Page 20 of Ambiguous
CHAPTER8
Sam
At my desk, I reread my text conversation with Julian from last night. Does he like me? I thought he was being a little flirty in his texts, but maybe I’m reading something into it. Was I being too forward when I said he could sweet-talk me into anything?
My office phone buzzes from reception. “You have a visitor,” Bruce says.
“I don’t have any appointments today.”
He pauses. “He says he doesn’t have an appointment, but he wanted to give you something.”
“Who is it?”
“Julian Hill.”
My heart starts beating erratically. Really? He came to see me? “Okay. I’ll be right there,” I choke out.
Trying to act nonchalant, I take a deep breath and stroll out to the reception area.
I wish I could think of something to call him other than “rock god,” but that’s what he is. He’s leaning against the wall, brown hair artfully tousled. He wears dark gray jeans so tight I can see his kneecaps, a dusty rose dress shirt—five buttons undone, displaying dark tan skin and those tattoos—and a black velvet blazer. His shoes are shiny black Chelsea boots that have little flowers embroidered on the ankles.
Fuck. Me. He’sglorious.
When he sees me, he gets this sweet, delighted look on his face before he schools it quickly.
But that look makes my week.
I’m aware that we have an audience, although Bruce is the utmost in discretion. But even he can’t pretend he’s not interested in Julian. A clerk walks by and does a double take, then scurries away.
“Hey,” I say, walking forward and shaking Julian’s hand. I stutter out a laugh. “Managed to do that without tripping this time.”
“Well done, mate.” His expression turns sheepish. “Sorry to drop by, but I was in the neighborhood and wanted to return something to you.” He fishes in his pocket and pulls out my striped pocket square.
“Oh, you can keep it,” I say.
He smiles, then leans forward and whispers in my ear, delicious scent and sweet breath tickling my skin. “Maybe I wanted an excuse to see you again.”
Gooseflesh erupts all over my body at the idea that he was thinking of me. I turn to Bruce. “Is a conference room available for us to use for a few minutes?”
Bruce keys his computer and shakes his head slowly. “Sorry, no. A big mediation’s using them all.”
“That’s okay,” I decide. “I can just take you to my office.” I turn to Jules. “If you want to come, that is.”
“Absolutely. Lead the way.”
Conscious thatJulian Hillis following me down the hall in this office environment where he’s so out of place, I pass by gray cubicles and attorney offices until we get to mine. It’s a junior office, but nice enough.
Jules lingers at the door, taking in the one file that’s out on my desk. He grins. “You’re a tidy sort, eh?”
“Being neat soothes me,” I say. “I can’t function when things aren’t tidy.”
“Makes sense.” He looks at the diplomas on the wall and, beside them, the abstract painting of two men embracing. “That’s beautiful.”
“Thanks. My friend Kurt painted it.” Then I remember my manners. “Want to sit?” I gesture to the client chairs.
“Sure.”
“You can close the door behind you, if you want privacy.”
