by R.S. Grey
Julian frowned, scanning over the shop. “Ah, I admit, that’s my fault. Lorena was operating her business out of a dilapidated warehouse in Brooklyn. I had to decide whether to have you all drive out there and risk getting tetanus from a stray nail or line you all up outside of my hotel room.”
An image of him in his hotel room, sans suit, instantly jumped to the front of my thoughts. I pushed it aside and tried to ignore the hint of blush I knew was now very prominent across my cheeks.
“Well, for the record, my tetanus shot is current,” I said with a smile, still attempting to quell naked Julian thoughts.
He laughed and I took the opportunity to pull out my resume and slide it over to him.
“I read a few of your blog posts last night,” he offered before leaning back in his chair and studying me, completely ignoring my resume.
“Really?” I asked, shocked by his admission.
He nodded. “They were charming. Very real. I liked them.”
I don’t think my eyes could have been any wider.
“Wow.” I nodded, tucking his words away in my mind so I could extract them later when I needed a little pick-me-up. “Thank you.”
“Do you think your blogging would get in the way of this job?”
What?
“Oh. No! No. I write my posts at night and take my outfit photos on Saturday mornings. I’m very flexible.”
He nodded, seemingly pleased by my answer.
“Tell me a little bit about your background.”
I smiled. I loved talking about my home. Growing up in a small town in Texas made for quite a few interesting stories. I decided to leave out the cow tipping and bonfires in favor of my family life and college years.
“I loved it, but as soon as I could, I moved here.”
“So you came to New York a few years ago?”
My hands twisted together beneath the table. “Uhh, actually it’s been about two weeks.”
“Wow, so the move is still fresh,” he said.
“Very fresh,” I admitted. I was still learning how to handle the big city. As soon as I thought I’d seen it all, I’d step off the subway and in the span of three blocks I’d see a couple fighting, breaking up, and then getting engaged. On any given day, half of the subway cars smelled like urine, and attempting to get anywhere on time was nearly impossible. It was stressful to live in the city and I still hadn’t found my niche, but I had dreams. One day when I’d paid off my massive pile of student loans and was working for Vogue, I’d move to the Upper East Side and get to experience the city in a whole new light.
“So you studied at a fashion school in Texas?”
He was doing his best to withhold judgment, but I could tell he was less than impressed by my lack of experience.
“I assure you, I had a great education there. Very hands on classes and I interned with Kendra Scott while in school. She’s a Texas based jewelry—”
“I know who she is,” Julian interjected, scanning down to my resume.
“I might not be as qualified as some of the other applicants, but what I lack in experience, I make up for in commitment and work ethic.”
He studied me intently as I spoke and something in his gaze forced me to glance down at my coffee to regroup. Having his attention on me, his eyes on me, was hard to stomach. It felt like a rare treat, something not every woman was fortunate enough to experience in her lifetime. I wanted to savor his attention while I had it.
“I’d like to offer you the position.”
My gaze shot back up to him to see if he was kidding. The dimples were there, but the smile was gone. His eyes were bright and clear. His sharp features were relaxed and focused. He wasn’t kidding.
How many people had he interviewed before me? Two? Three, tops?
My mouth opened but it took a few seconds before words finally spilled out. “You’re offering me the job right now? What if someone better comes along this afternoon?”
SHUT IT. He’s giving you the position.
“My gut says to go with you and it’s yet to fail me.” He smiled, brushing off my concerns so easily.
Well that’s because your gut is probably made up of rock hard abs; they wouldn’t fail anyone.
“I have one condition,” I said.
His brow arched.
“I think I could use my skills as a blogger to rejuvenate your brand’s image. For the last few years, Lorena has been focused solely on her designs, not the branding side of things. She’s not utilizing social media like other fashion brands. I mean Rachel Zoe and Diane Von Furstenberg have camera crews following them around 24/7 for reality TV. We need to get Lorena Lefray out there in the public eye.”
“And you think you can help with that?”
I straightened my back. “I have a pretty large following on YouTube and Twitter. I know I can do it.”
“Excuse me,” a sweet voice said from behind me. I twisted in my chair to see a woman about my age, standing with a padfolio clutched in her arms. She was pretty, angelic really.
“Are you almost done?” she asked, flitting her gaze between the two of us. “I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just that the other interviews only lasted about five minutes and I have to run back across town for an appointment in fifteen—”
Julian waved his hand, silencing her and standing at the same time. He reached for his suit jacket and looked out toward the other few applicants who’d gathered in the room without my notice.
“I think we’re all done here.” He paused and glanced my way. “That is, if you’re ready to accept?”
I had two seconds to make a decision. Two seconds of staring into Julian Lefray’s fuck-me eyes and deciding if I wanted a job where I could stare at him all day, every day.
Easiest decision of my life.
I nodded and stood to shake his hand. “I accept.”
I tried to conceal my megawatt smile as his warm hand engulfed mine once again.
He nodded and glanced back to the small group of applicants. “Thank you all for coming today, but the position has been filled.”
I smiled.
