By the way the evening unfolded without me having tofightfor it.
My phone buzzes.
I glance at the screen.
Julian:Are you free tomorrow night?
That’s it?
No explanation. No pressure. No follow-up.
Just a question.
I stare at it longer than I should.
My instinct is to protect myself. To keep things clean and professional. To remember the restaurant, the offer, and the way the ground shifted under my feet.
But then I think about the car.
The tea.
The lunch.
The thought put into the groceries.
I type, delete, retype.
Finally, I send:
Me:Yes.
The response comes a moment later.
Julian:Good.
That’s all.
I set my phone down, heart beating a little faster than it has any right to.
I don’t know what tomorrow is.
I don’t know what he wants.
But as I curl up on the couch, tea warming my hands, one thought settles quietly into place, impossible to ignore.
No one has ever taken care of me like this.
Chapter 17 - Julian
The maître d’ leads me to a table that’s been set with precision, exactly enough distance to feel private, exactly enough visibility to signal status. Northwell’s usual dining room, as Caleb once called it. A place for deals that needed quiet.
Caleb Mercer is already seated, jacket draped perfectly over the back of his chair, hands folded as if he’s been waiting for me for hours instead of seven minutes.
“You’re late,” he says, tone flat.
“I’m never late.”
I sit across from him and loosen my tie, letting out a sigh from the week behind me.
