Page 35 of Julian

“The teacher who got pissed at you for your opinions on Reconstruction?” I ask.

His eyes lift to meet mine, the same brilliant blue that we inherited from our mother. Outside of the eyes, Dylan totally has Marley’s dark hair and olive skin. “Want to know what the topic is?”

“Sure,” I say, moving to sit on the edge of his bed.

His gaze sparkles intelligently. “It’s on ‘respect in the classroom,’ which is actually a valid topic, but his whole premise is that respect means not challenging what the teacher says, and I genuinely disagree with that.”

“As you should,” I agree wholeheartedly.

He nods toward the laptop. “So I’m arguing that real respect includes listening to all sides of a story, even uncomfortable ones. That a classroom where students only receive information and never push back on it isn’t education, it’s broadcasting.” His mouth curves into a grin. “But I’m doing it in a very mannerly way and providing examples of how I politely disagree with what his teachings on slavery and the aftermath of abolition. I’m peppering in a lot of ‘with all due respects’ and ‘I respectfully request you consider’ into the paper.”

“Devious,” I say with a laugh. “Want me to review it when you’re done?”

“Nah, I’ve got it covered.”

And I trust that he does. Dylan has been getting good grades without me needing to ride his ass to study or complete his homework. In return, I give him the freedom to spread his wings a bit. Seems like a win-win.

“How was work tonight?” he asks, turning his chair my way and giving me his full attention. “I still can’t believe you landed a job driving Julian Langley around.”

“That makes two of us.” I chuckle, but then I quickly sober. “He invited me to watch the game in the owner’s suite.”

Dylan’s eyes flare in shock. “And did you? What was it like? I watched the game on TV while I did my English homework. Was there fancy food? Free liquor? What about—”

“Chill out, bro,” I say, cutting him off with a raised hand. “The suite was nice and yes, there was fancy food, and no, I didn’t eat any, nor did I get liquored up because hello… I drive for a living. But…,” I say, taking deep internal stock of how I really feel about the experience, “I have to admit, I really enjoyed learning the game. I can see why you love it.”

“Now you’ll have to watch games with me,” he says with a blinding smile.

“I’d love that,” I reply, my heart bursting with affection for this kid. It’s been a struggle at times caring for him, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world. And any time I can spend with Dylan is precious.

I stand up from the bed. “I’m exhausted and I have to pick up Julian early to go to the airport.”

“Julian,” he says, mimicking the way I said his name. “That seems… personal.”

I lift a shoulder. “He insisted on it. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

“Yes, M-o-o-o-m-m-m,” he drawls, the way he always does when I go mom-mode on him.

After a quick wash of my face and a thorough brushing of my teeth, I strip down to a tank and panties and fall into bed. I’m so tired. But before I drift off, it’s Julian Langley’s face that fills the dark void.

He’s my employer. He’s been generous and unexpectedly decent and is, by any reasonable measure, the most interesting person I’ve been in a room with in years. He also exists in a world that has nothing in common with mine other than our lack of dads while growing up. I have Dylan and Beau and a dream I’m still trying to build from scratch and exactly zero margin for complications.

I’m his employee, and nothing more.

I keep repeating that to myself over and over again until I fall asleep.

Chapter 10

Julian

The Range Rover drives smoothly as we pull into the private terminal, the early-morning darkness still clinging like it hasn’t quite decided to let the day begin. The sky is a pale, indifferent gray, and the cold has that first-week-of-December bite as it seeps through the glass.

I take note of Harper’s hands, easy on the wheel, speaking to her confidence and ease not only in driving but driving with me sitting in the front seat. I’m aware that I have a Town Car gathering dust in a private garage a few blocks from my home.

It’s the most appropriate vehicle for a man who needs a driver, which isn’t just a symbol of wealth. It’s a practical means by which I can get from point A to point B and continue to work. I can sit in the back and take calls or work on my laptop in between meetings. It’s a way to squeeze another hour out of a day that’s already far too busy without enough hours to get everything done.

Moreover, a Town Car implies a certain arrangement—driver in front, employer in back, a partition available should either party require a reminder of their respective roles. It’s clean. Professional. Unambiguous.

I’ve kept Harper in the Range Rover instead.