Now if only he could fill something else…
And so the sexual fantasies begin. Lovely.
Chapter Seven
Julian
“I think they’re trying to poison me here.”
What?
I glanced over at Lorena to see if she was serious. My sister, the eccentric artist of the family, sat up in her bed and crossed her arms. She pointedly stared at the food in front of her. It looked decent enough to me, albeit a little bland.
“Relax, Lorena. You’re in the top rehab facility on the east coast, not with Nurse Ratchet.”
She sneered.
“Well it feels like I’m in the loony bin. Look at this stuff! It looks like lettuce with a bad perm!”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s kale, Lorena.”
She waved me off as if I wasn’t making any sense.
“I can’t fit into any of my old clothes either,” she said, redirecting her glare to the overflowing closet, grimacing at the piled garments she hadn’t cared to hang up after trying them on.
“That’s a good thing,” I assured her. “You were way too skinny before. A little bit of added weight means you’re getting healthy.”
For a long time my family never spoke of Lorena’s drug problem. The hints and warning signs were dust to be swept under the rug, along with the other skeletons that my mother believed should be kept locked away in the closet. Lorena would have probably sought help years earlier if only she could have spoken up about her problems.
“I brought you something,” I said, reaching for the brown bag behind my chair.
Her hazel eyes lit up and I knew I’d done the right thing by bringing her a gift.
She made grabby hands as I handed over the large bag. She ripped it open without hesitation and pulled out the large black frame I’d picked up on my way over.
There were three photos framed side by side. O
ne photo was of the two of us when we were little, all big teeth and dirty faces. The second photo was of the two of us the year before at Christmas. The third was a photo of our father and us before he’d died. I’d purposely picked photos that didn’t include our mother.
“Aw, I love it!” she said, holding it out in front of her for a better view.
I took in the sight of her for a moment. She’d been in rehab less than a week and she already looked better than she had in years. Her cheeks were flushed with a healthy glow and she’d started to put a little meat on her bones.
I promised her I’d hang the frame on her wall before I left, knowing it would add some personality to her room. Each "guest" at The White Dunes had their own small room. It was the most expensive rehab facility on Long Island, but even her lavish room still looked like a sterile cell, and I knew that to Lorena, it felt like one as well. The walls were white. The linens were white. The desk, doors, and dresser, all white. The colorless aesthetic was not her style, and I intended on helping her decorate as much as I could.
“Now enough stalling, how’s my company?” she asked, dropping the frame on her lap and staring at me with expectant eyes.
“I’m in the process of cleaning house,” I declared, cutting through the bullshit. For the last year, she’d done everything in her power to run her company into the ground. If there was any hope for revitalization, it needed a major overhaul, beginning with the staff.
“Geoff? What about Gina?” she asked with hope in her eyes.
“Everyone will be replaced.”
I had zero remorse for the employees I’d already let go. There were only a handful of them, all under qualified, all enablers of Lorena’s drug addiction. Their expulsion from the company had been a long time coming and she knew it.
Lorena rolled her eyes and went to work twisting her hair into a knot on top of her head. She’d taken the brown hair we shared and bleached it a pale blonde, verging on white, a few months back. Her roots were showing now that she was stuck in “rehab hell”, but I knew she’d color it back as soon as she could.
“And my space in Brooklyn? Are you planning on dumping that as well?”
I frowned, unsure of how honest she wanted me to be. I had plans to overhaul her entire company, to get rid of the employees and slim down on expenses. I’d wanted to step in years ago, but it was Lorena’s baby, and I respected her need to make decisions on her own. At the same time, I owned 49% of the company and that 49% was about to be worth nothing if something drastic wasn’t done.
“The Brooklyn warehouse is still under lease for the next two months, but I’d like to move the company to a space in Manhattan.”
She groaned, but I pushed on.
“While I’m running the company, I’m not commuting out to Brooklyn every morning. I’ll find a space in Manhattan and set up shop there.”
“And you’re the only employee right now? Just great.” She threw her hands in the air in defeat.
“No, actually. I hired someone just this morning.”
She slid her gaze to me, curiosity and skepticism fighting for control over her features.
“And who, pray tell, did you hire to help run MY company? Some idiot straight out of fashion school? So help me god if they think they can come in and take over my designs—”
“Relax. I hired someone you’d like. Her name is Josephine Keller—”
“Wait. Josephine from What Jo Wore?”
“You know her?”
Lorena nodded. “I don’t live under a rock. She’s that pretty blogger chick from Texas, right?”
I hesitated before nodding and then told myself I was only confirming that she was from Texas, not that she was pretty, though she was. Gorgeous even, but I shook the thought away.
“She’ll be my assistant, but she’ll also help me with the branding and marketing side of things.”
“Where will the two of you work while you look for a new place?” she asked.
I swallowed before answering. “My hotel.”
Lorena nodded with an arched brow. “Interesting. I mean, convenient.”
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Do you have any office spaces for me to take a look at yet?”
“I’m meeting with a realtor tomorrow morning. I’ll bring over information about the prospective properties after that.”
