Jordan blinked. “This one? The one I’m sitting in?”
“Yes,” Julian said pleasantly. “Next to my woman.”
It wasn’t a request; it was a statement of fact. Jordan’s jaw ticked, but he forced a smile and moved. “By all means.”
Julian sat, his thigh pressed hard against mine. He was mad. He flagged a waiter. “Another round of mimosas, please. And whatever these gentlemen are having.” He leaned in, his voice conspiratorial. “If you’re in town for the weekend, I know the promoter for the Giveon concert. I can get you backstage passes. My treat.”
Shayna’s eyes went wide. Trey looked pleasantly surprised. Even Jordan’s posture softened. Julian wasn't the intruder anymore; he was the host. He was warm, engaged, and disarming. By the time the check came, he’d won them over completely.
When we finally left, Julian walked me to the car and helped me in. Quinn drove. The silence stretched as the city lights passed. I knew he was stewing.
“So… Jordan is your type,” he said quietly.
My lips twitched. “What?”
“He’s tall. Charismatic. Ambitious. Black.” He listed the attributes like he’d been cataloging them. “He’s your type.”
I reached over, tracing the tense line of his jaw. “Look at me.”
He held my gaze, guarded.
“First of all,” I said softly. “My ‘type’ is apparently a possessive, emotionally volatile, cake-baking billionaire. That’s a specific niche, and last I checked, Jordan doesn’t fit.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed.
“Secondly,” I continued, cradling his cheek. “He could be every adjective you listed and it wouldn’t matter. Because he’s not you.” I whispered against his skin. “I only have eyes for the man who remembered my friend’s names after one conversation.”
I watched the storm in his eyes calm. He caught my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. “Okay,” he said, his voice rough.
He pulled me into him, his face buried in my hair. He didn’t say anything else.
Chapter 21
Elara
My resignation letter was sitting on my desk, but I hadn’t contacted the Ashworth’s in almost a month. I wasn’t answering calls, so the family hadn’t talked about what happened that night at the estate. I knew everyone was probably pissed at me, but I couldn’t mentally deal with it yet.
I still hadn’t told Julian about what went down that last night with Alastair, and he was hiding something too. Something that happened on his trip to Zurich. But I wasn’t pushing him. We both needed to rest. I was calling my time away a vacation.
Julian was on "vacation" with me, not that I’d asked him to be. After the Giveon concert, he’d driven me home and simply never left. His mother had been calling him; he said she was annoyed because he’d seemed more interested in the business before he actually inherited it.
I watched out of the corner of my eye as he took a slow hit from the blunt he’d rolled, then passed it to me. His eyes were heavy-lidded, fixed on my profile. He never seemed to look away when I was in the room. It made my heart feel funny.
“So,” he said, his voice quiet, “when are you permanently leaving them?”
“Soon,” I said, my tongue loose and honest from the smoke. “End of the quarter, maybe. After I make sure Alastair can’t fuck anything up so badly it becomes my fault.”
His brows lifted. “Why are you making it easy for him?”
“I’m making it easy for everyone. I want no one to be able to say I just walked away. I’ll make a public announcement. Give him the throne he thinks he deserves.”
Julian’s jaw flexed. “He doesn’t deserve a fucking folding chair.”
I laughed. “True.”
“Then what?” he asked. “I can give you money—lots of it—if that’s an issue.”
I mock-glared at him. “Stop trying to buy me, Baby Warbucks. I have money.” I let my head fall back against the headboard. “I have four million saved. I’m buying a house somewhere with actual seasons. Somewhere quiet. I’m going to spend the next ten years doing absolutely nothing.”
