Kissed and Missed (Daddy Issues #2)

Chapter 7

7

HONOR

SIX WEEKS AGO

J ulian Ballard’s home is a white and chrome contemporary structure that my architect father would call “soulless.” The interior, all sharp angles and white furniture you’re afraid to sit on, isn’t any warmer. The whole place strikes me as something he bought because he was checking a box on some billionaire to-do list.

Luxury car collection? Check .

Private jet? Check.

Supervillain house? Check .

The sounds of a family Christmas party underway drift from below my feet, but I’m more than content to hide away up here, far away from my ex-girlfriend’s family.

My bedroom, which basically encompasses a very large, white bed in the center of a very large, white room, was giving asylum vibes, and it didn’t take long after the party started for me to get restless. So, feeling distinctly out of place in oversized sweatpants and a tank top, I went exploring.

I arrived hours ago, and since then, I haven’t seen a single hint of his personality within these walls. Or I hadn’t, until I turned a corner and found myself standing in a hallway lined with books. I’m not sure what I was expecting to find, but something about the rows of old, battered, seemingly ordinary books gave me pause. Some of them are the sort of thing you’d expect to see in a high school library, mass-produced copies of classic literature. Others are textbooks on very complicated-sounding computer programming topics.

They’re lined up, in no particular order, without a speck of dust to be seen. In this chic, expensive, cold home, the books are an unexpected show of sentimentality.

Feeling guilty, as if I’m snooping, I draw forward and select one at random from a shelf at eye level. It’s a mass-produced copy of some science fiction novel by D.L. Wilder, with many cracks running up the sun-bleached spine. I allow it to fall open in my hands, thumbing through it.

Apparently, Julian is a fan of annotating his books, because there is barely a single paragraph without something highlighted or a tiny comment scrawled in the margins. I can barely breathe as I flip through a few pages, reading the words that meant something to him, as if I can understand a piece of its owner in the process. Why am I so curious? Why does it matter? I’m attracted to him, I can admit that to myself at least, but it’s more than that.

“Do you like it?”

My heart shoots into my throat as I whirl around, dropping the book in the process. Standing at the end of the hall, is Julian. He’s more dressed up than he was when I arrived, wearing a button-up shirt and dark pants, and looking much closer to the CEO I’ve seen on TV.

There’s a plate of food in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” I squeak, hurrying to pick up the dropped book and shove it back onto the shelf, embarrassment prickling at the back of my neck.

Julian watches me, his brow furrowed. “Don’t be. Books are meant to be read.”

I wasn’t reading the book, though. I was reading what he thought of it.

Anxious to abandon the topic as quickly as possible, I nod. “Okay. Thank you. Um . How is the party?”

He smiles wryly. “You aren’t missing much. My mother is very unhappy about the new brand of chlorine being used in her country club pool. It has been the primary topic of conversation tonight. Are you sure you didn’t want to come downstairs and join?”

My stomach flips. He’s teasing me.

“Well, you’re an excellent salesman, but I’ll have to pass. Maybe I should spend the night finding out who is in charge of making pool chemical decisions at your mother’s country club. You should be sending them a condolence card.”

Julian lets out a big, unrestrained laugh that leaves his stormy eyes sparkling as he takes another step toward me, holding out the plate. I feel my cheeks growing hot. “You didn’t have to,” I protest lamely, well aware that I haven’t eaten in hours and will almost certainly devour this the moment he’s gone.

He ignores this, nodding toward the books as he takes the first step back toward the stairs. “Read whatever you’d like.”

It’s probably not a good sign that I check out his ass when he turns away.