The Allure of Julian Lefray (The Allure #1)(37)

He laughed. “No. I leaned in to take my first bite, tripped, and the entire ice cream cone fell to the ground. Can you believe that? Right before I really got to enjoy it.”

I stared at him, mouth in a thin line, annoyance building within me.

“I know what you’re doing,” I said.

“Has that ever happened to you before?” His gaze held mine as he teased me. “Have you ever been so close to getting something you’ve been craving, only to have it ripped right out from under you before you can really savor it?”

I stood up and carried my laptop toward the bathroom. “I asked you not to talk about it, Julian. Not during work. I have to take this job seriously. Do you?”

“Jo—”

“This job means everything to me. Can’t you see that?”

Before he could answer, I continued.

“I can’t blame you for being confused about my priorities. We’ve both crossed the line from the very beginning. I assumed I could have my cake and eat it too, but now that the choices are right in front of me, I know I have to choose my job over you. I can’t afford to be fired.”

The image of moving home and working at the town Dairy Queen was enough of a reality check to set me straight. No more fooling around.

He stood and held up his hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry. I’ve got to run some errands anyway, so don’t stuff yourself in the bathroom. You can stay right where you are. I promise that when I get back I’ll be on my best behavior.”

He stepped closer and bent to find my eyes.

“Okay?” he asked.

I hated that I could smell his body wash. I hated that I had to tell him lies, when inside, deep down, I wanted to continue right where we’d left off on the boat.

Being an adult sucks.

I stayed right where I was as he walked out of the room, letting the door fall closed behind him with a heavy thud. When he was gone and I had the entire hotel room to myself, I finally felt like I could breathe again. I pulled up my work calendar and started hammering away at each item. From then on, I was going to impress Julian with my work ethic, not my bra size.

Julian was still out running errands when his hotel phone rang late in the afternoon. I’d attached his phone number to a few of the emails I’d sent out to architecture firms, so I didn’t hesitate to answer the phone. If they were already getting back to us, it was a good sign that they were in need of work.

“Hello, this is Josephine Keller,” I answered, poised with a pen, ready to take notes.

“Josephine?” a shrewd voice asked on the other end of the line. “Who are you? My son’s girlfriend?”

I nearly dropped the phone. The feminine voice was crystal clear and confident, with an air of aristocracy laced through every syllable.

Holy shit. It’s Julian’s mother…

“Oh, no. No,” I clarified. “I’m his personal assistant.”

She cleared her throat, clearly annoyed.

“And yet you’re in his hotel room, answering his phone?” Her tone said it all.

I fidgeted in my seat as if she were there, staring me down. “Oh, yes, it’s just that we… he and I have been working from his hotel room while we try to find an office space.”

Nothing about the situation was suspicious and yet I sounded guilty even to my own ears.

“Of course. How very...orthodox.”

I wiped my sweaty palm on my pants before switching the phone to my other ear. Where the fuck was Julian?

“Would you like me to connect you with your son? He actually just stepped out but I could have him call you back—”

She didn’t let me finish.

“Actually, don’t bother. This will work out better. I have a few things to discuss with him and it’s better if he can’t argue with my requests.”

I rubbed the back of my neck as I worked out her words. “So you’d like me to take a message?”

She took a deep breath as if trying to calm herself. “I’m confused. Are you not his assistant? Is this not in your job description? Perhaps he has you employed for different reasons?”

Had she just implied that that I was Julian’s hired sex girl? Jesus. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks.

“Of course I can take a message, ma’am,” I replied with a honey-dipped tone. “Let me just grab my pen.” I’d be damned before I let her know she was winning.

I scrambled to find a clean page in my notebook, but she didn’t wait. She rattled off details as I ripped pages away.

“I have a fundraiser at the Four Seasons hotel at 8:00 PM Wednesday night. Since my son is back in New York City, I’ve arranged a date for him. Her name is Priscilla Kinkaid and I’m dear friends with her mother. I’d appreciate it if he would have his driver pick her up so that they may arrive together. It would be very rude to have her drive separately.”

I stopped writing.

“Priscilla Kinkaid?” I asked.

Everyone with a computer and a half-decent internet connection knew who Priscilla Kinkaid was. She was this decade’s Paris Hilton, except without the sex tape and the tiny dog. She was all over the fashion world, and as a fashion blogger, I knew just how stylish and ungodly beautiful she was.

Julian’s mother sighed. “Yes. Please pay attention. I haven’t got all day.”