2. Julian
2
JULIAN
I lean back in my leather chair, fixing Xander with an icy stare as he lingers in my office doorway. The bastard knows exactly what he's doing, playing the friendship card to drag me to this ridiculous holiday gathering.
"You can stop with that shit-eating grin. I said I'd go. Doesn't mean I have to like it." I straighten my tie, a habit born from years of maintaining control in every situation.
Xander's smile only widens. "Come on, boss. It's just one drink. Maybe two. The girls at O'Malley's bar throw a mean party. You could at least look like you aren't going to fucking court instead of a bar."
"It's a fucking Secret Santa exchange." The words taste bitter. I stand, adjusting my suit jacket. "Since when do men in our position play Christmas games?"
"Since you owe me for Calgary." He crosses his arms, knowing he's got me cornered. The Calgary job would have gone sideways if not for his quick thinking. "Besides, you need to get out more. All work and no play-"
"Finish that sentence and I'll shoot you myself."
The floor-to-ceiling windows behind my desk reflect our contrasting expressions - his amusement, my cold irritation. Downtown Chicago sprawls below, a maze of lights and shadows where we conduct our real business. Not this holiday bullshit.
"Car's waiting downstairs." Xander checks his watch. "Sophie will kill me if we're late."
I grab my coat, the wool as dark as my mood. "Two drinks. That's it. And if anyone tries to make me wear a Santa hat-"
"You'll make them disappear?" Xander chuckles, falling into step beside me as we head for the elevator. "Noted. Though I'd pay good money to see that."
The elevator doors close on his laughter, and I fight the urge to slam his head against the wall. But he's right - I do owe him. And two drinks won't kill me.
Probably.
The back door is open when we reach the ground floor and I slip into the back seat. The leather seat creaks as Xander slides in next to me. The privacy partition rises with a soft whir, sealing us off from the driver.
"Explain to me again why we're wasting a perfectly good evening on this?" I tap my fingers against my knee, watching the city lights blur past the tinted windows.
Metal glints as Xander pulls out a silver flask from his jacket. His grin stretches wide, all white teeth and charm. "Because, my friend, I am the goddamn life of every party." He takes a long pull from the flask. "Where there's drinks and beautiful women, I need to be there. It's practically my calling."
I roll my eyes. "Your calling is security operations, or did you forget who signs your checks?"
"Speaking of beautiful women..." He offers me the flask. I wave it off. "You could use some action yourself. When's the last time you got laid?"
"Christ." I lean my head back against the seat. "Is that all you think about?"
"Hey, I'm just saying. You're wound tighter than a fucking spring. A good fuck would do you wonders."
"Not all of us need to stick our dick in anything that moves."
"Now that's just hurtful." He presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I have standards. High ones."
"Your 'standards' include anything female with a pulse."
"Haven't slept alone since I was sixteen." He winks, taking another sip. I don't fucking doubt it. "Can't help it if the ladies love me."
I stare out the window, jaw clenching. The whole thing - sex, dating, the endless pursuit of flesh - feels pointless. Empty. A distraction I can't afford and don't want. Women are just drama, and I have no interest in that.
That's something that Xander will never understand.
I turn back to him. "Some of us don't need that constant validation. That endless chase."
"Validation?" He barks out a laugh. "Boss, it's called having fun. You should try it sometime."
The car rolls to a stop outside O'Malley's. Christmas lights frame the windows, casting multicolored shadows across the snow-dusted sidewalk. I adjust my coat one final time, steeling myself for the next hour of forced socialization.
The warmth hits as soon as we step inside. The scent of cinnamon and whiskey hangs thick in the air. Bodies pack the space, voices raised over whatever generic holiday music blares through the speakers.
And then I see her.
She sits at the edge of a group near the bar, half-turned away as she fidgets with something in her hands. The velvet of her dress hugs her frame, deep red clinging to curves that stop my breath in my chest. A Santa belt cinches her waist, the hem barely reaching mid-thigh. White fur traces her neckline, drawing my eye to the sweep of her throat, the delicate line of her collarbone. A Santa hat sits perched in dark curls that fall past her shoulders.
