Moments of Julian

  It’s a feast that cost this company over a million dollars to lay.

  Everyone to either side of us digs in. I look back up at the man across from me and find a confident grin on his face.

  Not one to let others know when they’ve caught my interest, I pick my fork up and start in on a piece of asparagus.

  He takes a few bites and we eat in silence for a few moments. I don’t look up at him, but I can clearly feel his eyes on me.

  “So, you never told me who you are,” he finally says again after swallowing a mouthful of salmon. “I am assuming you’re an employee. An important one.”

  “What gave me away?” I ask after a sip of water.

  “You’re cocky.” He wipes his hands on his napkin, folds his arms on the table, and leans towards me. The room is loud with the multitudes of conversations being had.

  “Thank you,” I say, again raising an eyebrow at him. I’ve never heard a woman called cocky before, but I find I like it being directed at me.

  “You’re welcome.” Once again, that killer smile plays on his lips.

  “You’re right,” I say. “I am an employee, but I don’t think much more explanation is needed since you’re a party crashing plus one. Unless you’re in the company or a client, my position won’t hold much meaning for you.”

  “Fair enough,” he says, picking up his fork again. “I’ll just consider myself lucky my date bailed on me and you didn’t find someone worthy of accompanying you tonight.”

  The defensiveness inside of me does bristle a bit at that one. It is one thing when I joke with Dustin about this subject, quite another when it is a complete stranger.

  Yet, at the same time, I sense he didn’t mean it as an insult.

  “Did you try the salmon yet?” the man next to me asks.

  For the first time, I glance at him. It’s Gareth Vincent, the second client I ever signed, three weeks into my employment. At the time, it wasn’t a deal worth a huge amount of money, but his company grew into a billion dollar goliath that made Digit a lot of money.

  “Mr. Vincent, I am so sorry, I didn’t even notice you there,” I say, turning the charm up and switching my teasing smile to blinding mode. “How have you been?”

  One thing I have forgotten about Gareth is once he starts talking, he doesn’t stop.

  But the entire time he blabs at me, I keep catching the eye of the man across from me. His eyes flicker to mine, and when I catch him staring he doesn’t look away in embarrassment. He’s assessing me, and from the smolder in his eyes, I can tell he likes what he’s seeing.

  I finish my dinner despite my watchful audience, and Mr. Vincent kept eating as he talks and talks.

  “Well, look at that,” he says, his eyes lighting up. I turn to see him watching the people who are dancing in the middle of the lobby. A full on jazz band plays from the stage that is set up in front of the reception desk. “Would you honor me with a dance?”

  “I’d be happy to,” I say through the cringe that wants to form on my face. Mr. Vincent is nearing sixty, has a purple alcoholic nose, the smelly breath to match it, and fingers like sausages.

  But this is part of why I am so good at my job. I will do nearly anything to make a client happy.

  Being careful to not step on my dress, I stand. Mr. Vincent holds his hand out and I reluctantly take it.

  I make the mistake of glancing at the stranger across from me.

  His expression is serious for just the briefest moments, and I swear I see a hint of jealousy in his eyes. But then he winks at me and that coy smile forms again.

  I turn and follow Mr. Vincent onto the dance floor.

  Instantly, I resent my choice of dress when his swollen hands touch my bare lower back. We bounce in a small circle to the upbeat live music.

  “I remember when you first signed our company, you were just a young pup,” Mr. Vincent says, a smile forming on his lips. “You’d only been at Digit a few months if I recall, but you were as confident then as you are today.”

  “It was a grand total of three weeks, actually,” I say, making sure to keep my voice at ease, and flashing a winning smile. “But I’ve certainly come a long way since then.”

  “I heard you are Digits top sales executive,” he says, giving me an examining stare. “You’ve risen fast in a big company. You’re an impressive woman.”

  His hand drops just slightly. Not enough to insist he remove it or to get offended, but enough to make me internally cringe.

  “Thank you Mr. Vincent,” I say through slightly clenched teeth. “Digit Securities has been good to me.”

  He gives an affirmative grunt and a slight nod. “I heard you’ve all got something new coming out. Something that’s gonna blow the socks off the Blue Wall. Care to divulge?”

  My brow furrows and I stop in my place.

  “I don’t know what you could mean, Mr. Vincent. The Blue Wall is still revolutionary.” My throat feels suddenly tight when Mr. Vincent’s expression darkens.

  “Yes, but it’s been around for ten years with little to no changes. Ten years in the technology world is a lifetime. I heard this new technology could save companies billions in credit card insurance fees.”

  “I am sure I don’t know anything about that,” I say, my eyes darkening. Gareth’s expression has grown serious and chilling. “The Blue Wall is still Digit’s number one priority and will remain that way as far as I know.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Vincent?”

  My head whips around to see the stranger standing to the side of us. His eyes are stern and intense, and are locked on Gareth.

  “Please don’t consider me rude, but you’ve absconded my date and this is our song. May I steal her back?”

  Mr. Vincent looks from the stranger to me and back again. It is easy to tell from his expression he would very much like to keep me here and wring any secrets I might hold from me, but he won’t make a scene in public.

