The Allure of Julian Lefray (The Allure #1)(24)

“I had quite an interesting conversation with Josephine last night,” Dean said, tossing a water bottle at me. I thought fast to catch it before it collided with my chest and then pulled the cap off with one twist. It was ice cold and I guzzled nearly half of it down with one gulp.

After I swallowed, I finally registered what Dean had just told me.

“Conversation with who?” I asked, squinting to make him out in the glare of the sun.

“Josephine,” he answered simply.

“When was that?” I asked, annoyed by my inability to sound casual. Sure, my lungs were still burning from the bike ride, but the thought of Dean and Josephine together burned far worse.

Dean glared over at me and I knew he’d caught my strained voice too.

“Last night. She was at my bar,” he said with a shrug. The message was clear: don’t kill the messenger, asshole.

“Provisions?”

He shook his head as he rotated his bike tire, checking for any damage from the ride.

“No. Merch.”

Josephine was supposed to have been on a date the night before; had Dean seen the guy she was with?

“What—”

“And before you ask,” he interrupted. “She was alone.”

I frowned. “What do you mean? She was supposed to be on a date.”

Dean pulled his foot up behind his leg, stretching out his quad.

“I don’t know, man. When I saw her, she was sitting at the bar alone. I kept her company for a few minutes and then I had to get back to work.”

Interesting.

“And I invited her out on the boat with us this weekend.”

My gaze shot back up to him. The asshole. “I was supposed to check out some properties with my agent on Saturday.”

He smiled like the cat that caught the canary. “Guess you’d better reschedule. That is, unless you don’t mind if I take Josephine out without you?”

I knew what he was doing. He knew what he was doing. Dean wasn’t interested in Jo. He was interested in calling my fucking bluff.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said, already reaching for my phone so that I could text my agent. “But I gotta run.”

“Heading to visit your sister?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, she’s a few weeks into her program and she’s bored as hell. I try to stop by as much as I can.”

He dropped his leg and stretched out his other quad.

“The tabloids haven’t been hounding her, have they?”

“Thankfully, no.”

He shook his head. “I’m sure your mom has that all under control.”

Dean and I had been friends for years, so he knew how our family operated.

I arched a brow. “Lucy Lefray? Of course she does, and there’s already a contingency plan in place in case the media does find out.”

“Are you serious?” he asked.

“We’re supposed to say she’s seeking treatment for exhaustion.” The vague lie reeked of Lucy Lefray. “But Lorena wouldn’t care if anyone found out she was seeking treatment for a drug problem. If anything, she’d be more embarrassed to admit exhaustion than drug use. Unfortunately, my mom doesn’t agree.”

“Guess that’s the price you pay when you come from blue blood.”



…



The next day, Josephine and I were working in my hotel room, quietly typing away on our separate assignments. She was on the couch across from me and I found myself continuously trying to surreptitiously study her.

Our morning had followed the same routine it had for the last three weeks: I ordered us breakfast, she fixed our coffee while I spread butter on our toast, then as soon as we were ready to work, she slipped off her high heels and tucked her feet up under her on the couch. It wasn’t the best working situation, but she’d been a trooper about it.

“I promise I’ll find us an actual office soon,” I said as she readjusted on her seat for the hundredth time that morning. She glanced up from her laptop and smiled.

“This is fine, I swear.” For a second it looked like she wanted to elaborate and then I caught a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Other than the day I found you in your skivvies, it actually hasn’t been that weird.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I’m still expecting a lawsuit for that.”

Since that first morning, I’d made it a point to always have my slacks, shirt, and tie on well before she arrived. One time could be written off as a mistake. Twice and she’d write me off as a weird-ass creeper.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t report you to HR or anything,” she joked.

I smiled. “Should we hire an HR person next?”

She scrunched her nose in distaste and shook her head. “How about we hire a personal chef instead?”

“I like your moxie. You’re hired. Now go make us some manicotti.”

She playfully dusted her nails on her blouse. “You couldn’t afford me.”

I laughed and she bent forward to grab her coffee cup off the table. Another few inches of blouse spilled over the top of her computer screen. It was a cream silk top that brought out her recent tan. For just a moment, I let my gaze follow the elegant curve of her neck, down over her collarbone, and then lower. The top button of her blouse was open and the few inches of exposed skin there made it perfectly clear why Josephine was quickly becoming my favorite fantasy.