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Of course she doesn’t. She doesn’t even wear pajamas.
Memories of her falling asleep next to me, naked as all fuck, cloud my brain, and I’m so done with this dick measuring contest. I’m in agony. I want her so much. I need her, frankly. Countless times, I’ve texted my pilot and told him to fuel up the jet in the middle of the night, only to come to my senses minutes later.
Screw it.
I tune out the meeting entirely and pick up my phone.
Me: I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first time I saw you at your father’s party. You were wearing a gold dress no other person could ever wear without looking ridiculous. You were radiant. That was 216 days ago.
Me: I haven’t been as excited to kiss someone for the first time, ever. That was 98 days ago.
Me: I haven’t felt as close to anyone since the first time we slept together. That was 84 days ago.
Me: And I haven’t been willing to love anyone since the last time I said it to a woman, who broke up with me after I chased her to London. I sold everything I had and showed up at her door, trying to surprise her. I’ve never seen anyone look so embarrassed before. That was 20 years, 8 months, and 18 days ago.
Me: After that, for 8 days, I went on a cocaine bender and came up with the idea for FundRight.
Me: I try not to, but I still think about how easy it was for her to break my heart. All she had to do was leave and never come back one morning.
Only seconds pass before a message arrives on my phone: a selfie of Julia in front of an ornate building with a façade of decorative arches that house statues of gods and goddesses in togas.
Come and get me, August.
Those familiar words make my heart swell.
As for the picture, I know this one immediately. It’s the Staatsoper in Vienna. Hell, I could be there in a couple hours if I wanted.
Do I want her?
I glance around at my board, all of whom are hanging on Roger’s every word while he talks about governance.
Fuck this. Yeah, I want her.
“Excuse me.” I stand.
All eyes swivel to me when I suddenly interrupt the meeting. A bunch of talking heads in overpriced, stale suits. We’re burning money. Wasting time. And I may have plenty of time at my disposal, but even a lifetime isn’t long enough to satisfy my need for Julia.
“I need to go,” I announce, pushing back my chair.
On cue, Brent sweeps in and gathers my belongings.
“Where are you going?” Roger questions, frowning at me. “Gus, we’re literally in the middle of the meeting.”
I pause in the doorway and say, “I’m going to go get my girl.”
I leave without looking back, and I vaguely hear Roger saying, “Okay then…let the minutes show that Gus Winter left the meeting…to chase a girl? Did he seriously say that?”
Chapter 21: Julia
I’m bored of Vienna, and it’s not just the schnapps talking. I’m so bored, I’m literally reading a book about patent law on a balcony at the Hotel Sacher while Jay gets ready somewhere in the suite.
My phone remains face down on the end table next to me, but I don’t know why it taunts me. Once I ask him to chase me, Gus never responds. He shows up unannounced whenever he pleases. When he does show up, my heart beats dangerously, faster and faster, like I’m seeing him for the first time all over again.
Where. The. Fuck. Is. He.
“You ready?” Jay asks when he appears in the doorway to the balcony. He’s wearing a tailored jacket over a crisp button-down, every bit the part of a playboy ready for a night out.
“I’m changing now,” I assure him before slipping my bookmark into my book and rising with a stretch. I’ve been sitting for so long, I’ve gotten stiff.
