by Jackie Lau
Now that I know who he is, I’m more comfortable. I might not personally know his family, but still, I know of them.
Julian is looking at me, waiting for my response.
Five thousand dollars.
That’s a lot of money for someone like me, though it’s not a lot for someone like him.
I know exactly what I would do with it. Funny, I was wishing earlier that money would just drop out of the sky and into my hands, and it sort of has. With five thousand dollars, I could pay for Naomi to go to New York City with me, and I’d give her the rest of the money so she could afford any unexpected car repairs and other things that might come up. It would provide her with some financial security.
Whenever I make a decision, I consider what would be best for my mental health, and going to New York with my sister would be very good for my mental health. She’d have fun, too. Plus, she’s the most important person in my life and I want to help her.
Although I’ll have to spend time with Julian Fong to get the money, it shouldn’t be too much of a hardship.
I take another look at him.
No, it wouldn’t be a hardship at all.
Not that he’s interested in me like that. The man could have nearly any woman he wanted, and I’m rather ordinary. So he’s not really asking me to be his manic pixie dream girl, because those are always love interests. He’s just asking me to teach him how to go for long walks and eat lemon cherry sour cream gelato, without the kissing.
Though I’d enjoy the kissing. It’s been a long time since I’ve kissed someone, and that’s entirely of my own doing. Relationships are not safe for me, as I’ve learned in the past.
It would be nice if I could do the kissing and sex business without a relationship, which is what Naomi did before she met Will. But I find sex very intimate, and I end up falling for the men I sleep with. Casual sex isn’t possible for me.
“So?” Julian lifts his eyebrow, and that simple action causes a pleasant flutter in my stomach.
“Are you serious?” I’m pretty sure he is, though I’m having trouble wrapping my head around it. “Are you well? Do you want me to call someone for you?”
“My brother Vince is at an orgy, my brother Cedric is traveling the world and doing his version of Eat, Pray, Love, and my parents are at a charity gala. So, no, there is no one you can call for me.”
“Your brother is at an orgy? You know this for a fact?”
“Yes, unfortunately, I do.” He taps his foot impatiently. “So? Will you do it?”
“I need a few more details on how this is going to work. For starters, I have a job. Not exactly a nine-to-five job, but somewhat regular hours, in general.” Except for today, because I had those experiments to finish up. “Unlike you, I can’t just take a two-week vacation because I feel like it.”
“Can I pay someone a lot of money for you to get the next two weeks off?”
I think he’s serious. “That’s really weird, and this is weird enough as it is.”
He sighs. “What’s your job?”
“I’m a biomedical researcher in a lab at U of T.”
“Surely your lab could use some money.”
“Julian! No. Like I said, super weird.” I have a sip of my lukewarm latte. “How would this work? We’d meet up once a day and eat gelato or drink gingerbread lattes together?”
“Hmm.” He drums his fingers on the counter. “No, when I do something, I do it right. Not just a half-hearted attempt.”
“Okay...”
“I think you should live with me for the next two weeks.”
I spit my latte all over him.
“Shit,” I say, digging into my purse for a napkin.
“It’s okay.”
“Yeah, I bet you’ve got an entire walk-in closet full of suits at home.”
“Something like that.”
I hand him a napkin. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually spit decaffeinated beverages all over people, but I thought you said you wanted me to live with you.”
“You heard correctly.” He pauses. “I believe I need serious help with this.”
“What did you do today before you went into the office?”
“I got out of bed at five thirty and worked out. Talked to my housekeeper, read half a novel in Spanish, and watched a bunch of episodes of a telenovela. I’m teaching myself Spanish, you see. My brother accused me of trying to be productive. I guess what I want is to be productively unproductive instead.”
“There’s nothing wrong with using some of your two weeks off to learn Spanish. But you didn’t try, I don’t know, enjoying a beer on your balcony? I’m sure you have a balcony.” His place is probably very swanky.
“Just sitting and drinking beer. And reading, perhaps?”
“Sure, if you feel like it.” Sitting on the balcony with a novel and a drink is one of my favorite things to do, though my beverage of choice is wine rather than beer. Or a nice cup of tea. “But not a report for work. Not something that you need to read or that you’re reading to improve yourself. A book you’re reading for no reason other than that it sounds entertaining.”
“What an odd thing to do.” He’s trying for sarcasm...I think.
Something occurs to me. “I thought you young, hotshot CEO types were supposed to be good at partying hard.”
“That’s my brother, not me.”
“Which brother? The one attending the orgy?”
He nods. “Vince had a tech company. Sold it for a lot of money. The last year’s been one big party for him.”
“I see.” His family is nothing like my own. I feel totally out of my league here.
“But I don’t party,” Julian says with a little wrinkle of his nose—which is rather cute. “And I have no interest in starting. I just want to be a little like you. Enjoying a latte at a coffee shop or a beer on the balcony.”
I snort. Nobody wants to be like me.
