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  Julian blinks at my questions, something resembling surprise in his gaze. I can tell he expected me to object. “A few days at least, and no meeting, I’m picking you up, around 2.”

  His tone leaves little room for negotiation, and as he doesn’t ask for my address, I assume he somehow has it already. After thanking him one more time, I retrieve my belongings, and the “housewarming gift” from my desk, making my way home. Audrey nods to herself as I pass her on my way out after only 20 minutes of actually being in the building, as if she’s satisfied that the world finally makes sense again.

  Chapter 5

  Julian

  Shrugging a thick wool coat over my shoulders, I quickly grab a couple pens from my desk drawer – the few that I’ve managed to steal back from Ryan when she wasn’t paying attention; I mentally remind myself to scold her for it later. Stashing the prized possessions in the inside pocket of the outerwear, I make my way downstairs, being sure to lock my office door on the way out. Nick, my driver, will be waiting for me at the curb with the bags I packed yesterday already in the car. Okay, so I may have lied to Ryan just a little bit. The London trip has been planned, but I knew if I’d asked her to come before she warmed up to me, she’d have said no, and refused to change her mind. Besides, it is her job, literally.

  The elevator ride to the lobby is quiet and long; before Ryan got here, people were generally too afraid to get on it with me, either too intimidated or too afraid of intruding. She’s never shown me any sign of anything resembling intimidation – although, what does the devil’s daughter have to fear?

  “Thanks, Nick.” I nod as he opens the car door for me. Nick isn’t just a driver, he’s also the head of my security, and the reason I knew Ryan’s address without having to ask her. I’m sure if I requested it, he could have also produce her school transcripts, bank statements, third grade essays, and whatever other invasive information there is to find, a product of his government-trained background. I prefer to get to know her as a person, though, not a set of files.

  “Mr. Price,” he formally addresses me, shutting the door and climbing into the driver’s seat. I’ve long given up asking him to call me Julian.

  Flashing back to this morning’s conversation with Ryan, I have to suppress a smile. The defiant tone in her sweet voice when she called me by my first name – the first time she’s ever done it – made me want to take her right there in my office, decorum be damned, just so I could hear the sarcasm bleed from her voice as it melted into something else. Something sensual and warm, until my name was the only taste on her tongue. I lost control, when I cornered her at her desk last week. I hadn’t meant to do it; my thoughts were in overdrive, focusing only on her, from the start of the day, and that small idiotic sip of the champagne she’d rebelliously ordered. Seeing Ryan’s smile as she struggled to suppress a giggle at the poor receptionist got me good -- I still have the entire crate of Dom, each bottle waiting to be used in some form of wicked punishment, or celebration, with Ryan.

  “We’re here, sir.” Nick’s starched voice informs me as he pulls the Audi to a stop in front of a tall building only a few minutes from the office. I instruct him to wait where he is, opening the door on a mission to escort Ryan downstairs and to the car. She must have anticipated me, though, because as soon as my door opens she steps out onto the sidewalk, inconspicuously passing her doorman a tip as he grabs her bags. The sound of heels clicking on the cement sidewalk hits my ears, even from this distance, as she struts towards me. Those black red-bottomed heels have quickly become my favorite, signaling me each morning when she’s arrived in the office, and when she’s on the move. Today she’s wearing them with a simple all-black outfit, outlining her against the snowy New-York street. Her dress pants are perfectly tailored to fit her, straight and slim; there isn’t a single crease on the waistline where her form-fitting black cashmere sweater is tucked in snuggly, beneath a matching dress coat. I have to clench my jaw to keep from groaning at the sight of her, sleek and dark.

  “Here, let me.” I nod, greeting her as I take the designer carry-on from the doorman without allowing time for a response. Gripping her purse in my free hand as I gently lift the leather luggage into the trunk of the car, placing it next to mine.

