Chapter 24
The insistent buzzing of my phone on the bedside table infiltrates my dreams and pulls me out of sleep. With bleary eyes, I lift my head and jab a finger at the screen. Which of course does no good because the buzzing sound is from incoming texts, not my alarm.
I glance over at the other bed, hoping the noise hasn’t woken Julien.
The man is lying on his back, one arm bent over the top of his head, his shirtsleeve riding up and showing off the muscular form of his bicep.
The straps of the CPAP machine run along his cheekbones, his nostrils filled with the pillows of the breathing device, and a long hose extends from his nose like the trunk of an anorexic elephant.
I clap a hand over my mouth to keep a giggle from escaping.
We’ve been sharing a room for days now, but this is the first time I’ve seen him with his nighttime headgear on.
I’ll speak plainly. Not even the sexiest man alive could make wearing a CPAP machine look like anything but what it is—an uncomfortable but useful tool to not stop breathing while sleeping. There isn’t any way to glam it up.
So why is my heart tripping a beat right now?
Hmm . . . probably because I can’t stop his confession from yesterday from running through my mind on constant repeat.
Look, my self-esteem may need to come from someplace intrinsic, but that doesn’t mean what Julien said didn’t have a powerful impact on me and make my knees go more than a little weak.
And now, seeing him sleeping peacefully even with the medical device shoved up his nose makes it all too easy to picture what this could be.
Him. Me. A life together. Watching him sleep and listening to the gentle whir of the breathing machine in the early mornings.
Not something fleeting. Not a simple crush.
But something deep and lasting and forever.
Except there’s something else he said that won’t leave my mind either.
“If Squire acquires your books, nothing can happen between us.”
And I know that’s what he wants, for Squire to publish my books. For him to save the imprint and prove himself to his father once and for all. To ultimately save Mr. King from himself. To save his dad’s life before it’s too late.
An insecure part of me whispers that it doesn’t matter if Julien confessed that he likes me more than he should or that he thinks I’m beautiful.
He’s choosing the publishing house and his dad’s expectations over any type of heart involvement with me.
But things aren’t that black and white. I don’t think Julien even feels like he has a choice.
I doubt Mr. King has ever let him think he did.
My phone buzzes again in my hand, drawing my attention down to the screen. It’s another text from Evangeline. I tap on the notification, and a GIF of Ricky Ricardo from I Love Lucy loads. The Latin actor is shaking his finger, and the caption at the bottom says You’ve got some splaining to do!
Evangeline
I can’t believe you kept this from us.
Evangeline
I mean, I know I’ve got no room to talk when it comes to keeping secrets, but this is different!
Evangeline
Hayley and I had a sleepover and stayed up all night reading your book.
Evangeline
Call us!
I slip on one of the hotel robes and pad my way as quietly as possible to the sliding glass door that leads to the balcony. Thankfully, the door opens without a sound, and I slip outside. The rhythmic white noise of the ocean greets me, and the brine in the air fills my lungs.
Evangeline answers on the first ring. “Good morning, Mr. Rochester.”
“Are you comparing me not telling you about my writing to Mr. Rochester’s hidden wife in the attic?”
“Obviously.”
“I told her she had no room to speak, but she can’t help herself if there’s a literary reference to be had,” Hayley says.
“Naturally.”
“Okay, so, first things first.” Evangeline once again commandeers the conversation. “Please tell me book two is finished and that you’re emailing it to us right now.”
Tears spring to my eyes. “You guys actually liked it? You’re not just saying that or pretending to be interested to spare my feelings?”
A snort sounds over the line. “We kept saying ‘just one more chapter’ until the book ended, and we looked at the clock and it was three a.m. Do you know when the last time I stayed up past 9:30 was?”
“Okay,” I say, dumbfounded. “So, it’s not garbage?” I’m not sure how long it will take for that to sink in. I’ve been operating under the umbrella that no one would like my stories for so long that this paradigm shift is hard to accept at face value.
“I loved it,” Hayley says matter-of-factly.
“Me too,” Evangeline agrees. “I think you should let the dreamy publisher make all your dreams come true.”
Hayley groans, and I feel a twin sound stuck in my own throat. “Do you have to turn everything into a romantic innuendo?”
She tsks. “His looks are dreamy, Squire is your dream publisher, and I’m betting that it’s always been your dream to be an author. I stand by what I said.”
I shake my head. Evangeline will always be the hopeless romantic.
“Real talk, though,” Hayley interjects. “How are things going with Julien?”
“Oh, instead of just a book series acquisition, he could have himself an ever-after acquisition.” I can practically see Evangeline waggling her eyebrows.
My stomach clenches in yearning as I glance through the glass door to where Julien is sitting up against the headboard. He takes the nose pillow off and removes the headgear, then runs a hand through his tousled silver hair.
“Hey, guys,” I say. “I need to go. Thanks for reading the book and giving me your honest opinion. I’ll swing by the library when I get back to town. I want to hear all about how the music event went with Mr. Hunter.” I’m hanging up as they’re voicing their objections.
There are probably a million reasons to stay silent about everything said between us yesterday.
To not stir the pot, so to speak. Both of us are so close to getting something we’ve wanted for so long.
I’ll be able to hold my books in my hands and see them on shelves.
Julien will be able to (hopefully) be the hero for his parents and those who work at Squire, since he’ll have saved their jobs.
Knowing how he feels about romance in the workplace, if I bring up yesterday’s conversation, I’ll definitely be forcing him to make a choice.
One that I’m already aware of the outcome of and that will leave me with nothing more than a bruised and battered heart.