“Assuming I’m still alive tomorrow.” Lorena frowned just as a knock sounded from her door.
A moment later, a “recovery and wellness concierge” popped her head in and smiled. “The group activity is starting in the main room in fifteen minutes. We’ll be screening Sixteen Candles while lighting sixteen lamps filled with different aromatherapy oils.”
She smiled and closed the door after her announcement and Lorena’s eyes widened in horror. “Do you see what I mean? They’re poisoning me with cheesy 80s movies and yucky lettuce.”
I laughed and stood to leave. My baby sister had made her bed of kale, and now she had to lie in it.
Chapter Eight
Josephine
I’d just finished shoving the last bite of a donut in my mouth when my phone buzzed in my hand. I wiped the chocolate icing from my mouth and discarded the donut box in the trash. I took extra care to get rid of all the evidence of the sweet doughy deliciousness because that’s how denial works. No proof, no calories. Ha!
After I wiped my hands, I swiped my finger across the screen and answered the call.
“Hello?” Yeah, my mouth was still pretty full. Attractive, I know.
“Josephine?”
The deep voice sent a slight shiver down my spine. I swallowed slowly.
“Julian?” I asked, pulling the phone away from my cheek to check the number. I didn’t recognize the area code.
“Yes. Sorry to call you so early. I just wanted to let you know that we won’t be meeting at my hotel like we originally planned.”
“Oh.”
I sounded sad. Why did I sound sad? Had I been looking forward to seeing the inside of Julian’s hotel room? Had I wanted some alone time with him?
“Is that all right?” he asked, sounding worried.
“Oh! Yeah. Of course. Where are we meeting instead?”
“My realtor has lined up a few properties for us to take a look at. I’ll text you the first address after we hang up.”
“Okay, cool. I love looking at real estate.”
He laughed. “Really?”
“Yep.”
“I can’t tell if you’re kidding.”
I laughed. “I’m borderline addicted to HGTV. It’s not healthy.”
“Ah, I see. Well, we’ll be going into some unfinished job sites, so make sure you wear closed-toe shoes.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll dress the part,” I quipped.
“Are you getting ready as we talk? I’m already on my way to the first address.”
Oh crap. “Let me go so I can map it.”
“All right. Good luck.”
I dropped my phone and scrambled to finish getting ready. Last night Julian had emailed me a few details about my first day on the job. I’d planned on meeting him at his hotel—where we’d be working until we found a space to rent in Manhattan—but if we were going to be running around town all day, I needed to change my shoes. My feet would be screaming by the second listing.
I slid into some black leather flats and peeked at the mirror before dashing out the door. A stray chocolate sprinkle was lurking in the corner of my mouth from the donut I had allegedly eaten a minute before. I wiped it away and reassessed my makeup. Not bad. Not bad at all.
It was warming up nicely in New York City, but there was still a morning chill lingering in the air, so I walked to the first listing instead of taking the subway.
Julian was standing near the entrance of the building, chatting with a short, balding man in a three-piece suit. The man had on a blue paisley tie that coordinated with his pocket square and a Bluetooth thing sticking o
ut of his right ear. Ah, he was definitely the realtor.
“Josephine,” Julian said with a smile as I approached.
I scanned over his outfit quickly, pushing away the swell of lust that accompanied the sight of him. Black slacks—not cute. White button-down—not cute. Fitted black jacket—ew. Who thinks defined arms and a broad chest are attractive? No one.
He reached forward and gripped my arm just above my elbow as he leaned in to kiss my cheek. JESUS CHRIST. He smelled divine, like he’d spent the morning in the woods building me a log cabin. I hated him.
When he pulled back after our kiss, he kept his hand on my arm and introduced me to Sergio, our realtor. Taking it as a cue, Sergio leaned in to kiss my other cheek. I flinched, and my nose knocked his earpiece to the ground.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, let me get that!” I sang, trying to allay the awkwardness.
I bent to grab it before either of them could get it, then handed it to Sergio with an apologetic smile.
“Let me just grab the key from the lockbox and then we’ll head inside,” Sergio explained.
I nodded and wet my lips, trying hard to work up the nerve to glance at Julian. I’d felt so confident during our phone call, but in person my courage dwindled away as if it’d never been there at all.
“No overalls? I’m a little disappointed,” Julian quipped as he turned toward me.
I laughed and glanced down at my outfit. He read that blog post!
“I figured overalls were more of a second-day-on-the-job kind of look,” I said with a smile.
Julian laughed. “What’s a third-day-on-the-job look then?”
“Jorts.”
He laughed, but furrowed his brows. “Jorts?”
My smile fell. “Oh c’mon. You don’t know what jorts are?”
He shook his head with a bemused expression.
“They’re cut-off jeans, made into shorts.” I made a cutting motion across my thigh. “Mostly worn by hipsters with handlebar mustaches.”
“I guess I’ll see them on Wednesday,” he laughed.
“Got it!” Sergio explained, motioning us forward and sweeping the door open with enough razzle-dazzle to give Vanna White a run for her money.
