6. Jules
CHAPTER 6
Jules
Be in my office. 9:00 a.m. Sharp.
Huh?
I blink away the last traces of sleep, my vision clearing as I read the email. Mr. Wyld Richards, in all his demanding glory, wants me in his office in a few hours.
Of course, I’m already awake because I’m the daughter of a former Marine who cursed me with being an early riser.
Yawning, I read the email again. Mr. Richards must’ve fired off this message just after I sent him my Instagram handle and the details of how Brian takes his coffee just before I passed out.
I have Eomma to thank for that, and Mrs. D.
I glance at the time. If I skip breakfast or a shower, I have just enough time to hop on public transportation, but it’ll be close. Hmm. Shower? Breakfast? My brain does a quick calculation.
Before fully committing, I crack open my bedroom door, and the scent of bacon and freshly brewed coffee hits me like a wave. My smile is wide. Dad’s on breakfast duty, which settles it, hands down.
I throw on some clothes, drag a brush through my hair, and barely glance at the mirror before rushing downstairs.
Sure enough, there’s bacon, and not just that—an entire box of pastries from the local bakery. Usually, this spread would signal a special occasion, but I’m not complaining. And it’s not just the usual half dozen, but a full dozen of those soft, melt-in-your-mouth bites, which means I can snag a few for the road.
As I reach for a random K-cup from the assortment, Dad steps in and hands me a steaming mug. “Try this,” he says with enough of a smile, I can’t say no, though I eye the cup warily. His coffee skills typically result in motor oil in a cup.
But this time, the caramel color and enticing aroma are too tempting to resist. I take a sip, and it’s a revelation. “Mmm. Did you get a part-time gig at Starbucks? Because if so, keep it up.”
“I thought you’d like it.” Dad chuckles, clearly pleased. “In a hurry?”
“My new editor wants me in his office in a few hours.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Well, you can’t take the train and subway and make it on time. So sit back and relax. I found you a driver.”
I narrow my eyes. There’s no way I’m letting my dad trudge through that insane drive, especially since he insists on driving like we’re permanently stuck behind a school bus.
And, wait a minute. “I’m sorry, did we change our last name to Gates? Since when do we have a driver?” I ask, stuffing a bite of peach fritter into my mouth.
“Since now,” a voice booms from behind.
I turn, and there he is—a dark mop of hair, dimples in full effect. That’s when it hits me why Dad picked up so many donuts. Colby’s back.
Without thinking, I throw my arms around him, hugging him tight. I didn’t realize just how much I’ve missed him, or how fiercely I’m squeezing until he gasps, “Must. Have. Air.”
“You can suck it up for one more minute,” I insist, before finally letting go. “That’s what you get for being gone so long.”
“Not exactly a choice. A little thing called military commitment.”
“Yeah, whatever.” I give him a playful nudge, but my fingers find that spot on his side where he’s ticklish. He jerks away, and I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “Seriously, how do you live in Germany, surrounded by beer and bratwurst, and still manage to keep that 1 percent body fat? If it were me, they’d need a forklift to roll me out of there.”
Colby smirks, throwing in a flex like he’s in a damn fitness commercial. “When my sister finally lands her dream job, my ass is back stateside, ASAP.”
“Wait, what? How long are we talking?”
His smile falters, uncertainty shadowing his eyes. “I’m not sure yet.”
A cold knot tightens, sliding from my chest to the center of my gut. Young, healthy men don’t just come home on a whim. I narrow my eyes, trying to read him. “Is everything all right?”
“I’m fine.” His tone is too quick, too smooth.
“He’s fine,” Dad cuts in, his voice calm as he finishes preparing a second mug of coffee. “He’s just at a crossroads, is all.” Dad grabs both mugs and heads out of the kitchen. “Let me wake your mother and earn some brownie points with your coffee recipe.” He pauses, pointing at us both like he’s delivering a command. “Don’t eat all the donuts.”
“No promises,” I mumble around the last bite of my fritter, washing it down with a sip of coffee.
The flavor hits again, stopping me mid-sip. My dad’s coffee usually tastes like it could fuel a tank, and Colby’s brew? Well, that’s pure caffeine on steroids. But this...this is paradise, warm and soothing and just a hint of decadence. “This is your recipe?”
He shrugs, casual as ever. “Not exactly.”
There’s a strange pause, heavy with something I can’t quite place. Then he nods toward the mug in my hand. “Dark roast, shot of espresso, two pumps of vanilla, and a dash of cinnamon. The Bishop special.”
Dad pops in, his protective radar pinging off the charts. “The what?”
Uh-oh. Cue the internal alarms.
It’s one thing that Brian torched my reputation and forced me into seclusion. But I’m still Daddy’s little girl. Dad always warned me away from Brian—probably because of Angi—and I’m fairly certain that if the two of them were within a mile of each other, one of them wouldn’t make it out alive.
And by one of them, I mean Brian.
Given that Mom swore on a stack of Ina Garten cookbooks that the name Brian Bishop would never leave her lips in front of Dad, I know she didn’t say a word. Except, apparently, to Colby.
Colby steps in, casually fixing his own cup of coffee as if this conversation isn’t teetering on the edge of disaster. “Relax, Dad. No need to sharpen the pitchforks. It’s just a TikTok thing. Named after some coffee fanatic bishop.”
Dad narrows his eyes, clearly not buying it. “Is that so?”
