Chapter 4
Chapter 4
What the hell am I thinking? I pull up to the bar just a short drive from work. Julian had suggested it, and I’d plugged the address into Google maps. I sit in my car for a minute, waiting for him to pull in behind me. I roll my eyes in exasperation at myself. Why the hell did I agree to this?
Of course I’ve gone out for drinks or dinner with coworkers from time to time. I’m not opposed to the idea of getting to know the people you work with. But there’s something about Julian Mercer that feels … dangerous? I don’t know. That’s probably an over exaggeration.
But it’s not like we can truly have a casual working relationship. He’s one of the founders of Mercer Dynamics, where the foundation gets all its money from. And regardless of what he says, I know the only possible reason he’s there is because someone at the company has doubts about the Elena Mercer Foundation. What those doubts are, I don’t know. I’d been infuriated when I’d first been informed of Julian’s coming to oversee the foundation. It’s an incredible place, and it does a lot.
So, no matter how nice we play, Julian poses a real threat to my job. To the foundation I’ve poured my heart and soul into.
Does he not see that?
It appears not, based on that stupid, goofy smile he’s been sending my way all week. I’m not an idiot. His flirting has not been lost on me. And honestly, under other circumstances, maybe I’d give him a shot. He is, I have to admit, attractive. His hair is dark and slightly wavy, and he has this five o’clock shadow that somehow still makes him look put together and manicured.
Julian waves at me through the window of my car, pulling me from my daze. I grab my purse off the passenger seat and hop out. I shoot him a tight-lipped smile before following him inside the bar.
It’s a nice place. An upscale restaurant with an extensive cocktail menu. Not exactly the kind of place I was expecting. I do most of my socializing in dive-bar-type establishments.
The restaurant is pretty busy, so we opt for seats at the long bar that stretches across almost the entirety of the main room. Fancy spirits and liquors line shelves along the wall. Julian settles in, leaning his elbows against the countertop and flagging down a bartender.
“A gin and tonic,” he says, then gestures to me.
I stutter for a moment, not quite sure what I want, then I answer, “A cabernet if you have it.”
The bartender nods and heads off.
We sit in an awkward silence for a few heartbeats. I fidget in my seat, glancing around. I feel Julian’s gaze on me, and I turn to see that familiar smile on his face. Almost like a smirk. Like he’s amused about something. It sends a wave of frustration through me. What the hell is he smiling about?
Even more annoying, he seems able to read my mind, because he chuckles. “You seem irritated,” he observes. But instead of looking worried over that fact, he simply seems entertained.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. The bartender returns then with our drinks, setting them in front of us and then hurrying away.
I grasp my glass of wine, bringing it to my lips in order to avoid an answer.
“Am I really that annoying?” Julian presses, his smile growing.
I sigh quietly. “You’re not annoying.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Then what’s with the attitude?”
I widen my eyes. Did he really just say that? What the hell is wrong with this guy? “I—I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I stutter.
He chuckles again. “Oh, come on. You think I haven’t noticed the cold shoulder you’ve been giving me ever since I arrived?”
“It’s called professionalism, maybe you should take notes.” The minute the words leave my lips, I realize how harsh they sound, and I’m suddenly worried. After all, Julian could get me fired on the spot if he wanted to. But that worry is quickly replaced by irritation again when he throws his head back and laughs.
I purse my lips, staring down at my glass of wine.
“You are professional, I’ll give you that,” Julian says. “Very dedicated to your job, it seems.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Of course not.” He shakes his head. “Just an observation.”
“I care deeply about the work I do,” I clarify. “Those art workshops can change kids’ lives. Give them things to look forward to, skills—making them happy. It’s important.”
Julian pauses for just a second before nodding. “I see your point. I mean, it’s why we set up the foundation in the first place. Look, I’m not the bad guy here.” He holds out his hands in surrender.
I unclench my jaw. Maybe I should go easier on him. Maybe he’s right.
“My presence doesn’t necessarily mean bad things for the foundation.”
But that word nags at the back of my mind. Necessarily. He’s not promising anything.
“Tell me about you,” Julian surprises me by saying. He leans forward against the bar, taking a sip of his gin and tonic.
“Me?” I repeat hollowly.
He snorts, that dumb smirk returning to his face. “Yes, you. Tell me about yourself.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Well, I work at your foundation. I’ve lived in Seattle all my life. I …”
Julian cuts me off, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t ask for a work bio. How about what you do for fun. Do you have a boyfriend?”
I widen my eyes slightly. “No. No boyfriend,” I answer.
Julian’s eyes light up a bit at that, and I resist the urge to narrow my eyes.
“How does a girl who looks like you not have a boyfriend?”
Okay, I can’t resist it anymore. I roll my eyes. Although a tiny part of me warms at his words. I can only hope I’m not noticeably blushing. Fuck. He’s obviously a player. What the hell is wrong with me? “Maybe it’s the lack of acceptable men,” I quip.
“Disappointing, huh?”
“Very.”
“Well, I can’t say I’ve ever left a woman disappointed,” Julian murmurs with a smirk. He leans toward me. “They’ve all been very, very satisfied.” His voice is low, and his gaze is locked on mine, seemingly pinning me to my seat. There’s something in his look that sets a fire low in my belly. A fire that I’m trying my hardest to quickly extinguish.
I take a deep breath, breaking our gaze and shifting on the stool. Why did Julian Mercer have to be so goddamn handsome? Those stupidly blue eyes and that chiseled jaw. Fuck.
“That’s very … fun for you,” I manage to reply, trying to keep my cool. I take a sip of wine nonchalantly.
He shrugs. “I think it’s more fun for them.”
I laugh, looking anywhere but directly at him.
“You think I’m joking?” I can tell by his tone that he’s grinning.
God damn it, I can feel a hot flush creeping across my neck. I hope Julian can’t see it. I force myself to look at him and portray an unmoved expression. I purse my lips. “Not to question your expertise, but men are notorious for not exactly knowing the different between a performance and the real thing,” I answer casually.
A shocked laugh bubbles up from his chest. He sets his glass down on the bar, leaning over slightly and laughing. “Nora Bennett,” he says after a moment, and my name on his lips sends another round of butterflies through my stomach. “You’re funny.”
I can’t tell if I’m more infuriated by the fact that he’s simply laughing at my intended insult, or at the fact that I’m shockingly, irritatingly, unacceptably drawn to that stupid smile on his face. That my name coming out of his mouth was the best sound I’ve heard all day.
Julian composes himself, his hand now on the back of my seat, his body closer to me than he’s been all night. His eyes are still twinkling from my apparently hilarious comeback. “But if you’re wanting to test your theory, I’d be more than happy to play along,” he says quietly.
Heat pools in my core at his words, his proximity, the heat of his hand softly brushing against my back. Fuck. No, no, no. I swallow.
“I …” I stammer. I glance at our glasses on the bar. Practically gone. We’ve been here long enough. And I did only promise him one drink. And I’m afraid if I stay any longer, I might …
“I should probably go,” I decide aloud, tugging my jacket off my chair, which roughly removes Julian’s hand. I hop off the stool, grabbing my purse. “Thanks for the drink,” I say, assuming that he’ll pay up before he leaves.
And with one quick glance at his surprised expression, I turn on my heel and leave.