Chapter 1 #2
“I’m Julia.” I stretch my hand out over the table. “Julia Thomas.”
He reaches out and shakes it. His skin is pleasantly warm against mine. Something flickers in me the second our hands touch. My heartbeat spikes. Just a little.
Nerves?
Can’t be. Must be the cold.
“Nice to meet you, Julia,” he says, letting go slower than necessary. I notice the rings spread over his fingers, now glistening under the light. “I’m Joshua Harrison.”
“I know,” I admit, a sheepish smile creeping onto my face.
“I was wondering how long it’d take you to come clean.”
I give him a teasing shrug. “Hmm, you’re not that big of a deal.”
He rolls his eyes, but there’s no protest. He seems almost relieved not to have to show off his celebrity status.
His gaze then lands on my still-wet hair and clothes, and his lips twitch playfully. I huff, knowing exactly what’s coming next. I can’t be the only one that was not prepared for the weather today.
“Don’t say it.”
He lifts his hands up in surrender.
“I wasn’t going to.” He takes a beat, and it’s almost convincing. “Just—may I suggest you buy an umbrella? You’re going to need it in this city.”
To my own surprise, I’m not annoyed with his teasing. My voice lowers dramatically. Two can play this acting game (I can’t, but that doesn’t stop me from trying). “I’ve barely had time to unpack, even less to go shopping. I’ve been welcomed like an uninvited guest.”
He raises one eyebrow—impressively. “So your first day in London was… piss poor.”
“If by piss poor you mean shit, then yes, it was. I’m living proof; how tragic.”
His laugh is unexpected, and I can’t help the awareness that it makes him even more charming.
I try to raise one eyebrow like he did, but I fail so hard that it sends him into another round of laughter, almost breathless.
The sound is contagious, and I end up laughing too.
My shoulders drop, unwinding from the stress of the day.
“Sorry,” I say between chuckles, wiping at the corner of my eye. “I’m very good at making a fool out of myself.”
“I’ve seen worse.” He pauses with a grin. “But not by much.”
I gasp, feigning offense, and I’m rewarded with the sexiest wink I’ve ever witnessed. We’re definitely bordering flirting territory. As much as he’s getting my heart racing, I can’t go down that road.
“Alright, answering is optional. I know why my day sucked, but what about yours?”
He stares at me, and I can’t tell if he’s uncomfortable or amused. The silence makes me blush.
“Well, I––” I’m half-thinking he’s going to blow me off but whatever he sees in my eyes is enough for him to take as his cue to continue talking. “Got a tough rejection today for a project I was excited about. I can’t seem to get past any of the readings that I’ve been doing.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. I feel like I’ve hit a nerve, and my awkwardness isn’t doing me any favors. He doesn’t seem to mind, but I opt for changing the subject anyway. “What about him? He obviously knew the identity hidden behind the cap.” I ask, nodding my head towards Tony.
“I’ve known him for almost a decade,” he smiles. “He is basically like a second father to me. That’s why I know I can come here without feeling chased around.”
I offer a sympathetic smile. That kind of life—always watched—I can’t imagine it.
He must be thinking somewhere along those lines because his relaxed lean disappears.
He straightens, shoulders pushed back, glancing between the door and the bar, as if bracing for the next pair of eyes that recognize him.
“Now I understand your outfit choice,” I say, lightly. He looks back at me, his blue eyes darker than before. I want to smooth the frown on his forehead away.
For a second, I feel like I’m intruding. This bar, his corner of the bar, this booth. And I’m a stranger. Talking to an A-list celebrity like we’re old friends catching up after years away.
And yet, as soon as the thought comes, it goes. I can’t help myself.
“If everyone I met was like you, I wouldn’t mind it so much,” he says. “I’m rarely that lucky though. Hence the cap and the whole dark funeral outfit.”
There’s something about him. Something raw behind the charming remarks and the cheek-reddening flirting. I can see it in his eyes, in the way he carries bad days like today as if they’re as typical for him as they are for me.
He doesn’t feel like an untouchable celebrity—he doesn’t act like it either. Instead, he feels real, like someone who’s holding himself together with the same masking tape as I. He feels like someone I could get to know.
I purse my lips. “Damn. I thought you were going to tell me you’re secretly in the Men in Black.”
He laughs, and just like that, the tension lifts again.
“Enough about me. What about you, Julia Thomas? Do you make a habit out of talking to strangers in dimly lit bars?”
“May I remind you, you were the one who started this whole thing?” I say, gesturing between us. “Plus, you’ve been all over my TV, Detective Grayson Wolfe.”
His lips twitch. “Ah, so you’re a fan.”
I add cocky to the growing list of his qualities.
“Do you think if I were a fan, I’d be sitting here with you as calm as I am right now?” I challenge.
