Stealing Her (Covet 1)

“He is sexy, isn’t he?” I laughed into the phone, feeling freer than I had in months, like a girl on her first date getting wooed again. The trepidation that had been weighing me down over the past few weeks was slowly dissipating as Julian and I fell into more of a partnership, more of what we had before his father started giving ultimatums. “We have the banquet tonight with IFC. Everyone at Tennyson Financial will be there plus loads of celebrities and influencers. I’m semi-free after that, so I think I’ll come back Monday? I can’t stay late, though. Julian will officially be named CEO on Monday, and I want to be there when he gets home.”

“Mmm, I just bet you do,” she teased.

I let out a small laugh. “You know this is all he’s ever wanted, to finally be CEO, and between you and me, it seems like he’s finally, I don’t know . . . realized that there’s more to life than Tennyson.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears.” Annie was one of the few people I’d ever confided in, and even then, I didn’t tell her everything, only enough for her to know that the last six months had been a severe strain on our relationship.

“Right.” I stared up at the apartment building and took a deep breath. “I need to get ready, but I’ll connect with you Monday, okay? Let the kids know? And tell the nurses on the children’s wing that Julian has made a full recovery.”

“And when you say full?” I could almost see her eyebrows narrowing as she waited for juicy details.

“He’s still injured, Annie . . .”

“Hey, even injured, this is Julian Tennyson we’re talking about.”

“True.” I laughed and then frowned. He hadn’t . . . touched me, had he? I mean he’d been healing, but he’d only kissed me, and only once with any heat to it.

I almost dropped the phone on the concrete.

Julian was a lot of things, but at home, without people watching us . . . I mean when he was home, he at least kissed me. In fact, he was the most attentive when it was just us.

“You still there?”

“No, I mean yes.” I touched my mouth with my fingertips. “Sorry, just thinking. Monday?”

“See you then!”

“Bye!” I hung up and tapped my phone against my thigh as I walked into the elevator. The doors closed.

I was still thinking about it, which was ridiculous. Maybe he was just giving me time after the maid incident.

That would make sense, right?

When I made it back to the apartment, the familiar sound of CNBC filled the air along with Mozart. It had been years since Julian listened to Mozart. In fact, he used to complain about a friend he had in junior high who did nothing but play classical music to torture him.

I’d thought it was cute since Julian rarely shared his past with me. It was like he refused to go back to middle school and relive any moments in his life before then.

Even asking about his mom was off limits.

When I asked about his past, about his real mother, it led to another fight. He’d told me she was the one thing he wouldn’t discuss.

And I’d loved him enough to drop it. We all had our things, right?

I walked down the hall and past the office, then backtracked. The door was open and there he sat. It was such a familiar scene that I paused. He had whiskey in his right hand and was staring at the screen in complete concentration.

Julian through and through. I’d found him countless times asleep in his own office because he worked so late. It could never be said that Julian was lazy. If anything he was a workaholic.

“Hey.” I knocked lightly. “The Glam Squad should be here soon.” I crossed my arms and waited for him to nod his head and dismiss me like he often did when he was working. Surprise burst through me when he wiped his hands over his face instead, looking like he was more exhausted than he’d ever been in his entire life.

“Glam Squad?” he asked after taking a long sip of whiskey. “Like the Kardashians?”

I squinted at him and smiled. “I guess if that’s the comparison you want to make, yeah, we have the banquet in a few hours and they always come here and make us both up so we look perfect.”

He made a face. “Are you saying I’m not already perfect?”

I rolled my eyes. “At least your ego survived the crash, hmm?”

He smirked. “Disappointed?”

“Never.” And I wasn’t. His confidence, his arrogance, they were what made him . . . him.

I turned around just as he said, “Guys don’t wear makeup.” Though it was more of a grumble than anything.

“Ah, you’d be surprised.” I smiled. The man wore makeup for every photo shoot, every TV interview. It was what was done. He knew better than anyone. No fresh faces, and if they were fresh they were made to look that way by, you guessed it, makeup.