The Allure of Julian Lefray (The Allure #1)(36)

I’d be damned if I let them see me fail.

“Listen Mom, I gotta go. I need to get to work. I’ll let you know if I’ll be able to come home next month.”

Before she could reply, I hung up and shoved my phone back into my purse. Fierce determination coursed through my veins. All memories of the boat ride were packed away and shoved below. For now, I needed to focus on myself.





Chapter Twenty-Two


Josephine





Open laptop, read emails, order breakfast, pour coffee, avoid eye contact, stay at least two feet away from Julian, and for god sake’s stop remembering what it felt like when he kissed you.

I’d been working at Julian’s hotel for fifteen minutes and my resolve was already slipping. I’d felt confident when I’d stood outside his door and knocked twice. My shoulders were pushed back and my head was held high. Then, Julian had opened the hotel room door and sucked the confidence right out of me with no effort at all. He was wearing a fitted navy suit, brown belt, and sleek brown shoes. The top button of his white shirt was undone and his midnight black hair was still slightly damp, like he’d just stepped out of the shower minutes earlier.

He’d ushered me inside and I’d mumbled a greeting, averting my eyes so that I could keep hold of what little resolve I had left.

For the first fifteen minutes of my being there, neither one of us had said a word.

“More coffee?” he asked? breaking the silence with an offer I couldn’t refuse.

I nodded and he rounded the couch to pour more medium roast into my mug as I held it up for him. His shoes hit the hardwood floor and with every step, I felt my nerves ratchet up another notch.

I stared at my computer screen, all the while trying to concentrate on where he was in proximity to me. He was busying himself with something behind me and I tried to think of what our normal working life was like. Normally, I’d have turned around and asked him about his weekend, how his Sunday had gone, but there was no way I’d open up that line of discussion.

“You’re quiet this morning,” he said as he stepped back around the couch and took a seat across from me.

My stomach fluttered.

“Am I?” I asked, not meeting his eye.

I could see him smirk out of the corner of my eye.

“I’m just thinking about work things,” I muttered.

He nodded, studying me in a way that made chills creep down my spine.

“So are we going to talk about—”

“Julian.” I held up my hand to cut him off before he could utter another word. “Let’s just concentrate on work and we can talk about this another time, maybe when I’m not on the clock.”

His smirk slipped away. Clearly, he hadn’t expected that response.

“So even though you and I almost—”

I clenched my jaw and gripped the edges of my laptop. “Julian, please. It’s complicated.”

His calm eyes, the eyes that had greeted me at the door fifteen minutes earlier were gone, replaced with a brewing storm behind dark brows.

I thought he’d push the subject, draw up memories that I was intent on pushing aside for the next eight hours, but he didn’t. He opened his laptop in silence and we got to work. For hours, we fired off emails and read through contracts for the space we wanted to rent. I began calling architecture firms around town, explaining our project and scheduling initial design meetings.

We didn’t utter a word to each other unless it was directly work related. His tone was distant and cold. I could hardly meet his eye, even if he was only firing off the names of firms he wanted me to get in contact with. I hated every minute of it, but it was the way it had to be.

After lunch, I settled back into my seat and pulled up the email I’d started to draft before running down for a sandwich.

“The other night, I went to this ice cream shop down the street from my hotel,” Julian began, pulling my attention from my computer.

“What?” I asked, confused.

“Do you ever really crave ice cream?” he asked, a hint of a smile covering his lips.

What the hell is he talking about?

“Uh, sure, I guess.”

“Well, I really wanted some the other night, so I went down to this shop and stood in line. It took forever to get to the front to order. It almost felt like I’d been waiting there for weeks.”

I arched a brow. “Sounds like you should have just picked up some ice cream from 7-Eleven.”

He smiled. “I couldn’t. It had to be this ice cream.”

I narrowed my eyes in confusion but held my tongue.

“So anyway,” he continued, “I got to the front of the line and I asked to sample the flavor I’d been eyeing—y’know, just to get a little taste.”

“Mmm,” I hummed. “You’re going into way too much detail about ice cream.”

He ignored me.

“And after I’d had that tiny sample, I knew I wanted more. It tasted amazing, just like I’d known it would. So I asked for two perfectly round scoops in a waffle cone.”

“Okay. That’s the weirdest way I’ve ever heard someone describe—”

“But you know what happened right after I paid and walked out of the shop?”

“You realized you were being really weird about ice cream?” I joked.