Then, of course, I doubt his father would be too keen on the idea of his son getting involved with the daughter of his hired help.
I’m sure Julien’s parents always hoped he’d fall in love and settle down with a woman of their own class.
Someone educated and cultured, not someone who knows the best products to polish silver or how to prune the hydrangea bushes.
I doubt when they pictured holiday get-togethers with the in-laws that their gardener and housekeeper were anywhere in sight.
A million reasons to stay silent, but the hum under my skin tells me I’m going to disregard them all.
Maybe it’s because I’m thirty-eight and he’s forty-six, but I just can’t ignore the pull between us or pretend that nothing is happening when something clearly is.
I’m not going to make up excuses or try to convince myself I don’t know where my feelings are coming from or what they mean. Honestly, that sounds exhausting.
I’m too old and have too much life experience to not demand that we have a mature conversation instead of sweeping everything under the rug. Even if nothing changes, everything will be out in the open, we’ll know where the other stands, and there won’t be any disappointments from miscommunication.
My skin is hot and tight, but I’m not sure if the blame can be cast on the conversation about to go down or the effects of getting too much sun yesterday. Gathering my resolve, I stand and push the sliding door open.
Julien lowers his hands from where he’d just been rubbing his eyes. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” I nibble on my bottom lip. “Sleep well?”
“What little I got. I stayed up late reading your manuscript.”
A nervous laugh pushes its way up my throat. “Should I apologize?”
“Never.” He gives me one of his boardroom looks. “Say Squire can publish it.”
My weight shifts between my feet. “Julien, I think we need to talk.”
“That doesn’t sound good.” He scrubs a hand down his bristly cheek.
My gaze snags on the single-serving coffee maker on the table in the corner of the room.
“Maybe you should have some coffee first. Take a shower. I don’t want you to think I’m bombarding you as soon as you’ve woken up.
Plus, I’m not sure how safe it is to talk to you before coffee,” I attempt to joke.
He studies me, no doubt trying to figure out what’s going on and what I think we need to discuss. After a few moments, he nods. “How about this—while I’m in the shower, you order room service. We’ll eat breakfast on the balcony and go over whatever it is that’s bothering you. Sound good?”
I agree to his plan and call down to the hotel kitchen while he closes the bathroom door behind him.
By the time he’s stepping back into the room, freshly shaved and looking like he’s ready to take on corporate America, there’s a knock on the door and breakfast is being delivered.
I take the plates of food while Julien follows behind me with a thanks and a cash tip for the staff.
“I wasn’t sure what you were in the mood for, so I ordered one savory dish and one sweet. I’m fine with either, so you choose.”
He considers the omelet on one plate and the French toast with berry compote on the other. “They both look good. Care to share?”
I place both plates in the middle of the bistro table on the balcony, then hold out a fork, which Julien takes.
“So, what’s on your mind?” he asks after we’ve both taken a few bites.
I dab at my lips with a napkin. “I’d like to revisit our conversation from yesterday.”
He visibly stiffens.
“Given what you shared about your stance on work relationships and why, I know me bringing this up again probably makes you uncomfortable, but I feel like there are things . . . unsettled . . . between us, and I’d like to discuss them.”
“What things?” he asks. “Unsettled how?”
My eyes never leave his face as I take a bite of French toast and slowly chew. “What is it that you want, Julien?”
“I thought I’d made myself quite clear.” He clears his throat. “I want Squire to publish your books.”
“What if your dad never issued this test of his? What if he retired tomorrow, stepped down as CEO of King Publishing, and named you his successor? What would you want then?”
Julien’s gaze flicks toward the beach for a moment before coming back to rest on my face. His normally clear blue eyes are clouded and dull. “What’s the point of even asking such a question when that isn’t reality? Entertaining a hypothetical scenario isn’t going to change how things really are.”
I dip my head in concession. “True, but sometimes looking at a problem from a different angle opens our eyes to avenues we weren’t aware of before. In this instance, it appears that you feel like you have your back against the wall and there’s only one way out.”
He huffs his agreement. “Dad was pretty clear on what he expects me to do. Mom as well.”
“Yes,” I say, hearing my tone shift in my ears but unable to change it back to normal. “They were.”
One of his brows raises slightly. “What does that mean?”
“If it were up to you, would you try to save Squire or close it?”
“It’s not up to me.”
“If it were up to you, Julien.”
The muscle in his jaw ticks.
I reach out and trap his hand. “There’s no one here but the two of us. Be honest with me. Be honest with yourself.”
He blows out a hard breath. “If it were up to me, I’d close Squire. You know that. Everyone knows that. It’s what I’ve been trying to convince Dad to do all along, to no avail.”
I squeeze his hand, then let go. I pick my fork back up and take a casual bite, trying not to make a big deal out of his pronouncement. Once I finish chewing, I say, “So, in actuality, you don’t want to publish my books.”
His gaze shoots to mine, wide with horror. “Martha—”
I hold up a hand to stay his protest. “Don’t backtrack now. We’re actually getting somewhere.”
I cut off another portion of egg, trying to downplay the importance of this conversation with my movements.
“You want Squire to shut its doors. You don’t want to publish my books.
In this scenario, there are no contracts between us.
We do not, in any way, work together.” I stab the egg, then still my hand to look up at him.
The time for downplaying is over. “What do you want, Julien?”
His fingers twist the bracelets at his wrists while he stares back at me, a tormented set to his mouth.
I feel bad, backing him into another corner, and so instead of pressing, I offer him my own truth instead. “I know what I want, if that’s helpful.”
His gaze tangles with mine.
“I would like a chance for us to be together.”