“I was just teasing you,” I snorted. “But thank you for reminding me of the full extent of your wealth. Meanwhile, I’m just hoping I can afford to buy a five hundred-square-foot studio in this city before I turn thirty-five.”
“Well, I hear Una Magazine compensates well, so you’re in luck.”
“Oh yeah?” I cocked an eyebrow. “What else do you hear about Una, since you know so very much?”
He answered without a hint of my playfulness.
“I know it’s a women’s magazine that deals specifically with mental health and trauma.”
I coughed as my water promptly went down the wrong pipe.
Crap.
How the hell did I not realize what I’d revealed about myself before? The magazine I pined to work for was famous for being one of the first publications to talk frankly about women’s struggles with things like depression and abuse. While it offered the usual content like fashion, social and world news, it was most famous for its monthly pieces that shone unabashed light on everything from post-partum depression to trauma from sexual abuse. It was an incredible magazine.
But it had just exposed me to Julian Hoult.
“Um.” I thanked God for the waiters returning to exchange our plates for the second course. It gave me time to think of a response. Whether or not I used that time was a different story.
“Why did that particular magazine influence you so much?” Julian asked, giving me little time to recover.
Jesus Christ. Go for the jugular, why don’t you? I held up my finger as I chewed on my food. He took a drink of water as he waited for my answer.
“Reasons,” I finally said, enjoying his unamused look.
“I’m not sure that constitutes as an answer.”
“Why isn’t your purchase of the Empires a happy story?” I countered.
He sat back. “Touché. How’s your paillard?”
“Very good.” I cut a bite. “And your steak?”
“Excellent.”
We exchanged little smiles to acknowledge our little standoff just now, and then without missing a beat, our conversation carried on smoothly.
From lunch, Julian left directly for a meeting in the Financial District, but he made sure to call me a car. When it arrived, he started off the sidewalk to help me with the door, but swiftly rounding the vehicle was the driver to hold it open for me.
Leaving Julian and me standing on the sidewalk, standing close and just looking at each other.
We wore the same little smiles we had after our little standoff before, but unlike that one, this one ended with a minor hitch.
“Okay, I guess I’ll see you…” I trailed off as I watched him take a step closer to me. His hands hooked in his pockets, he tilted his head down at me, eyeing the way I nervously wet my lips. Then he gazed so directly into my eyes I felt heat in my face and pressure buckling my knees. “Okay, later. Bye.”
I rushed into the car after my inexplicably awkward exit, and I wanted to yell, “Shut up!” out the window when I spotted Julian chuckling to himself on the sidewalk.
Jesus, Sara.
Sexually, the man had done everything to me thus far, but apparently, I couldn’t hold it together for a non-corporate goodbye after lunch. Even the driver laughed as I shook my head in my hands and kicked my feet in the backseat, trying to get rid of the embarrassed tinglies all over my skin.
It took a good two minutes to overcome, but it started up again when a text buzzed in my phone.
JULIAN: Yes, I was going in for a kiss. You should let me next time. See you at 3.
18
JULIAN