Page 18 of Julian

A tall, silver-haired man steps out onto the stoop with the posture that suggests he was born knowing where the forks go at a twelve-course dinner. It can only be one person.

Percy.

His gaze lands directly on me standing on the sidewalk and he doesn’t look surprised that I’m early.

If anything, he looks downright pleased, and then, to my complete shock, he lifts one gloved hand and waves me inside. I offer a smile and trot up the steps to the open door. Percy moves into the foyer but holds the door open for me.

Up close, the townhouse is even more intimidating with its tall, gleaming facade, the kind of place where you instinctively check the soles of your shoes before stepping inside.

“Ms. Hawthorne,” Percy says as I cross the threshold.

“And you must be Percy,” I say, holding out my hand, which he shakes. “I recognize your voice.”

A faint, approving glint touches his eyes. “I am gratified to hear I’m memorable.”

“You are,” I assure him. “Very. I’m sorry I’m a bit early. I didn’t mind waiting outside.”

He steps aside to allow me fully into the foyer, and I have to resist the urge to look up like a tourist. The ceilings stretch impossibly high. “That will never be a bother. I admire punctuality and Mr. Langley values time. Arriving early communicates respect for it.”

I slowly let out the breath I’d been holding so he doesn’t know how nervous I am.

“I’m glad you did,” he adds smoothly. “It allows us a few minutes to address your uniform.”

“My uniform?” I echo.

He produces a garment bag from a nearby console table as if it materialized from thin air. “A revised one. As you are now exclusively working for Mr. Langley, a distinction seemed appropriate.”

He gestures down a corridor. “There is a powder room just there. You may change.”

I take the garment bag carefully, and it’s almost…ceremonial. “Thank you.”

Inside the powder room, I unzip it slowly. The fabric is rich and tailored. The black jacket is cut clean and sharp at the waist, the trousers sleek without being tight.

I change quickly, smoothing the jacket down my sides and checking myself in the mirror. It fits to perfection.

I step back into the foyer, adjusting the cuff once out of habit. Percy looks me over with a discreet, professional assessment.

“It fits great,” I say, unable to hide my surprise.

“Yes,” he replies. “Mr. Langley has a keen eye. He was bound to get the size correct.”

My stomach flips slightly at that. He noticed enough to estimate my size?

I clear my throat. “That’s… impressive.”

“Mr. Langley rarely engages in approximation,” Percy says. “Particularly where presentation is concerned.”

He gestures for me to walk with him, and we move through the corridor at an unhurried pace. “Allow me to clarify the expectations of your role,” he begins. I straighten. “You are Mr. Langley’s exclusive driver. That means your schedule will revolve around his professional and, at times, personal calendar. Discretion is paramount. Conversations you overhear are not to be repeated and you signed the online NDA form already. Locations are confidential. You will be provided access to his daily itinerary through his executive assistant, Tracey.”

I nod. “Understood.”

“Punctuality is nonnegotiable,” he continues. “Mr. Langley keeps two cars here in the underground garage at all times, but he has several others in a private garage. He’ll advise you which one he wants you to drive ahead of time. The cars are to be maintained in immaculate condition at all times. Mr. Langley prefers minimal small talk unless initiated by him. However”—Percy’s gaze sharpens slightly—“he does appreciate competence and independent thought.”

I nod, but I’m still unsure how valued the independent thought is. I still very much believe I overstepped my bounds yesterday, but on the flip side… I did get a job.

“Mr. Langley values solutions,” Percy says. “Efficiency. Initiative. You may find that your role extends beyond merely operating a vehicle.”

That sounds both promising and a bit terrifying. “I still don’t fully understand why I was offered this,” I admit. “I’m grateful. More than grateful. I just… I don’t completely understand.”