Page 76 of Ambiguous
As always, Julian pops into my head. My favorite distraction.
I can’t pull up his text from last night while I’m at work, though. Holy shit, there’s no way his tattoo status—or gorgeous ass—is ending up in a progress report. So I end up typing his name into a browser search bar. Recent articles pop up talking about his appearance at Fly by Night, rumors of him recording, an appearance at some function or other, and how “Hill Frolics in the Sand” outside his house—complete with photos of Jules in a bathing suit.
He really has no privacy.
I scrutinize the beach pic, feeling only a tiny bit guilty. Hundreds of thousands of other people have looked at it, after all. He was wearing yellow shorts and a floppy hat, but there’s no hiding that it’s him. Not with all those tattoos. You can tell it’s him from just a thumbnail.
And oh, that photo is number four trending on Twitter.
Now begin the memes and the comments.
WHEN WILL HE MARRY ME?
OMG JULES PLEASE
No wonder he wants to keep some things to himself if his fans scrutinize his every outfit, expression, word. If they take his actions and make them into videos—with commentary.
As if he heard me thinking about him, my cell phone rings, and my pulse speeds up even more.
“Jules?”
“Sam. Hey.” I want to bathe in his luxurious accent.
“Can I help you?”
A pause. “No, you can’t help me. I was just thinking about you.”
One of the most famous men in the world is thinking about me.
“That makes me smile,” I say. “And it definitely improves my day.”
“Oh? What’s wrong with your day?”
I mutter, “You don’t want to hear about it.”
“Now, there’s where you’re wrong. I do.”
“Really?” I can’t help the wistful tone in my voice. I click out of the photos and clear my browser history.
“Really. If you need me, I want to be there for you.”
“God, you’re sweet. I’m frustrated at work. I don’t understand why people have to be assholes. It doesn’t achieve anything. It doesn’t make me want to help them more or let them get their way. It’s just a way to have power or to ruin someone’s day.”
Jules doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then he clears his throat. “I’m listening, Sam.”
“I worked so hard for so many years to become a lawyer, and a good one. I got into great schools and passed the bar, and now I’m at this firm… and it’s not what I thought it would be like.”
“How so?”
“I thought I’d be doing things that were more intellectually challenging. Or more based on the actual law. Instead, I’m having to manage people.”
“Like me.”
“Not like you, Jules. Like opposing counsel. Some of my coworkers. And my boss.”
“Well, he’s an arsehole. Even I can see that.”
I chuckle, and his simple empathy loosens a fist that’s been constricting around my chest.
