The Allure of Julian Lefray (The Allure #1)(50)

Josephine: YES. Gotta go. They’re all coming back.



I pocketed my phone and rushed back to work. The shows weren’t very long—fifteen, twenty minutes at most. I could usually manage to watch at least five minutes of them before someone noticed.

Once the mess of hair was swept up near the back wall, I went back to my list of duties I had to get done every night. If the models didn’t come back and trash the place after the show, I could usually get my work done in about an hour after the show was finished.

That night, I wasn’t quite so lucky. The makeup artists had used some kind of glitter eye shadow on each of the twenty-four models. That meant there were twenty-four sets of eyes that left the entire floor of the backstage a glittery mess.

C’est la vie.



…



The next morning, I found myself fighting with my eyes to stay awake. I sipped on my third cup of coffee and stared at the email I’d opened ten minutes earlier. It still sat completely blank as the blinking cursor taunted me. I was supposed to draft an email to a general contractor to set up an initial meeting between him and Julian. What had I done? Tried really, really hard not to fall asleep with my eyes open.

“How’s it going, champ?” Julian asked.

I blinked and glanced up to see him watching me with a private smile. Clearly, my lack of typing had alerted him that something was off.

“Do you think they’ve come up with an IV hookup for caffeine yet?” I asked, tapping the inside of my elbow like a junky.

He laughed. “Why are you so tired? Have you been going out without me?”

I yawned and then blinked my eyes a few times, willing away the tiny barbells pulling them down.

“I wish,” I said with only a slight layer of bitterness.

I hadn’t left Lincoln Center until 1:00 AM the night before. The janitor who was supposed to clean the front of the house had bailed and I’d offered to stay and help with the cleanup. The extra hours of minimum wage pay were hardly worth the ache in my back this morning, and best of all, I had to go back that night. Yippee.

“You look pitiful,” Julian said, drawing my attention back to his lazy smile. He’d dressed down for work that day, foregoing shoes for bare feet. He had on dark jeans and a white button-up. His hair was still styled impeccably, split to the side and combed away from his face. Just a little bit of pomade held the dark locks in place all day. Not that I paid attention or anything. I mean, the man looked edible even on an off day, but right now? All I wanted was my bed and an extra day in the week called LetJosephineSleepday. It’d come between Wednesday and FreeDonutday. (These days would be added if I were President. Just saying.)

“All right, get up. This is unacceptable,” he said, setting his laptop down on the couch beside him and standing up.

“No! Don’t fire me. Look, I’m typing right now.” I started kneading my keyboard with balled up fists, creating gibberish sentences that read something like: ERhwerjkhwejkrhkejryy.

Julian shook his head and held his hand out for me to take.

“I’m not firing you. Why would I fire you?”

“Because I won’t let you sleep with me,” I answered, shrugging.

He pinched his eyes closed, clearly trying to keep from laughing.

“Yeah, well. I can’t exactly fire you for that.”

“Look Julian, I like you a lot. I think that's pretty obvious to both of us. I just have a lot riding on this one opportunity, whereas if things don't work out between us, you just have to post another ad on the Internet to replace me.”

"Josephine, it's not l—"

"Jul—”

He waved his hands in front of his body so that we’d stop cutting each other off. “Okay. Yes. I get it. I’m not firing you because you’ve spurned my advances. We’re going to see my sister.”

“Your sister?” I asked.

“Yes. She wants to meet you and you clearly can’t focus on work at the moment. Consider it a little paid field trip.”





Chapter Twenty-Eight


Julian





As we walked the few blocks to Lorena’s rehab center, I filled Josephine in as much as possible.

“How much longer does she have in the program?” Josephine asked.

“A little over a week.”

“Wow. I can’t believe she’s already almost done.”

I nodded. I was proud of Lorena for completing her entire recovery program without any relapses. She’d struggled with substance abuse issues her whole life. In high school she’d dabbled in cheap drugs to pass the time with other rich kids. In college and beyond, it had gradually gotten worse. She lied about it for the longest time, trying to convince herself that she didn’t need help. Then one night, she called me crying after watching one of her friends nearly overdose. It had been a wakeup call for Lorena. She entered rehab two days later and I’d moved to New York to help her out.

“She’ll always be a little more lost in the clouds than down here on earth with the rest of us,” I explained. “But this program has really helped her focus on her career. I haven’t seen her this passionate about her clothing line in years.”

Even when she first started her brand, it seemed to take the back seat to her addiction, but things were changing. I’d wake up in the morning to an inbox full of emails from Lorena. She wanted to know everything, from how the rental property was coming along to when we’d know the cost of manufacturing for next season’s clothing line.