He doesn’t know enough about me to realize that, though. And it’s true, I do have my strengths, but part of the reason it’s easy for me to enjoy the little things is because sometimes my depression stops me from doing so. Thus, I appreciate it when I’m able to.
I don’t tell him that.
“You don’t party at all?” I say. “What about women? Seems to me the next two weeks would be a great time for, I don’t know, lots of sex? Maybe not an orgy, but a fling?”
“It certainly did cross my mind when I invited you to stay with me.”
My eyes widen. “I didn’t mean a fling with me.”
“Why not? Do you have a boyfriend? A husband?” He glances at my hand—I’m not wearing any rings.
“No.” I ball up my hands, feeling self-conscious.
He smiles at me now, a different smile than before. This one is slow and sensual and makes my skin prickle with awareness.
Nobody has flirted with me in ages, but now Julian Fong is flirting with me. It appears he really does want me to be his manic pixie dream girl after all.
“I don’t do casual flings,” I say. “Not my cup of tea.”
“What is your cup of tea?”
“Earl Grey.”
His smile broadens. “I don’t usually do casual flings, either, but there’s a first time for everything.”
“Too much commitment for you? Are you a one-night-stand kind of guy?”
“To be honest, I prefer relationships, but I’m terrible at them, so I don’t bother anymore.”
“Hmm. A young CEO who actually likes relationships.”
“You have a rather specific idea of who I should be.”
I shrug. “You fit a type. Sort of.” I pause. “I don’t do relationships, either.”’
“Excellent. A casual fling it is.”
“I just told you that I don’t do those.”
Julian looks perplexed. He might not usually do casual flings or one-night stands, but I’m sure he has no trouble getting such things when he wants them. Even if he weren’t attractive—although he totally is—he�
��s rich and powerful, and that doesn’t count for nothing.
“Besides,” I say. “You’ve spent the last twenty minutes telling me that you don’t know how to have fun. Why would I want to go to bed with you?”
Oh, God. Did I really just say that?
He steps closer to me. Only a tiny step, but it’s enough to quicken my breath. He dips his head and whispers, “There’s one place I do know how to have fun.”
I’m thinking about it, and he knows it. His body pressing against mine...
“No,” I say firmly. “Not happening.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “You seem to find the idea appealing, though.”
I do. However... “I’m not good at casual sex. I’m one of those women who get attached when they sleep with someone, and like I said, I don’t do relationships.” Too risky.
“Does that mean you never have sex?”
“I am not discussing my sex life with you.”
“Very well,” he says. “You don’t want a fling, and I can take no for an answer. But what about the rest of my offer? Two weeks—actually, let me amend that. Sixteen days of helping me learn to enjoy my life and be productively unproductive, and you will get five thousand dollars.”
“I’ll stay at your place?”
“Yes. But not in my bed.”
Did he really have to mention his bed?
“I have a guest room,” he says. “You can stay there. I promise to behave myself.”
It’s strange to hear this man talk about behaving himself around me. By some miracle, he seems to genuinely find me attractive. Hard to believe.
Stop it, Courtney. I shouldn’t think of myself as hideous. Really, I’m decent looking, and I can believe that men find me attractive. Just not men like Julian.
Julian, who has made this interesting offer.
I want to accept it. My gut tells me it’s safe to do so and that I should do so. In the past, I’ve gotten into more trouble for ignoring my instincts than for listening to them, so I do my best to trust my instincts now, even if they don’t always make sense.
I’ll be able to pay for Naomi to go to New York with me, as well as give her some extra cash. I’ll also have some company for the next two weeks.
I’m alone a lot of the time outside of work. Now, I’m an introvert and I do like being alone, but I yearn for a little more of a social life than what I have. When Friday afternoon rolls around and I have zero plans to socialize on the weekend, I start to feel twitchy. Being by myself can even be frightening at times, because when I’m alone for too long, my negative thoughts tend to spiral. It’s not good for my mental health.
But if I accept this offer, I’ll spend lots of time with Julian. Although knowing he wants to take me to bed and being unable to act on that will be a bit difficult, I’m sure I can manage.
True, I hadn’t spoken to him until today, and I haven’t even looked him up on Facebook, but in a way, I feel like I already know him. It’s partly because of his family’s reputation in the community, but it’s something more than that. I can’t explain it.
I hold out my hand. He shakes it. His hand is warm, his grip firm—but not uncomfortably so—and oh my God, this is the first time I’ve gotten aroused from a handshake. A handshake.
“You’ve got a deal,” I say, my voice trembling slightly.
Yeah, I can totally manage this.
Right?
Chapter 6
Courtney
When we step out of Chris’s Coffee Shop, a sleek black car is waiting for us by the curb. It’s only a short ride to Julian’s building, which is on King Street, a little west of the Financial District. Excellent. Close enough that I’ll be able to walk to work. It would suck if he lived far away, but he’d probably hire a car to drive me to and from work anyway, so it wouldn’t be that much of a hassle.
It’s a very tall building, and we take the elevator up to the top floor.
Because, of course, he lives in the penthouse.
