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"What if what they really want is right across the hall?" His words are heavy with double meanings.
My heart pounds. "Julian," I whisper.
What is he playing at? We're supposed to be keeping this a secret because of his request.
He leans in. "I can't wait for the day I can kiss you outside my office or act out fantasies behind closed doors."
"You wanted to keep us hidden," I remind him.
"This is me trying. But every time Ryan from HR looks at you, I think of firing him."
“Jealousy is a red flag," I tease, peeking down the clear hallway.
"A flag I wave proudly," he declares.
A flag I'll pledge to. I think.
There are two types of jealous men. Type A is jealous because he is proud; he wants other men to know you belong to him, like a trophy but also like a treasure. He wants to protect you. Type B is jealous because he is insecure; he feels threatened, and that often leads to emotional abuse reflected onto the woman.
Julian is Type A, the kind I've never experienced. He's the type I've read about, the type movies are made about.
Julian whispers, his voice seductively low, “Does that scare you?”
“It’s terrifying,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Why?” His question lingers, charged with curiosity.
“We’re at work,” I respond, but it's more than that. It's about trust, vulnerability, and past scars.
He leans in, reducing the space between us. “Consider this a five-minute break. I can’t wait for our date on Wednesday.”
I snort, a nervous habit, and my tongue darts out to moisten my suddenly dry lips.Note to self: Buy lip balm.
“It scares me because I’m afraid you might change, that you’ll transform from my white knight into the monster,” I confess, the words lifting a burden from my chest.
Julian’s reaction is immediate: he straightens, planting his feet more firmly on my office floor, his body language reflecting his understanding of my reference to a troubled past.
After a pause, he speaks with a steady, reassuring voice. “Give me time to prove myself to you. I might be a CEO now, but my heart’s still that of a soldier. I’ve spent my life slaying monsters, not turning into one, Poppy,” he assures me.
"Men don't say things like that."
"Real men do. An honest man shouldn't shy away from showing his heart along with his defenses."
I glance up, meeting his intense grey eyes, and feel a surge of emotion welling up. “We should get back to work. I didn’t know you still received snail mail,” I deflect in an attempt to regain some composure.
He takes the magazine, a thoughtful expression shaping his features. I’m grateful he doesn’t push the conversation further. “The company owns seven jets; our largest is old and outdated. Kent’s listed it for sale, and we’re scouting for a replacement,” he explains, rolling the magazine in his hand as if it’s nothing out of the ordinary.
“It’s just business. I’d like you to vet the companies. Choose one that offers our company anexclusive edge,” he suggests with a playful tone.
“You want me to vet a jet company?” My eyes widen in disbelief. "Julian, I’m the kind of girl who can't tell the difference between a commercial jet and a Concorde."
He throws his head back, laughter booming in the room. "They stopped making the Concorde in 2003, Poppy."
“You just proved my point. Whenever I need something that involves technology, I give that task to Harper, and I highly doubt you want me to seek her help on this. She'll install a stripper pole in the aisle.”
“Okay, I'll select the company, but you handle the details. You, not Harper. You do know much of your work is under an NDA, right? What goes on here can't be morning gossip to Harper."
"My lips are sealed," I reply as I gesture the act of locking my mouth shut.
