Page 60 of Man of the Year

Just like that, I walk out and run right into Julien, who is standing with his hands in his pockets, his face lifted to the sky like he’s watching the clouds.

He’s not all right. His head turns slowly in my direction, and the expression on his face takes me aback. At this moment, Julien forgets to rearrange his expression into a cold mask and looks as if he is in pain.

I take several steps toward him. “You okay?”

He doesn’t answer, only locks eyes with me for the longest time, which unnerves me. He stares at me like this is the last time he’ll see me and he’s trying to engrave my face in his memory.

His gaze is sad. His features have acquired a handsome softness. On a face that usually looks sharp, it’s unusual. I’d give the hundred bucks that I have in my pocket to know what he’s thinking.

“Why did you cover for me yesterday?” I ask. “When you said a caterer gave Rosenberg a drink? You lied.”

He doesn’t answer. Of course, he doesn’t.

Some people are easy to read. Others are good at masking their emotions. Often, it’s because of past trauma, and only booze, drugs, or extreme situations make them open up. Julien is reserved, probably an introvert, but he possesses a peculiar magnetism that’s even more intriguing when he reveals so little about himself. An unusual feeling surges through me, a momentary attraction. In different circumstances, I would’ve flirted with him. In a different place and time, I would’ve probably made it my mission to get under his skin until all he could think about was me.

These are untimely thoughts. I’ve known the guy for three days, most of which he’s been an ass to me.

“Are you not going to answer?” I ask.

“You shouldn’t fraternize at work,” he finally says—a rule, of all things.

“I don’t.”

“That’s not what it looked like yesterday.”

He means Nick? “I was off my shift. I was going home. That’soutsidework.”

“On the premises.”

“Jesus, Julien. Really? What? Are you jealous or something?”

A split second of surprise flashes across his face.

I smile. “I’m joking. Obviously.”

He blinks away, shaking his head. “Why are you so stubborn?” he mutters.

“Do you have siblings?” I ask in return.

He ignores my question again.

“I have two,” I say. Not quite true, but I always considered Lindsey and Cara my sisters. “One passed away not long ago. The other one is in critical condition in a hospital. I need money.”

That’s a simple way to put it, but it will do.

“There are other jobs,” Julien replies.

“This is quick money. Maybe I want to splurge and travel to Greece. Or buy a new iPhone. Or invest in crypto.” I wiggle my brows.

His jaw tightens—bad joke, I get it. That’s probably what Darla was trying to do, schmoozing Rosenberg.

The silence that follows grows even more uncomfortable.

“You want anything from the store?” I ask.

“Are you getting him alcohol?”

The comment startles me. So, it’s not the first time Rosenberg has sent someone to secretly get booze, and Julien knows about it.

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