  “Thank you,” Ryan’s voice is sweet as she says goodbye to the doorman with an innocent smile. I can’t help the mirroring gesture that tugs at the corner of my lips as I watch the interaction; most people who have been waited on their entire lives have grown accustomed to it, not even bothering to treat those who wait on them like real people. Not Ryan, though. It was one of the first things I ever noticed about her, at some garish party her father threw a couple years ago. I was mid-mundane-conversation with Christian and some banker when I clocked her in the corner of my eye, sneaking a plate from the kitchen out the front door to one of the drivers. Not a single other person in the room even considered doing something like that, I certainly didn’t. Since then, I’ve made a point to consider my staff more thoughtfully.

  Ryan greets me with the same warm smile she lent the doorman, passing a quiet thanks as I open the car-door, motioning for her to climb in before I follow. She waits until we are settled in and on the road to break the calm silence, turning to me to ask the question I know she’s been wondering since this morning. “How did you know where I live?”

  “Nick is very good at his job.” I chuckle, motioning to the driver’s seat as I explain. Her eyes widen slightly, contemplating what else I could know about her. The truth is, a lot. Not from background checks or stalking, but from a longstanding professional friendship with her parents. I’ve found that bragging about their over-controlled kids is something upper-class parents love to do.

  “That’s all he went looking for.” I assure her, suddenly turning somber and earning a small degree of relaxation in her brown doe-eyes.

  Seizing the relatively vulnerable moment, I study her, the same way I’ve done a million times since she started working for me. To say that Ryan is simply beautiful would be an offensive understatement. She is beautiful, without a doubt. Her innocent doe-eyes and fuck-me lips have kept me up most nights this month, but they aren’t her best quality; if I’m being honest, they don’t even make the top ten list. It’s what’s behind her eyes, encased in layers of stubbornness and trust-issues, that I admire; her ever-present calculating stare, as she used to sit silently at dinners with her parents and me, contemplating the million thoughts and opinions that she’d never been asked, or allowed, to share; the defiant raise of her chin, and straightening of her spine, when she talks to me, or her father, or anyone else in the world who’s ever been accused of underestimating her; the sheer fortitude it must have taken to defy the devil himself and pursue her dream. I could go on.

  Frankly, I know Christian thinks that in giving me his daughter as a personal assistant, he’ll win over my endorsement for his re-election campaign. I skated by the first campaign quiet and uninvolved, maintaining our friendship for professional purposes, but now that his policies are growing archaic to the times, he’s pressuring me more and more to leverage my good-will in the city to his advantage. Ryan hasn’t figured it out yet, but that was never going to happen. He bartered his daughter to me for nothing, without a second thought. She can hate me for allowing the disgusting transaction all she wants, but in the end, it’s fulfilling its purpose; his grip on her is fading, and he doesn’t know any better because he thinks it’s in service of his own selfish desires.

  “What?” Ryan asks me, her cheeks painted bright red as I realize I’ve been staring considerably too long. Brushing it off, I pick a new, lighter topic.

  “Have you packed any dresses?”

  “I’ve packed a couple pencil skirts, why?” She cocks her head at me in confusion. Good, I was hoping she hadn’t, so she’d be able to go out shopping to pick some dresses with all of her free time. “Never mind,” brushing the subject off for a later date, I undo my seatbelt as the car comes to a slow stop. “We’re h
ere.” I inform her, reaching to unlatch her before she has a chance to. If it bothers her, she doesn’t say anything, instead she pulls her hand back as I release the belt, granting me access.

  Ryan doesn’t even flinch at the sight of my private jet – I imagine she wouldn’t know to expect anything less. Sure, public servants like the governor don’t generally make much, but Christian Blake also inherited Waldorf Industries from his wife’s father upon their marriage; an archaic practice, but I’m sure he didn’t complain.

  “Are we flying into Heathrow?” Ryan questions as we climb the narrow stairs into the plane cabin.

  “Farnborough, actually. Heathrow is a bit too crowded for me.”

  Ryan chuckles at my explanation, sitting leisurely on the tan leather couch, watching me follow suit. “Anxiety, or are you just grumpy?”

