And because—despite everything, despite the mission, despite the lies—
I could hardly wait to see him again.
Chapter 13
Julia
Ichanged my clothes four times.
Too formal. Too casual. Too much like I was trying too hard. Too much like I wasn't trying at all.
Finally settled on dark jeans, a soft cream sweater, minimal jewelry. Casual but put-together.
This is just dinner. Just cooking for your boss. Completely normal. Nothing weird about this at all.
Except everything about this was weird.
I packed ingredients in reusable bags—everything for chicken piccata, roasted vegetables, a simple salad. Classic Italian. Nothing too elaborate. Nothing that required hours of standing side-by-side in a kitchen trying not to notice how close we were standing.
Right. Because that's definitely not going to happen anyway.
The drive to his address took twenty minutes. He lived in the foothills, away from the city. Privacy. Security.
The house was modern, glass and steel, tucked into the mountainside with views of the city lights below.
Of course. Why wouldn't the successful businessman have a stunning house?
I parked in the driveway, grabbed the groceries, walked to the front door.
Rang the bell before I could chicken out.
Quentin answered immediately. Jeans. A dark henley that fit him in ways that made my mouth go dry. Barefoot.
Oh crap.
There was something about seeing him like this—casual, relaxed, in his own space—that felt more intimate than any moment in the office.
"Hi," he said. Smiled. But something in his eyes seemed... guarded. "You found it okay?"
"GPS is a wonderful invention." I held up the bags. "I come bearing ingredients."
"Come in." He stepped aside.
I walked into an open-concept space. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the valley. Sleek furniture. Art on the walls. A kitchen that was clearly designed by someone who actually cooked—or at least appreciated good design.
"This is beautiful," I said, setting my bags on the massive island.
"Thanks. I don't get to enjoy it as much as I should." He started unpacking groceries. "Work keeps me at the office most nights."
"Then we need to fix your work-life balance."
"Is that your professional opinion as my assistant?"
"It's my personal opinion as someone who cares about—" I caught myself. "About employee wellness."
Smooth, Julia. Real smooth.
But something flickered in his expression.