But it's not the dress that holds me frozen. It's the vulnerability that radiates from her - the way she shifts, the slight tension in her shoulders, her downcast eyes. Her makeup smudged and she looks…so broken.
My dick is instantly hard.
She's prey among predators, though I doubt she realizes it. The need to hunt, to possess, rises in me with an intensity that catches me off guard. I wasn't lying when I said I never cared about getting women.
But I might have just found the one that can change my mind.
Xander's elbow connects with my ribs. "See something you like, boss?"
I shoot him a cold look, but he's already steering us toward the bar - toward her group. My jaw clenches as we draw closer, trying to process the unusual emotions roiling through me.
"Ladies!" Xander calls out, spreading his arms wide. "The party can officially begin."
She turns at his voice, her eyes flicking over Xander before turning back around. But just a glance at her face, and something electric crackles in that space between us. That extreme need hits me again so hard I can hardly breath.
I'm fucked.
And she is going to be fucking mine.
I lean against the bar, letting Xander step into his favorite role of being the center of attention. My focus remains locked on her as she tilts her head back, downing another shot. Her throat works, and my fingers tighten around the whiskey glass the bartender sets in front of me.
Even in the dim light, her body is exquisite. The gentle swell of her breasts, the narrow dip of her waist, the flare of her hips. That Santa belt begs to be ripped off, the fucking thigh highs making my mind scrambled. Her lipstick - dark red, almost burgundy - is smudged at one corner. Evidence of earlier drinks, perhaps. Or tears.
She's trying too hard to smile, to laugh at whatever the redhead next to her is saying. But pain radiates from her in waves. Something fresh. Recent. The kind of hurt that makes women do stupid things.
The kind of vulnerability that makes them easy prey. Something that I've never cared about until this second.
I take a slow sip of the whiskey I ordered, ice clinking against crystal as I imagine wrapping that long dark hair around my fist. Pulling her head back. Making her beg. She'd break so beautifully under my hands.
Those candy cane heels add inches to her height, but she's still tiny. Delicate. The way she holds herself speaks of someone used to being in control, but tonight that control is slipping. I could strip it away completely. Tear down every wall she's built. Own every inch of her until she forgets anyone else exists.
My grip tightens on the glass as she sways slightly, catching herself on the bar. Soft. Vulnerable. Mine.
Because that's what she is now. Mine. The recognition hits with absolute certainty. I've never wanted to possess someone so completely before. Never felt this primal need to break someone down and rebuild them in my image.
But her? She was made for this. Made for me.
Made to be broken down and rebuilt. To be molded by me.
The whiskey burns as I take another drink, watching her fight whatever demons she thinks are so hard. Wait until she sees that I am her only thing to fear.
Nothing else will matter then.
Xander's hand claps my shoulder, dragging me into their circle. "Ladies, meet Julian Kane. He's usually too important to go out, but I convinced him to grace us with his presence tonight."
A tall blonde - Sophie, I recall from Xander's talk as he tried to convince me to come tonight - gives an exaggerated bow. "We're not worthy." Her camera phone appears, documenting the moment. I think she's a content creator.
The redhead bounces forward. "I'm Lily! This is Jessica-" She gestures to an Asian woman in a power suit who barely glances up from her phone.
I tune out the subsequent introductions, my attention fixed on the dark-haired beauty in the Santa dress. She hasn't looked up once, focusing intently on her empty shot glass like it holds the secrets to the universe.
Moving right behind her, I reach down to spin her toward me on her stool. Those amber eyes finally lift to meet mine, wide and haunted. Tear tracks have left subtle trails through her makeup. My cock hardens at the sight of such perfect devastation.
I step closer, deliberately invading her space. "And who might you be?" The corner of my mouth lifts in a predatory smile.
Her throat works as she swallows. "Ivy," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the bar noise. She smells like vanilla and something sweet. The scent makes me want to bury my face in her neck and inhale.
One small hand reaches up to touch the fur trim at her neckline - a nervous gesture that draws my attention to the delicate curve of her collarbone. I want to sink my teeth into that soft flesh. Mark her. Claim her.
Mine.