  I let out a hearty laugh at the dig, intrigued by the carefree twinge in her voice.

  “Ouch okay, I see travel makes you snarky.” I grin at her, nudging her shoulder from our close proximity on the couch. She looks up at me, a genuine smile gracing her soft features, and for a moment, I am suspended. Her thick black lashes brush along her full, blush stained cheeks as she blinks at me, entrancing me. I swallow hard, forcing myself to resist the urge to capture her in a kiss.

  Clearing my throat, I break the sweet, silent moment. “Are you hungry? Or thirsty? There’s a chef, and a kitchen.”

  “Seriously?” Ryan raises a perfectly sculpted brow at me, shaking her head with a small snort, before continuing. “I’m okay, but thanks. I’m actually just going to read for awhile, if you don’t mind.”

  Pulling out a stack of far more books than anyone could possibly read in 7 hours, she stares at me expectantly.

  “Of course, what are the options?”

  Chapter 6

  Ryan

  I raise my brow at Julian as he grabs the stack of books from my lap, thumbing through them with genuine interest.

  “Do you have a favorite?” He finally looks up at me, gesturing with the stack.

  “If I tell you, you have to promise not to judge me.” I smirk at him, already shifting in my seat with vague embarrassment.

  “Oh no, don’t tell me,” he smiles, picking the correct one from the stack with an air of sheer amusement, “so you’re a secret romantic, huh?”

  I laugh despite myself, lunging and failing to snatch the tattered copy of Pride & Prejudice from his strong hands. “Okay that’s it, give ‘em back!”

  “No, no, no” he laughs. “I think I’ll read this one. You can pick from the others.”

  Flipping to the first page of my favorite copy, Julian hands me the other three options. I take them with a suppressed smile, watching him from the corner of my eye as he crosses his legs, leaning comfortably into the seat as he flips the page.

  We continue like that for the majority of the flight, quietly making our way through the bulk of our respective books, distracted only by stolen glances back at each other. I can’t help but be shocked at the sincere engrossed reverence in his features as he devours the words. I would never have pegged him for a romantic.

  “Excuse me, sir?” A quiet flight attendance interrupts us, “we’ll be landing in a few minutes, the pilot has asked me to inform you to put your seatbelts on.”

  “Thank you,” Julian nods at her, gently placing the novel facedown on the couch to gesture to me to follow him to the front of the cabin. As soon as we are buckled into our seats I begin to feel the telltale drop in my stomach that signals we are descending.

  “You’re afraid of flying?” Julian questions me from somewhere behind my scrunched eyelids; I force them open to glance at him, doing my best to maintain a neutral poker face as his narrowed eyes fixate on the whites of my knuckles around the leather arm of the seat.

  “No, just this part. And the take off. And anything not-smooth in between.” I bite out the choppy sentenced, closing my eyes again, trying to focus on breathing in through my nose, and out through my mouth. A warm and unexpected feeling coats my hand as Julian takes it in his own, granting me a small reassuring squeeze, and a smirk at my quizzical glance.

  He stays like that, with his hand wrapped around my own, until we are given the okay to remove our seatbelts and exit the plane.

  I don't comment on the prolonged gesture, except for offering him a small smile as I gather my belongings. Julian doesn’t press, but I can feel the change in the air around us, something warmer – a stark contrast to the brusque London air that assaults me as I step out into the dead of night. There is a light mist in the wind, carrying bitter-sharp drizzles of an impending storm that cut me through my many layers down to my bone in the short walk to the waiting SUV.

  I thank the driver as he opens the door for me, abandoning my manners to launch full scale into the warm shelter, Julian following closely behind and slamming the door once he’s in safely.

  “Here, let me.” He seizes my shivering hands, pulling them towards his lips to blow hot air into my palms, warming them.

  “Thanks.” I mutter, unable to come up with a longer answer, both from exhaustion, and from shock -- I’ve seen the endearing gesture in movies, but no one has ever done it on me.

  “Are you hungry?” Julian asks, still cupping my hands to his face.