He takes a moment to ponder. “Good point—unless you’re a professional. So, tell me, what’s your story? What brings you to London?” He arches that damn eyebrow again. I look at him accusingly, knowing he did that because I can’t. He smirks.
“Before I say anything, you’re going to have to sign a non-disclosure agreement, please.”
“Alright love, hand it over,” he says, just as challengingly.
He holds my gaze for what seems like minutes but is really seconds. I stare, squinting my eyes, trying to squeeze out whatever thoughts he is having right now.
“Are you truly interested?” I ask finally.
He opens his mouth, about to say something, but hesitates, his lips turning upward. Then, a moment later—as if he can’t resist—he speaks.
“There’s something about you, Ms. Thomas.”
Something about me? I almost spit out my drink. I’ve never thought there was anything particularly interesting about me. Not for a long time. Just a suitcase full of personal issues and baggage. I don’t think he would want to hear about those.
“I work in marketing,” I say, keeping it clean. “Fashion brand based in L.A. They’re pretty global, with a London office. They needed someone to come here for a few months, so I volunteered.”
He frowns. “You volunteered to leave sunny L.A. to come here? Why do I feel like I’m missing something?”
“Because you are,” I answer as a matter of fact. “But that’s a chapter for another time.”
“Who’s being mysterious now?” he says, leaning back with a half-smile. “I’m going to be thinking about this cliffhanger now that you’ve planted it.”
“Already revealed too much by giving you my full name,” I shoot back, grinning. “Your turn. I know the basics, but why are you here instead of finding other parts you’re interested in?”
“After my downfall with the press, I decided to take some time away from the spotlight. Been taking it slow,” he shrugs—as if it’s not a big deal—but I can sense his annoyance, so I don’t push.
“You’re right, let’s stick to small talk, shall we?” he says, after a beat, trying to lighten the mood. “Unless you want some alone time. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“No! It’s okay.” I’m shocked to find the words flying out before I can process what he says. “Give me your best icebreaker.”
He smiles, visibly pleased.
“Guilty pleasures,” he suggests. “Nothing like strange facts to get to know someone.”
I don’t have to think much about mine. “Relaxing in a steaming bath with a good crime book.”
“I’m going with dipping chips in chocolate.”
My face twists slightly. “That sounds like a crime that’ll land you in chef-prison.”
“Nonsense. It’s delicious.”
I finish my drink without looking away. His blue eyes staring deeply into mine, once again. Aside from his job, it turns out Joshua is as normal as any man I’ve met. He seems lost in thought.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask, breaking the silence. “Something even weirder?”
“No, I’m wondering… another time?” he asks, catching me off guard. I pause.
I can’t be. Sure, light flirting seems to run through his veins. But there’s no way he’s asking about seeing me again.
“What?” I question, looking for some kind of confirmation that I’m imagining things. Instead, he simply responds.
“You said it was a chapter for another time,” he presses, calm as ever. I narrow my eyes at him, unsure of his intentions. “Did you mean that?”
Maybe it’s just friendship, I tell myself. No big deal.
But in the back of my mind my mantra repeats, with no time to waste. Don’t throw away your hard work.
Past heartbreak has left me completely distrusting of the whole male race. Run, not leap. As charming as he is, I can’t put myself in that position again. It won’t be good for me.
“Maybe,” I whisper, glancing at my phone. An hour has evaporated. I twist the rugged corner of my jacket, and drops of water fall to the floor. I don’t even have to look outside to know that it’s still raining. I groan a little louder than I was intending to.
“I should get going.”
“Everything alright?” he asks softly. I stand, zipping my coat up to my chin as if that’s going to make my clothes any warmer. He rises next to me, his hands fidgeting with the cuff of his hoodie.
“Just cold. I need to get home,” I say, not even knowing how.
Of course, Hollywood’s golden boy had to be as amiable as he is sexy. The universe has it out for me because that’s what I need: another manly distraction, and this one charged with extra charm. What do you say when it’s obvious you’re running away?
“It was nice meeting you.”
He smiles, and I can’t seem to look away, his gaze captivating me, keeping me in my spot. “You too,” he says, gently.
He opens his mouth as if he wants to add something. I feel the nerves creep up, and my heart beats faster as seconds pass. I don’t know how long we stay like this, but the tension gets too much.
Not knowing what else to do, I extend out my hand.
He looks at me and awkwardly shakes it. The same electrifying wave that I felt before comes back through my fingers, leaving me wondering if he’s feeling it too.
I let go of him before the warmth goes any further because if I don’t leave now, I never will.
I turn around and head to the door, waving to Tony, whose eyebrows are now raised, his lips curled into a wise smile.
I pause, hand on the handle, and look back. He’s still standing there, framed by the yellow booth light.
“Goodbye, Joshua Harrison.”
“‘Til another time, Julia Thomas.”