Page 59 of Julian

“Hello?” I call.

No one answers.

I take a few tentative steps forward, glancing toward what appears to be an unattended host stand, and for a moment I genuinely wonder if I’ve gotten this wrong—if I’ve arrived at the right place at the wrong time, or worse, the wrong place entirely. I pull out my phone to triple-check the message, even though I already know what it says, the same address staring back at me.

“Hello?” I call again.

Still no answer.

“Okay,” I murmur under my breath, half amused but still unsure. “This isn’t unsettling at all.”

I turn slightly, debating whether I should text him or simply leave before this becomes an even more embarrassing scene—

“Ms. Hawthorne?”

The voice cuts cleanly through the silence, and I turn quickly, caught off guard.

A hostess now stands near the front, perfectly at ease, as if she’s been there all along and I simply failed to notice. “Yes,” I say, recovering as best I can. “Hi.”

She smiles, warm and welcoming. “We’ve been expecting you… If you’ll follow me.”

I fall into step behind her, the soft sound of my heels grounding me as we move through the large room. I’m nervous and smooth the fabric of my wraparound dress, hoping I chose correctly. It’s not overly sexy but the neckline plunges slightly and the fabric definitely hugs my curves. I’ve been told the deep plum suits my complexion best, but really… what does one wear on a date with their boss?

It soon becomes clear that the room is intentionally sparse, which, given its massive size, makes sense. Tables are set far apart, each one its own private island of light.

We reach the far side of the room, and she gestures ahead. The entire wall is glass and beyond it, Central Park stretches out beneath the night, its winding paths traced in soft gold, the trees forming dark, sweeping shapes against the glow of the city rising beyond it. It’s a view I’ve never seen from above in such magnificent splendor.

“Your table,” she says gently, drawing me back.

“Wow,” I breathe, a quiet laugh slipping out as I shake my head. “Sorry—it’s just… wow.”

“It tends to have that effect,” she replies with a knowing smile.

I lower myself into the chair she pulls out for me, my attention drifting back to the window, to the view that seems surreal, like I’ve stepped into someone else’s fantasy.

“Mr. Langley will join you shortly.”

“Thank you.”

She inclines her head and disappears as quietly as she arrived, leaving me alone with my hands resting lightly against the tabletop as I try to ground myself.

Dinner, I tell myself. Just dinner.

But as I sit there, the city stretching out beyond the glass in some sort of private dining room that I’m guessing is only accessed by people like Julian Langley, I know that isn’t entirely true—and I have no idea what happens next.

I’m still caught in admiring the view, my eyes tracing the soft ribbons of light winding through Central Park, when I hear him behind me.

“Harper.”

The way he says my name pulls me out of the moment, and when I turn, he’s there, standing at the table like he’s always belonged in a place like this.

“Julian,” I say, rising slightly out of instinct before he gestures for me to sit, but I don’t miss the way his gaze slides over me in appreciation.

He takes the seat adjacent. There’s a subtle softness to him tonight that wasn’t there before. “I trust you found it without any trouble.”

“I did,” I reply, though my attention returns to the window almost immediately, drawn to it like I might miss something if I look away too long. “Central Park from up here… it’s… really nice.”

The understatement sounds ridiculous the second it leaves my mouth, but he follows my gaze anyway, as though he’s willing to see it through my perspective instead of his own.