  “I could eat,” I start, glancing at the clock on my phone, “but I don’t think anything is going to be open at this hour.”

  Chuckling, he shakes his rain-tousled head at me, his eyes regaining the familiar amusement that I hadn’t realized I missed, and he explains, “they will be for us.”

  My lips tug into a small smirk as I turn towards the window in a feeble attempt to hide the expression – something tells me he noticed it anyway.

  * * *

  Julian was right, the restaurant did open for us — and not just any restaurant, but at the Ritz Hotel restaurant, one of the most expensive eateries in the city, of course. I have to admit, when we walked into the empty dining room, I felt the smallest bit of resentment towards his ability to have whatever he wants, always. Not unlike my father. But now, finishing the last of my truffle-soaked beef wellington, I can’t even remember why I objected in the first place.

  “So it’s true, food really is the way to a woman’s heart.” Julian chuckles at me suggestively, holding his hands up in the tell-tale sign of surrender at my skeptical look, and brushing off the comment. “Kidding, kidding, of course.”

  “No you weren’t.” I observe, fixating my narrowed eyes on him, mind glazing over the past several hours to pick out each moment when his eyes devoured me in the same way they’re doing now. Julian smirks slightly, taking a sip from his scotch-filled tumbler, and motioning for the waiter to refill our glasses.

  “Are you still hoping I’ll fire you?”

  The blunt question takes me by surprise; in truth, I haven’t mentioned my previous tirade since the day he cornered me at my desk and told me I was his. I blink at him for a moment before responding.

  “No. But I am still wondering why you wouldn’t before.” Setting my wine glass down onto the table, I straighten, chills rolling down my spine at the suddenly serious tone of our conversation. Julian studies me intently, his lips scrunched in amusement and glistening with liquor.

  “Aren’t you happy I didn’t?”

  I ponder his loaded question. Am I?

  “Did you like your book?” My subject change prompts a full-blown grin to spread across his lips, mischief and challenge dancing in his cracked-emerald eyes.

  “I did. I may have to borrow it until I’m finished, I must admit; I’m itching to read more.”

  “I didn’t peg you for a romantic.”

  “I didn’t realize I was peg-able.” I smirk at him – he’s right, he’s not. I take a generous gulp of my red wine, my lack of response prompting him to continue. “I like all sorts of books. You might be surprised by the contents of my library.”

  “You have a library?”

  “Oh yes, you’re we
lcome to come see it.” Julian’s eyebrow cocks suggestively at me.

  “I didn’t realize you were such an avid reader.” I can’t help the shock that bleeds into my tone, risking offending him. He sets his glass onto the smooth wooden surface of our overly cluttered table, swishing the remnants of his drink over his tongue before answering.

  “’The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.’” The Jane Austin quote rolls from his tongue like water, silky and deep as he leans towards me, simpering as always.

  “What game are you playing?” My question comes out barely above a whisper, and as much as I want to examine every ulterior motive hidden in his dark eyes, I can’t compel myself to tear my gaze from his lips. They are full and flushed and twisted into a smile almost challenging enough to rival my own practiced smirk.

  “No games. Austin is your favorite, is she not?”

  “She is.”

  “Ryan?” Julian prompts me, his fingers drifting to my chin, barely having to reach in our circular booth. He gently tilts my face towards his, forcing me to meet his eyes. I oblige, finding sheer lack of willpower to resist the gesture. “I think it’s time for us to leave.”

  I swallow hard, nodding in response. Julian drops a wad of cash on the table as I wrap my coat securely around myself, tying it tight – to keep out him, or the cold, I don’t know. He doesn’t bother with his coat, hooking two fingers into the collar as he swings it haphazardly over one shoulder, opening the door for me.

  Our car ride is silent, and somehow blaringly loud at the same time. The pressure of the wine eases my stress, but my stomach still flips with each stolen glance at Julian. His eyes are trained on me like a predator, and the sound of our mutual hard breathing only adds to the tension.