quicken.
We stood facing each other in the expansive foyer, the air between us charged with unspoken promises. I stepped forward to stand beside his wheelchair, the simple act of walking toward the private elevator suddenly laden with meaning beyond simple movement.
Every glance we exchanged sketched new possibilities between us, each more tempting than the last.
* * * *