  “Of course. I wouldn’t want to deny you the company of this lovely woman.” He eyes me once again and everything in them tells me he doesn’t believe what I’ve said. But he turns, and walks away.

  When Gareth glances over his shoulder, the stranger wraps one hand around my waist, and takes my hand in his.

  “One of the downfalls of working with clients; having to kiss dirty, disgusting asses,” he says, still glaring in Mr. Vincent’s direction. “Right?”

  I am very well practiced at looking calm and confident; it comes second nature. But something about Mr. Vincent’s accusations has shaken me. “Yeah,” is all I manage to get out.

  “You’re welcome for the rescue.” Suddenly his voice is low in my ear and I faintly feel his lips brush my ear.

  “Know I don’t say this often,” I say, my confidence quickly returning. “But thank you.”

  “What did the dick want, anyway?” His hand slides around my back a bit more and his fingertips brush my bare back.

  It is just warm enough in here to keep the goosebumps from rising on my entire body.

  “Company secrets,” I say, trying to sound dismissive. “He obviously doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I think it was just an excuse to get his hands on me.”

  He’s quiet and contemplative for just a moment too long and I wonder what he’s thinking about. “Hmm,” he finally says. “Who can blame him?”

  Feeling completely normal again, a smile curls on my lips. He pulls me slightly tighter.

  “Are you flirting with me?” I ask, letting my voice drop low and quiet.

  A small laugh comes between his lips. “Well, if you could dance, I’d already have you in my bed, but since you’ve already stepped on my toes twice in the last two minutes, I’m having second thoughts.”

  I pull away from him slightly so I have a clear view of his face. “Excuse me?” I say in half mock, half real offense. “We are simply shuffling in a circle. How could you possibly tell I am a bad dancer? And I did no such thing as stepping on your toes.”

  His smile c
urls once again and he drops the hand that was at my waist. Keeping my hand in his other, he takes one step toward the front door. “I could use some fresh air,” he says. “How about you?”

  I’m half tempted to tell him to go find someone else to insult, but it is hot and stuffy in here. Knowing I’m probably setting myself up for a bantering blowout, I allow him to lead me through the crowd.

  The noise and music instantly die away when we walk through the glass doors. It’s nearing ten o’clock and all the streetlights around are on, adorned by lights twinkling from windows further in the distance. There might be stars overhead, but they’re covered by a thick layer of Washington late spring clouds. They reflect back a soft city-orange hue.

  “I’m sorry about that idiot,” he says as he lets my hand go. He walks to one wall and leans against it, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Any man should know that’s no way to treat a woman.”

  “I know I said thank you earlier,” I say as I wrap my fingers around the other wrist behind my back. “But I could have handled him myself.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” he says as those intense eyes stare at me. “I get the feeling you could be quite terrifying if you want to be.”

  “I’ve been told that before,” I say as I take two lazy steps toward him. “It usually works pretty well in keeping most men away.”

  “Is there a reason you like keeping men away?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

  “I’m not a lesbian,” I defend, though not in the least bit offended. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been accused of it. “So don’t let your imagination start running away from you.”

  He shrugs and gives a little cock of his head to the side. “Just checking to make sure I’m not wasting my time.”

  “Wasting your time doing what?” I am now only two feet away from him. Away from the packed room filled with well-dressed but overheated bodies, I catch the scent of him: clean and crisp and sophisticated.

  “I don’t know yet,” he says. “But I sense it’s going to be something fairly epic.”

  I can’t help it when a full on smile spreads on my face. Mine breaks one on his as well. He licks his bottom lip and then bites it, trying to contain his grin.

  “Do you always try to hook up with strangers at parties that you crash?”

  He stands up straight and we are suddenly only inches apart.

  “I told you, any party I attend never crashes,” he whispers.

  “Sage?”

  I jerk away from the stranger and whip around to see Gretchen looking completely embarrassed and trying to divert her eyes.

  “I am so sorry!” she says, turning her back to us. “But Mr. Maxwell is demanding to see you right now. He is not happy.”

  My heart is trying to jackhammer out my chest and ears and I can tell my face is beet red. I glance at the stranger, my arms wrapping around my middle in an attempt to calm my blood down.

  Not sure whether to feel humiliated or angry, I turn and walk past Gretch and back into the building. My pulse is still skyrocketing. Not just from the heat of the moment and the embarrassment, but from nervous anticipation.

  There has been only one other time that the words Mr. Maxwell isn’t happy were directed at me and I smoothed that out in a matter of minutes.

  What could he possibly be unhappy with me about this evening?

  I push the up button and nervously wait for the elevator to open.

  As one would expect. Mr. Maxwell’s office is on the tenth floor and has a view of the lake. The all glass walls of his office reveal him sitting at his desk. Corbin Matters, the company’s CEO, is sitting in a chair across from him. They are talking heatedly.

  I knock on the door, pushing my nerves down and reclaiming my air of calm and confidence. They both look at me at the same time and Mr. Maxwell waves me in.