“Absolutely,” I chime in, trying to smooth things over. “It’s as legit as yetis doing Magic Mike routines and that woman who claims she’s a raccoon whisperer. If it’s on TikTok, it’s gospel. Hashtag verified.”
Dad’s gaze shifts between us, suspicion lingering in his eyes. “The two of you seriously need help.”
“One of us does,” Colby quips, jerking his chin in my direction. “I’m not watching stripping sasquatches.”
“You, young lady—” Dad’s stern brow levels right at me “—I’m going to pretend my youngest daughter thinks Magic Mike is a magician.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m twenty-five.”
He drops a kiss on my head, unfazed. “And still my baby.” Then, with a devilish grin, he swipes the last éclair.
“Hey!” I object.
He wags it teasingly. “Consider this your penance for inheriting all your mom’s spunk.” He takes a bite, eyes flicking to his watch. “And you two better get going unless you’re planning on making a grand late entrance for your new boss.”
Colby fixes two fresh Bishop Specials in to-go mugs, and we rush out the door with Mom, Dad, and Halmeoni trailing behind us like we’re off to win a war. Grandma gives Colby a light tap on the chest. “Drive safe, and don’t worry. I’ll have some hot dakgangjeong waiting for lunch.”
Great. Now I’m going to be thinking about my brother devouring that crispy, sweet, and sticky Korean fried chicken instead of me. She tucks a delicate pink flower behind my ear and pats my cheek with a gentle smile. “Come back soon, Juliana.”
“I will,” I promise.
We’re cruising down the road when something catches my eye. I do a double-take. “Is that a tattoo?”
He blinks, then smirks. “Yep. My fifth.” He flexes, showing off the ink—a bold black serpent coiled around his bicep, its eyes glinting, daring to be messed with.
“Do I even want to know where the others are?”
He grins that infuriating, cocky grin. “Nope. I’m surprised you don’t have one. I could totally see you with something like a feather or an infinity symbol.”
“I always thought it should be deeply personal. Meaningful.”
“Or just plain fun. I bet Angi’s got a tattoo or three.”
The mention of Angi shifts the air, the lighthearted banter giving way to something heavier. “Why are you really back, Colby?”
He sighs, the humor draining from his face. “Angi. She stole my identity and racked up charges on my government credit card. When my commanding officer flagged it, I knew something was seriously wrong. I have to find her and sort this out, or...” He trails off, the weight of what he’s not saying swooping in like a dark cloud.
“Or what?”
“I don’t know. Get out, I guess.”
“Get out? I didn’t think you could just quit the Army.”
“Technically, it would be a dishonorable discharge.”
The words slam into me like a bat to the chest. “Colby, a dishonorable discharge? Are you serious? They’d just kick you out? How much money are we talking here?”
His hands grip the wheel, knuckles white. “Fifteen thousand dollars.”
Panic seizes me, my breath catching. “Could that mean jail time?” The silence that follows is deafening. “You can’t let that happen, Colby.”
“You think I don’t know that?” his voice snaps, frustration boiling over, cutting through the air like a whip. “Angi’s been digging herself deeper, and I’m not sure she can claw her way out this time.”
“So, what? You’re just going to let her drag you down that rabbit hole with her?”
His breath hitches, anger simmering beneath the surface. “It’s not like I have a fucking choice.” He pauses, jaw tight, eyes locked on the road ahead. “I’m on administrative leave without pay for thirty days. That’s why I’m back—to find her, clean up this mess, or face the fallout on my own.”
I reach out, my hand gliding across his arm, a pathetic attempt at comfort in the middle of this shit storm. “You’re not alone, Colby. We’ll figure this out together.”
The words hang between us, and despite the suffocating tension in the air, his hand smoothes over mine.
An eternity of miles later, Colby leans in, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “Word on the street is my sister’s been stalking one of my Army buddies.”
A flush creeps up my face. Mortified, I scramble to explain. “My editor gave me an assignment to?—”
“To what? Rip open an old wound and watch it bleed out?” He shakes his head, eyes fixed on the road .
“N-no,” I stammer, flustered. “Just...I don’t know. Conquer a few demons, reclaim myself, prove I’m not some hack who needs to hide away like a mouse afraid of its own shadow.”
“Hiding and healing are two different things.”
Curiosity gnaws at me until the question burning a hole in my brain rushes out of my mouth. “You said Army buddies? As in you and Brian Bishop served together?”
“Yeah. A few times, actually. But that was before...” His voice trails off as he checks the GPS and takes a sharp right. “The thing is, if you lined up a hundred guys and asked me to pick out the asshole, I would’ve ranked him dead last. Shit, you’re gonna hate me for saying this, but I wish I could’ve served with him longer before he bailed.”
The words spill out before I can catch them. “He left the service?”
He gives me a look of pure disbelief. “Wow, you really have been living in a cave. How do you not know?”
“Know what?”
He pulls up to the curb, parking right in front of the building. “Listen, I gave you his coffee order. My stint as your secret spy ends here. Now, get your snooping butt in gear and be the investigative journalist you’ve always wanted to be. I’ve got a manhunt to tackle.”
I’m a little disappointed, but I hop out anyway. “I think you mean a woman-hunt, and when it comes to Angi, start with Dad. She just used his credit card.”
He lets out a relieved breath. “So, she’s alive. Great. Just in time for me to kill her.”