When the elevator doors open, he places his hand on my lower back and guides me into his home, the simple contact drawing all my attention.
Until he flips on the lights and I see his penthouse.
I’ve been in nice houses before, but I’ve never been in anything quite like this. It’s massive and mostly open plan, so I can see a lot of it at once, including the fancy stainless steel appliances in the kitchen and the enormous marble kitchen island. There are two sinks and tons of counter space; even that seems like a luxury to me.
I slip off my shoes and walk around. In the living room, there’s a large white sectional couch, and I sit down with a little bounce. A white couch seems horribly impractical, but I suppose he can afford to hire a cleaner—or, hell, just buy a new couch—if he spills a three-hundred-dollar bottle of red wine on it.
Next to the sectional couch is a black leather recliner, and ooh, it’s the most comfortable thing ever. Across the wall from the chair is an enormous screen.
“How many inches is that?” I ask.
Julian answers, but I don’t properly register his response because the word “inches” has me thinking of something else.
Not happening, Courtney.
There are pieces of art scattered across his penthouse, although I suppose “scattered” isn’t the right word. I’m sure they were carefully placed by his interior decorator—hell, maybe a team of interior decorators.
I wander around and gasp as I approach the window. It faces south, and I can see the lights glittering in the small piece of Toronto between King Street and the water, and then the Toronto Islands and the black expanse of Lake Ontario beyond.
“Oh my God,” I say. “This is incredible.”
I feel embarrassed for gushing over the view, but that’s the sort of thing he wants me to do, isn’t it? He likes the fact that I can appreciate the little things.
Though this is far from a little thing.
“Would you like to see the view to the north?” he asks.
“Yes, please!” I say, like an eager schoolgirl.
He guides me down the hallway and into a bedroom at the far end. The window encompasses one entire wall of the room. The view is incredible, all the lights of a city of millions of people. It makes me feel small and insignificant, but at the same time, I feel blessed that I have the chance to see the world like this.
I glance at Julian, who’s staring out the window.
“I guess it’s pretty incredible,” he says. “But I’m used to it. I see it every day.”
His gaze lands on me, and I feel a shiver down my spine.
“This is your bedroom.” He gestures around the room. “You can see this view every day for the next two weeks.”
The room is nearly as big as my entire apartment, and this is the guest room. I wonder how often he has guests here and whether there are multiple guest rooms.
I wonder what his bedroom looks like.
Don’t go there.
In the middle of my new room is a king-sized bed with a soft grey duvet and a mountain of pillows. This seems too fussy for Julian, but then again, this isn’t his room, and I bet he wasn’t the one who set it up. There are a couple of pen-and-ink drawings on the walls and a comfy-looking black couch on the far side, as well as a television.
Julian hands me a remote. “If you want to watch television in bed, press this button.” When he presses it, a second screen pops down in front of the bed.
I’m afraid I’m going to break something.
There are two doors in the room in addition to the one that leads to the hall. I poke my head in the first one and find a walk-in closet. Now, I’m not one of those women who’s particularly excited by walk-in closets, but I can still appreciate a nice one.
However, it’s nothing compared to what’s behind the other door.
An en suite washroom with a Jacuzzi and a shower I’ve never seen the likes of before. There are multiple shower heads, and... My God, you could have some really great sex in here.
; At that thought, I duck my head and turn back toward the bedroom. Unfortunately, I run smack into Julian, and for the first time, I get a sense of what’s under that suit.
Muscle. Definitely lots of muscle.
“Um,” I say, stepping back. “This is all very nice. Lovely. Impressive. But...” God, he’s distracting. It’s hard for me to talk properly right now. “I’ll need to return to my apartment soon to get my stuff—my clothes and other things.”
“Of course. We can do that tomorrow morning. Until then, there are toothbrushes, toothpaste, floss, and other essentials in your washroom.”
“What will I wear to bed?”
As soon as I utter those words, I clamp my hand over my mouth. I don’t need to be thinking about that when he’s in the room with me. I don’t need him to be thinking about that.
I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.
I wonder if he’s going to make a comment about me sleeping in the nude.
He scratches the back of his neck. “I can lend you one of my T-shirts for the night.”
Strange to think of Julian wearing something as basic as a T-shirt, but of course he doesn’t wear suits 24/7.
I nod briskly. “Great. That works. Now, could you give me a few minutes alone so I can call my sister and tell her where I am?”
He exits the room without another word.
I sit down on the bed and take a moment to catch my breath. God, this is really happening. I’m spending the next two weeks in a luxury penthouse. Two weeks with this incredible view.
I pull out my phone and call Naomi.
She answers on the first ring. “Courtney, what’s wrong?”
“Why do you think something’s wrong?”
“Because you never call—you always text—and it’s ten o’clock at night.”
“Don’t worry. Nothing’s wrong. I’m just spending the night with a guy and thought I should give you his info in case anything happens.” I provide his name and address.
“Julian Fong,” Naomi says. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“Fong Investments. He’s Charles Fong’s son, and he runs it now.”
“You’re sleeping with a CEO?”