  “One of our clients is telling me something very troubling,” he starts in before I even cross the threshold. I let the door close behind me and am not sure if I should sit down or stand before him like a school girl being reprimanded by the principle.

  “Have you been telling people we have a new product coming out?” he asks. His face is turning purple with anger.

  “Of course not,” I say, trying my best to not sound defensive. “We don’t have a new product coming out.” I want to add a do we? but know it won’t help anything.

  “Then why is one of our most important clients telling Corbin he wants details on this new product before anyone else, that he wants first trial claims? What have you been telling people, Sage?”

  “Sir,” I say, keeping my voice firm. “I do not know anything about a new product. I do know that this client cornered me with questions and the proceeded to get handsy. It was uncomfortable, but I managed to get out of it without upsetting anyone.”

  Mr. Maxwell eyes me fiercely and I can tell he really wants to have someone’s head on this, mine, or anyone else’s. But he will also not chase off the person who has made him so rich with no proof.

  I glance at Corbin, who is staring at me. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his hands folded on his lap.

  “If you ever hear anyone else talking about this,” Mr. Maxwell says, making an obvious effort to calm his voice. “I want you to tell me immediately. I will not have anyone spreading lies about my company.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say.

  “Leave.”

  My brows furrow and suddenly I want someone’s head. No one talks to me this way.

  But, knowing where my place is, that I do work for him, I turn, and walk back out the door.

  On the elevator ride down, my blood gets hotter and hotter and I have the very strong urge to hit something.

  What is going on? Clients are hounding me about technology that doesn’t exist. My boss is worked up over what should be a non-issue. The CEO sits there silent and something about his presence there was disturbing.

  This company owes me more respect than it has shown me tonight, after everything I’ve done for it.

  The elevator opens and the noise and the smell of alcohol and sweat make my anger flare more. I storm to the coat check, claim my jacket, and head back to the elevator.

  The door slides open and not expecting anyone else to be inside, I nearly collide with someone.

  Of course it’s him.

  “Well, hello again.”

  A person can only bottle up so much and hold so many strong emotions before they come out in violent and unexpected ways.

  My hands are on his chest and I shove him, hard, against the elevator wall as the door slides closed.

  I don’t give him a second to protest before my lips crush into his.

  His hands go to my hips and mine are tangled in his hair. Every nerve ending and muscle in my body has leapt to life and I am on fire.

  His lips are urgent and fierce, but not nearly as much as mine. I am frustrated and confused and angry and suddenly so, so hungry.

  The elevator opens onto the garage level.

  “Whoa,” someone says. I turn and see a balding man looking at us, very red and embarrassed. “Uh, excuse me. Just going upstairs to the party.”

  I grab the stranger’s hand and pull him out of the elevator.

  Thankfully my car is just steps away. I pull his lips to mine, my arms looping behind his neck while I fiddle in my purse for the keys. He turns us and my back is pressed to the door and his body molds itself against mine.

  Keys finally found, I unlock the doors. He reaches around me, pulls the door open, and we topple inside onto the back seat.

  “You should know I am extremely pissed off at my boss, and I am using you right now,” I say as his lips trail to my neck. My legs spread as he knees between them to gain balance on the seat. One of my heeled feet pokes out the door.

  “For right now, I am perfectly okay with that,” he growls into my neck.

  My fingers knot in his hair and I pull his lips toward mine again. My lips part at the same time his do.

  My
head is pressing uncomfortably into the door so I try to get my elbows under me to raise my lower half. Bending a leg to push myself up, suddenly my fifteen hundred dollar dress rips up the side.

  The stranger looks down at it, my entire leg exposed from ankle to upper thigh. He looks back at me, a coy grin on his face.

  “Just so you know,” I say as his lips once again return to mine. “I will not have sex with you, but I plan to do just about everything else tonight.”

  “I am perfectly okay with that, too,” he says as his hand runs up my thigh.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Saturday was a bust.

  I went for a run, but found my mind wandering so bad that it turned into a walk. Avia invited me to lunch, and thinking that might get my mind off things, I went. But I ended up getting her so worked up by ignoring her, she left, thinking I was mad at her.

  I even snapped at Kale for not getting home until four in the morning.

  Seriously, I normally don’t care about things like that. He’s an adult.

  But my mind was occupied by other things and my body was sitting on the edge of frustration.

  I couldn’t get the man from the banquet out of my head. I couldn’t get the taste of his lips off of mine. I couldn’t forget the feeling of his hands on my hips. I couldn’t help but recall the way his entire body shaped to mine and how every nerve ending in my body felt like a firework ready to explode.

  But I never even asked his name.

  “Sage!” Kale yells from downstairs Sunday afternoon. “Mom is going to kill you if we’re late!”

  “I’m coming, just two seconds!” I shout back as I slide my earring into place and put the backer on.

  I take one more look in the full-length mirror.

  Mom and Dad don’t love my sense of fashion but I can’t bring myself to dress down any more than I am now.

  Slim fitting leather pants hug my legs from ankle to hip. A loose silk shirt is covered in a black blazer that comes to my forearms. A thick gold bangle wraps around my left wrist and my hair is in a loose knot at the base of my neck.